Bridge Called Hope (21 page)

My nurturing staff—who I love so much—completely agreed. “Girl, you just need to go and do something mindless for a while, okay?” Their generosity, in the face of their own great fatigue, humbled me to the ground. I was fully aware that what they were actually saying in effect was “We’ll shoulder your load along with ours so you can rest a bit.”

With my pockets full of staples, a roll of chicken wire under each arm, and a hammer in my hand … I set out with Rebecca to
go and wrap trees. We were getting ready to move our young horses into their winter paddock, which had many large juniper trees that needed added protection from their mischievous little teeth.

Rebecca had also been banished with me to “mindless land” because she was sadly losing her race of trying to outrun the flu. Even though it had also been an extraordinary season for the ranch staff, each individual was struggling with their own sense of exhaustion to finish it as well as they could.

The time spent with Rebecca beneath the juniper trees was a welcome reprieve for both of our weary hearts. She is such a remarkable young woman that even in sickness, no difficult day could rival her intrinsic joy. Our conversation mimicked the random, drifting pattern of the clouds that moved over the mountains behind us. I welcomed the peaceful, rare moment of quiet to learn more about her volunteer efforts to help a struggling youth group in the community just north of the ranch.

Her recounting of the details was serenaded by the intermittent squeals and laughter from two high-school-age girls nearby. I could clearly see that Melissa and Sarah, each volunteering, seemed to be more effective at wrapping each other with wire instead of the trees. Even though it was already a warm day, their combined hilarity made it even more so.

In my sadly deteriorated state, I was only vaguely aware that Troy was giving one of his very first “official” tours of the ranch. Normally I would have accompanied him, but on this day, I would have been far more of a detriment than a help. I felt so thin, so stretched … not unlike a rubber band reaching around far too many things. I knew that my long-term, well-intended efforts to support more, on this day, created just the opposite. My positive objective to do more had actually driven
me to do much less. My life, instead of flowing like a great river, had been reduced to an insignificant gurgle.

Lord, I know that Your strength never runs out. Instead of operating in Your strength … have I been unknowingly operating in mine? Your truth is unchanging … while my emotion is
 …

My thoughts trailed off as I noticed an unfamiliar woman carefully make her way through the corral toward me. She was clutching a book that I was guessing she wished for me to sign. Slowly I extricated myself from the roll of wire around my hands and backed down the teetery ladder on which I stood.

As she approached, I noticed that she was older and very small. Her movements were well chosen and purposeful. Simply walking through the paddock toward me did not seem to be an easy task for her. I excused myself from the girls and took several steps in her direction.

She greeted me with great apology for her “interruption” of my day, and indeed asked if I would mind signing her well-worn book. While she searched her pockets for a pen, I engaged her by asking many questions about her home and her time spent here on the ranch. She began to gush about Troy and how special this place was, as she finally located her stray pen and handed it to me. As I began to write, she shared how she had actually tried to come to the ranch earlier in the summer but was too ill to make the trip … “You see, I have terminal cancer …”

My pen stopped.

“But today is a really good day, actually a wonderful day,” she said, as she continued to explain how she should have passed away long ago.

Still kneeling down with her open book balanced on my thigh, truth thundered into my heart like a herd of galloping drafts.

Here I had been so focused on my own “problem,” my own exhaustion … which few have ever perished from … that I nearly missed the bigger picture. Suddenly, when cast against such blackness, how clear the truth of God became. While I was muddling around in
my own
personal fog, seeking only to fulfill
my own
immediate needs, God, in His wisdom, sent a very powerful message to shatter
my own
private misconception …

As I stood up, I looked directly at this pocket-sized woman. There, beaming from beneath her cute straw hat was an expression so radiant that it was only then that I noticed that she was indeed … bald. Although she was facing one of the greatest challenges known in this life, she was bright. In truth, she was brighter than bright. She was literally shining with hope. Instead of succumbing to her pain, she bloomed within it. She was a
dying
woman giving hope … and perspective … to a
tired
woman.

While the impact of her presence continued to cascade into my soul, I asked her if she would be kind enough to allow me the honor of praying for her.

Her quiet account of her illness suddenly stopped as she looked at me with remarkably clear blue eyes. She exhibited the same stunned silence as someone who has just won something of great value. In her unabashed delight, she was quicker than I was. While I was still reaching for her hands, she dodged my offer and ducked beneath them, choosing instead to snuggle in under my arm. Like a child cuddling into the comfort of her mother, she pressed herself below my arm and rested her head against my chest. Now, it was
I
who truly felt like the one who had just won something of great value … for, most certainly, I truly had.

In that moment of simple, unequalled honor, I could feel the snowflakes of blessing begin to fall. While buried beneath their resilient drift, I became the most blessed woman on earth.

