Bridge Called Hope (27 page)

I had kept Lynai, Sarah’s mother, current on all the recent possibilities. Only days later she shared with me through an
e-mail a very poignant conversation that she had just had with her little girl:

“Kim, since you told me about Gideon, I have been talking to God about Sarah’s heart and her acceptance of him. This morning Sarah cuddled up beside me and asked if I thought she could ever love a horse again. ‘Absolutely! We don’t just love one person, we love many people, each held in a special place in our hearts.’ Sarah thought about that for a moment before she quietly said, ‘Momma, I think that I’m ready to love a horse again … but not just any horse … I need a horse with spots … like Shonee … that way her memory will always be with me. Are there any other horses like her? Do you think that Kim will ever find another like my Shonee?”

As it is within the heart of a father … truly, the very foundations of heaven must quake with adoration … when little girls pray.

A week and a half later … a space became available … Gideon was on his way.

It was only days before Christmas, and the Pacific Northwest was buried beneath a heavy snowfall. For several weeks the temperature barely reached into the low teens. No one anticipated that on the day Gideon was scheduled to arrive, the area would be overwhelmed by a “Pineapple Express”—unusually warm, tropical winds would be suddenly diverted into the region on a radically shifted jet stream. The ensuing meltdown, combined with freezing rain, caused some of the worst travel conditions in recent history. The roads were so treacherous that travel of any kind, even a short distance, was unwise. In such perilous conditions, to try and imagine traveling several hundred miles while pulling a horse trailer was out of the question. Gideon would have to wait for another day, perhaps even another season.

The following morning dawned with even warmer temperatures. Instead of bundling up for five-degree weather, I was shedding layers for forty-five degrees and climbing! In the few hours it took me to drive to town, work out with a friend, and drive home, the roads were not only breaking up nicely, they were becoming downright drivable.

While rounding the last bend in the road before the ranch, I noticed a truck and trailer pull into the driveway just ahead of me.
You’ve got to be kidding!
I thought, as my mouth fell open. Yesterday I could barely
walk
on the ranch, never mind driving a few hundred miles to reach it. I was completely incredulous as I realized that little Gideon had arrived.

After excited introductions and a hasty call to Lynai, a wonderful chain reaction was now unfolding. Gideon was here, he was kind and far more beautiful than any photograph could have ever captured … and little Sarah was on her way.

My new friends who brought Gideon to us assured me that nearly their entire trip down was on dry pavement. The weather on the west side of the Cascade Divide had been much warmer for much longer. Apparently, only the last thirty miles were a bit tenuous. I was greatly relieved to hear that they did not imperil themselves or their precious gift. Not wishing to drive over the pass during the evening freeze, my friends wisely chose to head back over the mountains while the sun was at its highest. After many hugs and a few tears, they waved good-bye and left nearly as quickly as they came.

I had not yet turned around to walk up the driveway when Lynai and Sarah arrived. “Hey, little cowgirl!” I hailed to Sarah as she rounded the back of their car and hugged me tightly. “I am so glad that you are here. This little horse really needs you,” I continued. Sarah’s mouth was smiling, but her eyes
were questioning. We both looked at Lynai. “She doesn’t know
anything
,” she said with a broad grin.

“Hmmm …” I bent down until I was resting my hands on the top of my knees, nearly eye to eye with my small friend. In my mind, it was vitally important that she understand why I had invited her to come to the ranch. “Sarah, do you remember when we sat on the fence together and I shared with you how incredibly special your love is? How much it changes those you share it with?”

Immediately she recognized by my posture that this was a significant moment. Her uniquely magnified eyes were as large as quarters as she blinked up at me. Her mouth parted open, but instead of using words, she nodded somberly.

I continued. “A horse has just come to the ranch. He is a very extraordinary, small gelding who has traveled from far away to this new home. Sometimes that is scary. Being afraid is not what we wish for anyone on the ranch … that’s why you are here … I need your special love to help this little horse know that there is no need for him to be afraid because he is not alone … he’s going to be okay … he’s going to be loved. Do you think you can help me with that?”

Once again, with the innocence of a child, she nodded her head and added a little “Uh-huh.”

That very attitude is one of the things I love most about kids.
“Hey, little kid, do you want to help save the world?” “Sure!”
Because they don’t doubt that they can … they just do!

Hand in hand, we walked up the long driveway that leads to the ranch common yard. Gideon was in paddock number one, which is directly behind the barn. She could not see him as we walked toward his paddock. It wasn’t until we walked all the way into his corral that she saw a white pony with a long
white mane and tail, standing in deep white snow. Truly, all that was missing was the shaft of light from heaven. There he stood, looking very much like a four-legged angel.

Sarah was struck silent.

I opened the gate for both Sarah and her mom to pass through. Arm in arm, mother and daughter walked on together. As they drew near to Gideon, Sarah turned her face into her mother’s side. Without a sound … she began to cry.

I walked ahead and began to rub the small horse’s neck. I looked back at Sarah. I could only imagine what was happening inside her heart. Finally, I simply nodded my head toward Gideon, indicating that I wanted her to come and join me.

She approached him very slowly, wordlessly, as if he was a dream.

