Bridge Called Hope (9 page)

In moments, we were leading Promise into the round pen. I told her that we were first going to play a game of Hide and Seek. “You need to spend a bit of time rubbing his face, cheeks, and neck, and when I count to twenty, you have to ‘hide’ somewhere in the round pen, okay?”

Sometimes kids remind me of how literally they apply what adults might ask of them. For, at my request, Angelica turned around and gave Promise the nostril noogie of the century! This is a very sensitive area on all horses, and Angelica carried out what she thought I meant to the very fullest of her capability! She grabbed Promise by the nostrils and began rubbing as if she was trying to start a fire between her palms! I’ve never counted to twenty so fast in my whole life! God bless that little horse, he stood there for the entire count and didn’t move a foot. When Angelica stepped away from him to go hide, I was certain his muzzle would be either hairless, smoking, or bleeding! Promise
took it all like a man and was apparently none the worse for wear because of it.

Angelica skipped about ten steps away, curled up in a little ball, and cupped her hands over her eyes.

“No fair, peeking,” I said from behind the gate by the round pen wall. She sat so utterly still that it appeared she was nearly holding her breath.

Promise’s head lowered nearly to the ground as he looked in her direction. With several slow, deliberate steps, he closed the gap between them until his chapped nose touched her back. The instant she turned around and saw her new golden friend, she looked at me with an expression of pure, astonished wonder. “Did you
teach
him to do that?” she asked with an incredulous tone.

“No … I didn’t. He did that because he wanted to. I think he likes you.”

Caught in utter amazement, Angelica’s little mouth fell open as her gaze bounced between the horse and me. It was delightfully obvious that the wonder of this little horse choosing her friendship was taking a moment to find its way into her overwhelmed heart.

“Angelica … do you think he really meant it? Let’s find out for sure. Do it again,” I encouraged. I watched in absolute elation as over and over she “hid” from the little horse as he over and over sought her out for love. The building wonder and enthusiasm on her face was enough to fuel my jets for another ten years.

Finally, she asked if she could ride him.

With full understanding of his history, I acknowledged that she was a very small, very special girl. Leading him around at a walk, with her on his back, would certainly do them both some good.

With great care, I lifted Angelica up onto his back. After
a few simple instructions, we were off. I led Promise as she “steered.” We had just made one full lap of the round pen when Angelica began to gasp for breath. With one hand pressed to her chest, she looked at me and mouthed, “I’m done.”

I looked back to see that the faint “bluishness” around her lips was now taking over her whole face. Immediately I dropped the lead rope and scooped her off his back. As I carried her out of the round pen, I asked, “Angelica, what do you need?” Her response was a weak, “I need to lie down.”

I handed her off to Karen, who was nearly as white as Angelica, and quickly dragged a picnic table over into the shade. Together, Karen and I helped her lie down on the heavy wooden bench.

I sat with Angelica as she continued to gasp. In dismay, I watched as her whole body slowly turned white.

Karen rushed to her car and pounded out a “911” to Angelica’s mother on her cell phone. While Karen spoke to the girl’s mother in the distance, I wondered,
Lord, is this it? Is this precious little Angelica now going home?
Kneeling beside her in the grass, I threaded my fingers between hers and quietly held her hand.

Slowly, seemingly everything in the world silently returned to normal. Karen came back with news from Angelica’s mother that some days are better than others and occasionally, when her daughter is excited or tired, this happens.

As Angelica stabilized, I left Karen with her for a moment to retrieve some juice and snacks from our home. Angelica was still curled into a fetal position on the bench when I returned. She was beginning to brighten a bit, but remained lying on her side. After settling the snacks on the table above her head, I went into the round pen to rescue Promise, who was standing at the gate looking for his friend.

His presence had brightened her before … perhaps he could do it again. I led my little blond boy over onto the grass near Angelica and dropped his rope.

