Bridge Called Hope (18 page)

There beneath the cool, midday sunshine of spring, within the midst of those young men, the Lord turned my attention toward
another
soul on the ranch who had known an entire lifetime of rejection.

“Boys, I need your help today,” I began, as I started to verbally prepare them for what they were about to see. “We have a new horse on the ranch. She is the most severe rescue case we have ever seen.” I continued to explain to them what she had been, what she was now, and … by God’s grace … what she would become.

“She is just like you and me,” I stated. “On the outside, she’s a bit rough to look at, but her extraordinary inside is showing through more and more each day. Because she has
accepted herself how she is
 … she’s getting stronger and more beautiful by the minute.”

I told the boys that I needed their help to continue her socialization process. “When you enter her paddock, remember that she is still recovering and is extremely shy. I would be so grateful if you would just stand very quietly and, if she chooses, allow her to come to you.”

With their instructions firmly in place, the boys sauntered back toward her corral behind the arena. I held the gate open for them as they quietly stepped past me. Together, there were seven of us all standing in a vague semicircle. The group seemed a bit unimpressed as they stood as one waiting to help something they hadn’t yet seen. They did not realize that she was resting in the shade of her wind shelter just beyond their view.

Moments seemed to silently blow by like lazy dandelion
spores. Amongst the young men, I could see the tiny yet unmistakable indications of their impatience beginning to rise. Mild irritation snuck out like escaping steam through the cracks of a big sigh, shifting weight, arms across chest, hands shoved in pockets, and nearly uncontrollable twitching. I smiled to myself as I recognized that for the young, simply “waiting”
can
be torture. Perhaps it isn’t until we are older that we begin to fully realize how incredibly precious each moment of our life is. So much of the fullness of our lives comes from what we choose to see between the lines.

I looked over to see my true embodiment of “between the lines” peek around the wall of the wind shelter to see who had come to visit her. With the timid eyes of a doe, she pondered the boys for several moments. Then, like a nearly invisible mist moving over a river, barely seen and never heard, she silently ventured out of her security toward the boys.

All signs of irritation and impatience shattered like thin ice beneath the weight of her shocking presence. A long, low “Whoooooooooaaaaaa” slipped through the lips of one onlooker as he tried to comprehend the tortured creature that was approaching him.

In complete submission tinged with a hint of curiosity, she drifted toward our half sphere with her head lowered slightly and her eyes up. Like a shy lily reaching for the sun, she stretched her nose toward the boy closest to her.

After considering him for a moment, she reached out to another boy on the opposite side of our semicircle. As if collectively holding their breath, the boys stood in complete silence, instinctively holding very still. Their frozen posture indicated how sweetly evident it was that none of the boys wished to frighten this timid soul.

She carefully inspected every visitor in the group. After what appeared to be private contemplation, Phoebe gave the impression that she arrived at a definitive decision and then did something completely unexpected … she looked straight at Matt, stepped forward, and pressed her forehead flat against his chest!

I fully acknowledge that the mysteries of equine communication still baffle me at times. Of all those in the group, including myself … she chose Matt … the one most like her … the one that longed most for acceptance.

It was obvious that Matt didn’t know what to do. Searching for what should be his reaction, his eyes shot between hers and mine. Finally, without a word, in an attempt to “pet” her, he raised his right hand and just sort of popped her on the top of the head a few times. Instantly, Phoebe threw her head out of harm’s way and looked at him with very startled eyes!

One of the boys to my left tried to stifle a smirk. “Gently, Matt,” I said. “Gently … quietly put your hand on her and just keep it there. Make small circles on her coat … she really loves that.”

As Matt began to smooth his hands over the little horse, I could see the expression on his face begin to change. For him, the rest of the world just fell away. Here was a young man experiencing, perhaps for the first time, what it really meant to look and live between the lines. With as little disturbance as possible, I silently moved the rest of the boys out of the paddock.

She chose
him
. Out of everyone, he was the one that she sought out.

The tattered, rejected, love-starved horse choosing the tattered, rejected, love-starved boy. At this point, little else on the face of this earth honestly mattered. Love … had risen out of the dross, and like a stream through the desert, it trailed in its magnificent wake … life.

After the rest of the group moved to another area of the ranch, I retrieved a few brushes for Matt to use. Together, we groomed Phoebe for quite a while. Light conversation flowed easily between us. He, like the other boys, was engaging and polite as our dialogue meandered from one topic to another.

I glanced at him from time to time and noticed that his eyes never rose to meet mine. Instead, they stayed lowered, seemingly intent on not losing contact with this little horse. His manner revealed that perhaps he believed she was a phantom; just maybe, if he looked away … she would disappear. Not wishing for this moment to pass, his gaze remained locked like a laser on the fuzzy, bay target. With as few words as possible, I returned my brush to the white bucket at his feet and quietly backed up toward the gate. As if retreating from the room of a dozing infant, I didn’t wish to disturb this extraordinary moment.

