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I have previously written about the exploits of
Sir Ernest Shackleton; the famous British explorer of Antarctica. It seems in
his quest to be the first, he came within 97 miles of the geographical South
Pole. However, it has been said that “close is only good enough in grenades and
nuclear war.” He was a very disappointed fellow, I think.
The man was a visionary, but he
neglected to do the two major things that would surely have won the day. Rather
than dogs, he took ponies. Rather than skis, he decided on “old fashioned shoe
leather.” You see, he had never taken the time to adapt himself, and his team
to the use of such new measures, and he was irrevocably taken up with the
mindset of the nineteenth century, though that century was waning in favor of
the twentieth.
Yes, Sir Ernest was slow to adapt.
But he was no fool. For a few short years later, during “the war to end all
wars,” he brought dogs with him to his next Antarctic exploit. The South Pole
had already been conquered at this point, though not by him, and he was
desperate to do something notable.
Having sent two ships out, one a
ship of exploration and one a ship of supply, he determined to complete a
Trans-Antarctic expedition. Sadly, he failed when his main vessel was enclosed
by ice floes, and crushed by the immense pressure of the stuff.
Meanwhile, on the other side of
the icy continent, a pitiful group of men and dogs were laying out food depots;
in expectation of Shackleton’s march towards his destiny.
They were emaciated, having
marched hundreds of miles towards the South Pole, their only aim to leave
sporadic rations in the snow for what would be the team of explorers. And like
so many before, these poor men were suffering the effects of scurvy; a
potentially-fatal result of the lack of vitamin C.
The team which deposited food for
others had run out of food for themselves. Not deterred, they continued to move
towards their original campsite, and all the food they would eat or need.
Blizzards raging around them, extreme privation, snow blindness; at times
ferrying one of their dying mates on a sledge.
And the dogs. Oh, the dogs.
While the men ate the last shreds of penguin, and seal which they had shot, the
dogs were without food for two days. So bitterly cold and so hungry they were.
Even dogs complain. They yelped
pleadingly to be fed, to rest, or to plain give up; even as each tread of their
paws brought them closer to food. Some like Con and Towser were such
good-natured animals, so desirous to please their masters. But enough was
enough, and hope was waning; with every mile they trod.
But with so many such stories,
(and this one is no exception,) salvation came from an unexpected source.
For you see, there was one old,
bad-natured brute named Oscar. He incessantly bothered and berated the rest of
the pack. More often than not, the men regretted having the beast with them,
(and may have been prone to “put him out of his misery,” except the mission so
desperately required a minimum number of dogs).
However, the surly old dog finally
came into his own. For when the other dogs seemed on the verge of giving up,
for the wind and cold and hunger, something magical happened.
“Oscar just lowered his massive head,
and pulled as he never did when things were going well. He even, at times, got
a bit of a run on the sledge and tried to bite the heels of the dog ahead to
make him work… It seemed to us that Oscar was aware that we were looking for
something that would give him a full meal once more.” (Pg. 484, “Shackleton”)
Well my friends, I don't know
about you, but stuff like this makes me want to shout, "Hallelujah!"
I can get excited about tales like this one.
Oh, you may say, “He was just a dumb
animal.” And granted, he was. But if a dumb animal can rise to the task, the
way Oscar rose to his task, where does that you and me?
I am reminded of the brevity of life,
and the strong responsibility that is ours, as servants of The Most High God. I
will not be content to whine, or to just lay down when the going gets tough.
I want to be “an Oscar.” I want to pull
with all my might; hope against hope that anything can be accomplished. If need
be, I plan to “bite the heels of the dogs ahead of me;” to encourage them that
there’s a work to be done, and a Christ to be served.
“Seeing how we are surrounded by
such a great cloud of witnesses, let us strip off everything that hinders us,
and the sin that so easily entangles us, and let us run with patience
the race that God has set before us.” (Hebrews 12:1, KJV)
by Bill McDonald, PhD
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