Do the right thing, even when it hurts

Many years ago, I joined two of my sisters-in-law in one car while the guys piled into another. The band at the bar in Kirby, had proven to be a disappointment, so we headed back to Worland to finish our "night on the town."

I was in the back seat, where I could see, in the rear view mirror, as the headlights from Wayne's Ford Maverick followed us down the deserted Wyoming highway. As we chatted, I occasionally glanced in the mirror, keeping tabs on the menfolk.

We hadn't been on the road long when I noticed that we had lost our tail. Their headlights had disappeared, and I, a world-class worrier at the time, was immediately alarmed.

My companions did not share my concern and assured me that the fellas would surely catch up to us in time.

They did. Quite a long while later.

I don't know if it was Garry or Danny, but one or the other warned Wayne that there was a deer ahead. Either Wayne was too busy talking for the words to register or he didn't hear the warning, so it was repeated, louder and with more urgency. Now on the alert, Wayne peered ahead, and instinctively veered into the other lane of traffic, where the deer, exercising the freeze option from the "fight, flee or freeze" response, waited.

No one in the car was hurt, though both the deer and the car were total losses. The guys had to thumb a ride to town, which took some time. As I said, the highway was deserted, except for the late, unlamented deer.

I'm a lot like that deer. I typically freeze at the first sign of trouble. Even an "uh oh" in just the right tone of voice will stop me in my tracks, and I just stand there, not moving a muscle, until I know what's going on around me. Most of the time, it's nothing. (Sometimes, I should have ducked or even turned tail and run. I've seldom been called on to fight.)

It's instinct. Freeze. Do nothing. Don't move, don't blink, don't even breathe. A cottontail rabbit chose that route one wintry Christmas day in the Wyoming countryside. A new 7 mm hunting rifle for Danny's friend was among the gifts distributed that day and we all trooped out to try it. The friend's wife was a crack shot and sighting the cottontail, she drew careful aim while her husband kept his eye on the prey through a pair of binoculars. After her first shot, he reported that although the rabbit's ear had flickered, the rabbit appeared unharmed. The second shot was identical, only this time her husband reported that the other ear dropped and then popped right back up. The third and final shot had the desired outcome as the rabbit appeared to leap above the brush only to immediately fall motionless on the frozen ground. When the prey was recovered we discovered to our amazement that both of the rabbit's ears had been shot clean through.

The freeze, flee or fight instinct carries over into everyday life. At least, it seems that the freeze option does, because so many people seem to be frozen in time. Even in situations that are obviously perilous, they freeze. Unable to determine any safe course of action, they continue to do the same things, in the same ways, somehow expecting a different outcome "this time." A wise person once observed that this could be one definition of insanity. I don't think I would go that far, but certainly it is a circular path, leading nowhere but to ultimate ruin, though it may take years of travel.

Although I am opposed to the "do something, anything even if it's wrong" mindset that is equally, if not more perilous, there are situations where definitive action is called for. Freezing, fighting, even fleeing aren't the only options available, and are seldom effective, but in order to circumvent certain tragedy, action is required.

But what action? How do we know what to do, when? At the point of every decision, each one of us has a clear picture of the desired outcome, but life has taught us that the desired outcome sometimes never materializes, contributing to our indecision, our failure to react, to respond, to do anything. Fearing disappointment, we do nothing.

Once, fearing the outcome of a certain action would be anything but what I desired, I froze. After listening to the litany of reasons why I couldn't do what I knew I needed to do, a wise, godly woman asked me when I had stopped trusting God.

Aghast, I exclaimed that of course I trusted God. "Well then, do you think God is safe?" she countered. That set me back. It had to be a trick question, I thought. Safe? God? She didn't let me leave me hanging for long, kind as she was. She rephrased the question, "Do you believe God is good?" There really is only one right answer to that question.

God is good. Always. However, he is not always safe. At times, we find ourselves in places we would never have voluntarily gone if left to our own devices, places that are anything but safe, places where we are faced with decisions that are far beyond our experience, yet we are called to act. Hard decisions may mean that abject loneliness is our next destiny; hard decisions may earn the derision of family, friends and neighbors; hard decisions may mean that we walk away from all that we hold dear, never looking back. Sometimes, to do nothing, to sit frozen on the sidelines or to take the path of least resistance can mean life or death for someone we love.

The rabbit should have run at the first piercing. The deer should have bounded off, returning to the wilderness. In both cases, the freeze option was fatal.

Check your motive. Can you lay your heart's desire aside if holding on to it puts someone else in peril? Sometimes, doing the right thing means doing that very thing; laying aside your dreams, laying aside your desires. Sometimes, doing the right thing hurts.

"Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13 (NIV)