All day we crept inch by inch up the wall of the South Rim trail of Grand Canyon. The trail was narrow, in places scarcely more than a shelf dropping off hundreds of feet into nothingness. At places it tunneled through solid rock. It disappeared around sharp corners only to reappear immediately below itself. And ever and ever it was dusty--a deep, thick, suffocating dust stirred up by hikers like ourselves, and by the sharp-hoofed mules that carried loads of provisions and uneasy sight-seers down into Grand Canyon and back.

As much as we hikers despised the dust they stirred up, we couldn't help admiring the sure-footed, even-tempered animals that carried on their backs men and women who were totally unused to such travel up and down the steep mountains.

They have done this, we were told, for years with never a fatality and seldom an accident, and this in spite of the fact that many of their riders are rank amateurs, many of them physically soft and overweight.

Traditionally mules are balky, impatient, and cranky, more apt to kick than stand still when things go wrong. And yet here they carry the greenest of greenhorns on their backs over trails that are extremely dangerous, never balking, never kicking, even standing stock still when an unwary tenderfoot falls off under their feet. How can they do it?

It is all in their training, we were told. They are given to understand that patience and good humor will profit them more than temper and tantrums. One phase of it consists of a rubber tire tied just near enough to allow the mule to kick it. What happens? Why the tire bothers the temperamental creature, so he kicks, of course. But the tire comes back with a bang that soon teaches the animal that kicking doesn't pay. He kicks and the tire kicks back even harder. Other training follows and soon the mule has developed a patience and good humor that aren't normal to him. He will remain unbothered by flopping coats, shrieking children, or uneasy riders. He has learned that ill-tempered kicking is unprofitable, but plain, patient quietness is a virtue that is prized in mules--as well as in people.

There are times when all of us find our tempers tried to the utmost. But there are some people who are like the untrained mule--give them the slightest excuse and they will give you a display of temper that make the mule green with envy. They erupt like a volcano, spewing unkind words in all directions.

Our text is from the story of Jonah. Now Jonah undoubtedly felt that he had excuse enough to be angry. He had finally gone to Nineveh. He hadn't wanted to go and had tried to run away from his duty. But he had given up and had obeyed the Lord, although still unwillingly. He had delivered the message given him and then had stood aside to watch the wrath of God being vented on the city. Instead, the people repented and there were no fireworks at all. To say the least, he was displeased and he promptly told the Lord so in no uncertain words. God mildly replied, "Doest thou well to be angry?"

An excellent question. If, when we feel the swift, hot flash of anger start to roll, we would stop to ask ourselves this question, much of our anger would be stopped in its tracks. Is there anything to be gained by being angry? Your blood pressure goes up, your face gets red, you say things you wish later you had left unsaid. But exactly what did you gain? Nothing. All that happens in such situations is that your anger backfires. You are the one who is hurt, like the mule that kicks the tire.

The mule soon learns that temper display gets him nowhere. How about us? "Doest thou well to be angry?" Perhaps we can learn something from the mule.

"Be thou an help to him from his enemies."
Deuteronomy 33:7.