Volume 32

They say elephants never forget. But even if the mammoth beast in my close encounter never gives me a second thought, he’s branded into my memory for life.

At the end of a documentary shoot in northern Uganda last month, our crew went to Murchison Falls, the country’s largest game reserve with almost 4,000 square kilometres of rugged bush and lush grasslands. The mighty Nile River snakes through and, video camera in hand, I walked up the road from our lodge to find a panoramic view.

Figuring the wildlife we’d seen on the drive into the park would give our hotel a wide berth, I walked cautiously but confidently just up the dirt road and through some trees. The river shot eluded me and I’d seen no sign of wildlife so I started backtracking, head down and not paying attention to anything in particular.

Distracted, I was startled by a sudden noise directly in front of me. It sounded vaguely familiar but didn’t register until I looked up and froze instantly. Less than four car-lengths away were two full-grown elephants with long tusks, both of them staring at me, ears waving. Behind them was their baby. I would’ve walked right into them if the female hadn’t snuffled in her trunk, warning me not to come closer.

My heart pounding and adrenaline racing, I found myself in a stand-off. In slow motion, I lifted my camera and started shooting. As the bull started toward me, I stayed my ground briefly but, when he showed no signs of stopping, I slowwwly backed away. Keeping my eyes on him, I did a mental calculation of how fast I could make it to the nearest trees.

Once the elephant saw I was retreating, he stopped and eventually ambled to the side of the road. My path still blocked, I hung back until the two adults went into some nearby trees. I hugged the other side of the road and cautiously moved past them to a better vantage point, still keeping an eye on where I needed to run if necessary.

As I gingerly crept forward, the bull keeping an eye on me the whole time, two more babies came out of the bush. Aware that Mom and Dad would be highly protective, I could sense each of my nerve-endings as I took video from a stone’s throw away. When the five sauntered off, I went the opposite direction, reluctantly but relieved.

Relating my story to a horrified game warden, I learned a man was trampled to death just months earlier by a bull protecting his young. “There are no tame animals here!” he warned me emphatically. Elephants weigh six tonnes and move much faster than they seem able.”

In retrospect, good pictures are no substitute for good sense and my actions that day were stupid. But they illustrate precisely how we get into trouble with sin and self-centredness. For starters, we’re vulnerable the minute we wander from our spiritual base, letting curiosity, envy or problems at home lead us into dangerous situations where we should know instinctively temptation is likely. Sometimes when we do that, we start out cautiously but grow cocky and complacent, convincing ourselves we can handle anything. Pride, especially when mingled with distraction, often leads to destruction.

That’s especially true when our fascination with the sin we encounter lulls us into thinking we’re safe just because there are no immediate consequences; that we can walk away anytime. But for the grace of God, the elephant could’ve turned me into toe jam at any time and I was far too close to have much of a chance of escaping. No distance. No protection. No contest. And so it is with sin.

So the moral of the story is simple: stay out of dangerous areas. If you stumble onto sin, the best way to beat it, is to beat it! “Above all else, guard your heart for it affects everything you do!” says Proverbs 4:23. “Look straight ahead... and stay safe. Don’t get side-tracked.” Otherwise, it may be more than your pride that gets trampled.

By Rick Gamble. Published in Cross Current, the weekly newsletter of the followers of Christ congregation in Brantford, Ontario, Canada. Reprint at will in not-for-profit publications. To subscribe to this free weekly article,