There, praying under the junipers, with the embodiment of hope nestled under my arm, I realized what the greater picture is, and just how very close I had come to missing it completely.

I was nearly lost in my dull and selfish state when I realized how sometimes we can become so focused on our own needs that we step right over the very people God has sent to rebuild us.

Neither places, times, or things restore people as much as
people
restore people.

We need each other. Not only when we’re exhausted … but
especially
when we’re exhausted. When we become stressed and drained, instead of running away … perhaps we should think about running
toward
. Something remarkable happens to our hearts when we serve one another. There is little else in this world that changes us more. Just ask any volunteer and watch their eyes; the immediate sparkle will shout this truth.

When overwhelming times come in ways that look and feel like our imminent destruction, turning inward rarely heals us as much as … turning outward. It’s only when we have given to the point of exhaustion that we truly can understand and experience the remarkable wonder that it is to receive.

In reality, suffering and blessing balance on the same high wire, each giving stability and depth to the other. The one that we feel the most … is ultimately the one that we give the most.

How we feel eventually returns to where our focus is … truly, it’s just a matter of perspective.

K
athy is part of our much loved staff at the ranch. She is truly a rare jewel of a woman whose friendship is so genuine that just being around her always leaves my life more rich and full. No matter how much time goes by or how great the physical distance is between us, her loving companionship in my heart remains unchanged.

As often as we are able to do so throughout the season, Troy and I try to schedule a few well-deserved “rest trips” for our staff. It was during one such trip to the Oregon Coast that Kathy and I decided to go jogging on the beach. Side by side, with near unison strides, we led our shadows down a particularly beautiful stretch of sugary sand. Overhead, the sky imitated the waves below by tossing gleaming white clouds among a brilliant blue current. Easy conversation accompanied the soft rhythm of our feet drumming over the beach.

Kathy is highly skilled in many areas, including her incredible capacity to run. Typically she is a gazelle in running shoes and has expertly paced me through many marathons. But on this particular day, I sensed something was distracting her, something heavy … very heavy. Finally, I asked her plainly, “Kath, what’s wrong?”

We jogged on in silence for what seemed like a long
stretch. She was visibly struggling to find the strength for what she needed to say. I could literally feel her anguish making its way to the surface. I watched in sorrow as my precious friend lost her struggle for composure. In awkward silence I followed her weakening strides until she slowed to a walk. Her crumbling gaze fell only moments before she tightly closed her large green eyes. Like a child’s sand castle surrendering to a breaching wave, she collapsed into the powdery beach. “Oh, Kim,” she faltered as her soft voice broke … “Calvin died.”

My heart felt as if it had been pierced by an arrow of fire. She had loved that little black dog like a child. As the realization of her loss seared within, I sunk into the sand beside her and pulled her close. Her entire body convulsed in wave after wave of agonizing sorrow. There on the beach, we held each other through her private storm. Around us, as they have for all time, the waves of the sea continued their ancient rhythm. The wind was still blowing the sand into intricate patterns. Traveling on an unseen path, the clouds coursed over head, until they were silently swept out of our sight. The cycle of life continued on, but for two figures bent in grief on a windswept beach, everything stopped.

Calvin had been Kathy’s first—and only—dog. Before I met her, she had survived an extremely tumultuous time in her life. It was during that difficult era that her only true and constant pillar had been the devotion of that little Labrador cross. His unwavering love had become the light in her darkness that drew her through one of the bleakest seasons she had ever known.

Slowly we made our way to a washed-up log and sat together as Kathy shared with me in broken sentences what had happened. Apparently, at the end of a family gathering, during
the bustling departure, Calvin had been crushed beneath a car. The raw images slowly fell from her pale lips. She stammered through a description of the dog’s screaming agony, their frantic trip to the vet … realizing she
had
to make the unthinkable decision … and then summoning the courage to say a final goodbye. The needle was inserted. While holding his mangled body, Kathy could think only of how much she loved and would miss this true and treasured companion. She kissed Calvin as his life slipped away … and then … he was gone.

Her canine soul mate was no more. With my chin resting on the top of her head, all I could do was hold my friend as her storm of grief raged.

Apart from our work at the ranch, Troy and I both have other jobs. Troy also works as a landscape contractor. He is half of an incredibly busy two-man team that works extraordinarily hard to fulfill the needs of the clients they serve. Shortly after our coast trip with the staff, he was hired to install an irrigation system for a new house being built in a very affluent housing development. All the homes were not only beautiful, but of gargantuan proportions as well. Most were boasting nearly every amenity that money could buy. Many of these spectacular houses were vacation homes that were left vacant for most of the year.