I watched as only the tips of her fingers made hesitant contact with his white winter coat. Instead of vanishing, he turned slightly to look at her … and she looked back. I moved to the opposite side of Gideon so they could clearly see each other.

Sarah allowed her finger tips to spread slowly apart until the palm of her hand was resting flat against his back. Then she raised her other hand and repeated nearly the same process.
Completely lost in her own thoughts, she silently began to run her hands over his back, neck, and face. Mesmerized, her expression revealed that all creation had slipped away … there was left only a little blond girl … loving a little horse with spots.

After a moment, I returned with a halter. Together, we led Gideon through the rapidly melting snow toward the hitching post for his first grooming session at the ranch. His exceptionally heavy mane and tail, proof of his pony heritage, were tinged a vague reddish color, evidence of a life lived on clay. Sarah and I agreed that if it was a little warmer, we would have soapy buckets out in no time, restoring his glory to a shiny white. We both laughed at how the black hair that made up his spots, for some unknown reason, stood straight up. Therefore, his black spots were slightly raised above his white body, making him look like a giant domino … in reverse.

Lynai was well-prepared and brought a large bag of carrots. Any uncertainty Gideon might have had about being in a new home was quickly overwhelmed by his passion for snacks. In no time his mouth was so full that the excess carrot juice combined with his saliva to make a brilliant orange foam. There was so much froth that the surplus drooled out of his mouth and onto the snow beneath him.

I glanced at Sarah. She looked happy.

Gideon, still chewing away, held his head low, his eyes half-mast. He was happy too.

With the evening feeding complete and Gideon settled back in his temporary corral, I returned from putting a few feed pans away to find Sarah sitting on the rail fence about ten feet from our new pony’s head. Even though he was casually munching hay, they were positioned face to face. She was sitting very still … just watching him … only him. I quietly joined
her mother who was sitting on a separate section of fencing about thirty yards away.

Like a sentry waiting for dawn, Sarah watched in complete silence for more than twenty minutes … nearly a lifetime for a kid. In the stillness, I could only wonder … and trust … that her heart was being visited by resolution, restoration, and rekindling.

My mind drifted toward the truth that no horse can ever replace another. I began to wonder if this whole event was just a bit too overwhelming for Sarah. Was it too much, or too soon, to encourage her forward out of her grief? Perhaps what initially seemed like such a good idea really wasn’t; it was only my hope to ease her sadness.

My thoughts were cut short as Sarah began to move.

She slipped off the railing. As hushed and slow as the moon travels across the sky, she silently moved to his side. Standing with her back toward us, I could see she was resting her right hand on his withers while rubbing his neck with her left. Gradually her right elbow crossed over his back as she leaned against him. Slowly her small neck begin to flag as her head lowered until it rested on top of Gideon’s neck.

Afternoon shadows were getting longer. As the sun was sinking … a heart was rising.

Sarah’s hands were imitating the sun and moon—one was going down and the other was going up. One hand reached over Gideon’s neck while one hand reached under. Meeting somewhere on the other side, they came together to complete the circle … a circle that looked very much like an embrace … the kind saved only for deep, dear friends.

Joining the retiring sun as a witness, I watched Sarah’s embrace linger for long moments.

When it seemed appropriate, I left my perch on the fence
and quietly filled the vacancy that she had just left. Now, only a few feet away from Sarah and her new friend, I smiled at her … and she smiled back.

“What do you think?” I asked as long shadows began to combine.

“He’s really nice,” she said through a small grin.

Apparently, only after Sarah felt that Gideon had been thoroughly loved, she joined me back on the fence. Being the snuggle-bug that she is, with practiced proficiency she nestled in under my arm.

Although I’m not sure why, I find that watching horses graze is one of the most peaceful things a weary soul can do at the end of the day. Perhaps this is because it embodies pure contentment … in the simplicity of life.

Looking down at Sarah, I wanted to validate what I thought she might be thinking. I asked, “Do you think that God answers prayers?”

She looked up at me with a bit of confusion over my random question before answering with a simple “Uh-huh.”

I continued, “Do you think that God has answered
your
prayers?”

A little light went on somewhere inside and twinkled out through her eyes as she responded with a big nod and an even bigger “Uh-huh!” True to her prayers … he was a horse with spots.

“Sarah …” she looked back into my face. “Even though he looks like your Shonee Girl … he will never be Shonee. He will be special in a
different
way … he will be Gideon. Your mom was right, we don’t just love one horse or one person. Our hearts have the capacity to hold
lots
of love … enough to love many people and many horses. When we lose someone we love, things will never be the same … they will be different. But different
doesn’t mean bad … it just means that our love has the opportunity to be poured out in another direction. Our love only goes where we choose it to … so we have to
choose
for our love to go forward … otherwise it gets stuck. And then special love isn’t special anymore.”

I didn’t ask Sarah for an answer or a commitment. It was a time to simply share truth with a child.

In the sweet and silent moments that followed, I couldn’t help but reflect on all the loss that I, too, have known; my parents, my grandparents, and my friends of both the two-legged and four-legged kind. It occurred to me that love really is a bridge that can cross
any
span of grief … no matter how wide … love builds the bridge … it is we … who must
choose
to cross.