Not long ago I was camped near a pond where a bull moose came to feed every evening. He was immense and would have dwarfed one of those Clydesdale horses that sometimes show up in parades. But his antlers, called a “rack,” were comparatively small. Every year a bull moose loses his antlers; they grow back larger the next year. A mature bull’s rack can be five or six feet wide. This moose’s antlers, however, were only about three feet wide, and I wondered why.

My brother later told me that the antlers of older males often grow smaller. Their size and maturity don’t have to be advertised so openly to attract mates, and the smaller rack makes it easier for them to move through the forest and is a better weapon against wolves.

When I got home, I decided to live a little more like my wilderness friend. I took a look around my office and began taking down the diplomas and achievement plaques. A couple of ancient dusty trophies went next, along with my collection of autographed pictures. It might be my imagination, but the people who come over to see me seem more at ease, and so do I. It’s much easier to move around without all that history clinging to me. And after all, Joy and I have been married for more than thirty years, so why do I need to advertise?

Lord, thank You for the days and years and strength You have given me. Let me grow more comfortable with the person You’re molding me to be.