Because the boys had done such a wonderful job volunteering, I showed my clear appreciation by using a “secret” key to open the ranch soda machine, and let each of them help themselves to whatever flavor sounded best to them. While walking out of the main barn, I tied the arms of my fleece jacket firmly around my waist, evidence of the increasingly beautiful day.

It was nearly time for the boys to leave and head back to the facility. All had returned from their individual experiences on the ranch … except Matt. Upon minimal exploration, he was found in exactly the same place he had been left hours before … inside Phoebe’s paddock with a brush in his hand, gently grooming her transitioning coat.

It took a great deal of persuasion … and nearly a crow bar to convince Matt to leave the small horse’s side. With great hesitation, he joined me as I held the gate open, offering him to walk through it with me. He was not disrespectful in any way, but
his body language clearly spoke: To leave this horse is
not
what he wished for.

Several days after Matt’s unique visit, his counselor called me. “I have something that I need to share with you concerning Matt,” she began. I could hear that her voice was strained, and immediately felt rising concern gather within my chest. “After his visit out to the ranch, Matt started to behave in a very uncharacteristic manner. I could easily see that his typical laid-back style had suddenly collided into a dam that was invisible to everyone but him. Everything about his demeanor shouted with a silent voice that he was suffering from some great, internal conflict.”

She continued by recounting many failed attempts to encourage him to open the obviously pressurized flood gates of his soul. With stealthy evasion, he countered back with little more than an indication that she was right.

“He kept stalling by saying things like, ‘I need to talk to you … but not now.’ Or, ‘I still want to talk to you … but not yet.’ It wasn’t until several days later, when we were finally able to sit down, that I realized he had been waiting for a quiet, semi-private time to talk.”

A long pause passed between us in near silence. The only sounds I could hear over the phone were her failing attempts to win the battle for her crumbling composure. Finally, after a great sigh, she plunged forward.

“Kim, I watched as Matt slumped down in the chair before me. He grabbed the front of his shirt with his hand and began to stammer in a near whisper, ‘My heart … my heart … something is happening to my heart!’ ”

I heard her voice completely break as she emotionally recalled, “His eyes filled with tears as he continued to clutch
the part of his shirt in front of his heart. Finally, he looked up at me, and in a voice that I could barely hear, he said, ‘I never knew that I could be
loved
 … I never knew that there was anyone on this earth who would believe in
me
 … If the people and the horses at that ranch on the hill can love me … and believe in me … maybe it’s time … for me to start
believing in myself.
’ ”

Tears of redemption began to fall.

In a single, quiet moment, the direction of Matt’s life changed.

Love is like that. It soars above the boundaries we absently confine it to. It breaks through what we mistake as unbreakable. It redeems captives once thought unredeemable as it roars over their crumbling dams of uncertainty. No matter what we might observe on the surface, like an arrow that cannot be pulled out, love’s truth pierces the heart with undeniable permanence.

Before God … it never returns void.

It costs the giver nothing … it gives the receiver everything! It is the most valuable treasure, worth far more than all the combined wealth the world has ever known … yet, it is free to give.

Whatever shape or presence it inhabits, love matters … perhaps more than we know. Pure love, refined of all the dross the world associates with it … truly changes our very foundations.

F
eatured in the book
Hope Rising
is a truly distressing account of how despondent and grief-stricken this author has recently become. Because of being surrounded by a multitude of speedier paws, she never actually gets to eat any of the “Vitamin M’s” (i.e., M&M’s) that are so graciously donated to the ranch for her consumption. I know! I know! Just the thought of it makes my eyes well up too!

Apparently there were many more readers than I realized who know the incredible health benefits of “Vitamin M” and how vitally important it is to
not
fall into deficiency. Everyone knows that the documented and sometimes dangerous symptoms of “Vitamin M” deficiency include: violent mood swings, tantrums, depression, uncontrollable crying, and weight loss! These benevolent folks were obviously plagued … outraged, appalled, even sleepless … with the cruelty and unfairness of my continuing plight.

The incredible depth of their sympathy—and truly how
much
they could “feel my pain”—has recently been made known. Because of their mountainous generosity and humanitarian work, many of these blessed, benevolent souls have sought to ease my suffering. Whether it be through the mail, via
carrier, or face to face, their relief efforts to stave off a “Vitamin M” deficiency here at the ranch have continued to pour in.

Morale on the ranch was at an all-time high when this author, after taking a weekend away from the ranch to mentally recover from her own personal deficiency, walked into the tack room only to stagger backward at the
colossal splendor
that was suspended within.

There … hanging on several bridle racks, dressed in all of their white-plastic-bagged magnificence … hung the objects of my affection. A true “Earth Angel” had graced my tack room with five grocery bags
full
of “Vitamin M.” When all was counted, there, floating before me like a mirage … clothed in heavenly white … illuminated with shafted light from above … were
thirty-eight pounds
of “Vitamin M”! Be still my heart! And yes, I heard the angels singing too!

My season of drought was over! Rejoicing could be heard throughout the land! Never again would I suffer the torturous, unhealthy experience of going without my beloved “Vitamin M”! Thirty-eight pounds of chocolate bliss would become the very foundation to sustain a virtual oasis within my desert of lack.