Although he was free to graze, wander, or do whatever young horses wish to do … he chose to stand fast. Instead of satisfying his own instinctive needs by grazing, his intentions were fixed only on Angelica. Repeating what he had just done in the round pen, he took slow and deliberate steps toward the recovering girl.

As if not to wake her, he stretched his golden neck to its full length and with the speed of a setting sun, slowly lowered his chin until it rested on her temple. Because he was above her, she did not see his approach and she did, indeed, startle.

“Oh! It’s you,” she said, when she realized who was touching her. Then, she completely relaxed beneath the contact of his muzzle.

Once again, I stood in complete amazement of the simple awareness of a young horse to a young girl. All horse owners know that all horses graze all the time. That’s what horses do … all but
this
horse. He seemed to understand, and chose instead to stand guard over a very sick child who needed him more than he needed to fill his belly with grass.

Before me stood a young recovering horse standing guard over a young recovering girl. It seemed as if our roles had now reversed. Now it was I who could only watch in pure, astonished wonder while thinking,
Did you
teach
him to do that?
No … he did it because he wanted to. He must really like her a lot!

It was now my turn to stand in near slack-jawed amazement as this glorious wonder found its way into my heart.

A
special call came in mid-November. It was Brenda, a dear friend. As a parent, I have told her that she ranks in my book as a superstar. Yet, in typical Bren fashion, she only rolls her eyes and makes some self-deprecating comment like, “If you only knew! Just ask my kids, they’ll tell you what a
star
I am!”

I not only love Bren because she loves her own kids, which one would easily expect … I also deeply admire her because she leads the way in loving those children who can be a challenge to love. Not only does she have three of her own children, she also has three adopted children and has been a temporary mother to many more foster children. I am constantly amazed at how easily she weaves the lives of hurting children in and around her own kids’ lives and encourages both to change each other for the better. Truly, she is one of the most heroic and selfless women I know.

As Brenda began speaking, I could immediately hear that her easy-going manner was strained. Her normal “roll with the punches” outlook sounded stretched and thin. Concern rose in my chest for my friend as she began our conversation with “I need to ask you for a favor …”

After a long and convoluted explanation, I clearly understood
why her voice sounded so “tight.” She had explained to me how her family had taken in a small, six-year-old boy, Jason, and his infant half sister. They were received into their home in September after their single mother was incarcerated.

The situation was further complicated by the fact that Jason’s mother, though having never been married, had children with several different men. Therefore, the tiny half sister was released two months later to her biological father. And even though this “father” named Andy truly loved Jason and was the only “dad” that he had ever known … Jason could not go home with him because he was not his biological father and he had no legal right to be involved in his life outside the presence of his mother. Sadly, Andy was just another man who had moved into—and out of—Jason’s life. Unfortunately, at that time, the whereabouts of Jason’s real father was unknown.

Brenda continued to explain how, on that cool September afternoon, a little boy and his tiny sister were brought to her home—complete strangers—and left. In a heart-demolishing moment, the only dad the boy knew came and picked up the baby sister … and drove away without him. In an instant, Brenda’s brand new six-year-old foster son had lost his mother, his “father,” and the only sister he had. All those he knew to be his family, in his eyes, were gone … forever.

As Brenda spoke, I realized that I knew this child. I had met him once before while bumping into the family in a local grocery store. What I remembered most about him were his eyes. Like many kids, he possessed beautiful blue eyes, but what set his apart were his eyelashes. In all my life, on either adult or child, I had never seen such magnificent eyelashes. They were so remarkably long that they brushed not only his cheeks … but his brows as well.

Brenda shared with me how he had mournfully cried, grieving his incredible loss for many nights, and woke up an equal number of mornings in a wet bed. Day by day this broken child began to come to terms with the truth that his life would never be the same.

Within the safety and love of Brenda and her family, Jason slowly began to emerge. His shy expression melted into a smile and gradually into boyish play. Bit by loving bit, the little boy started to rise in the morning with a subtly renewed confidence … and a dry bed.

Incredibly, within this highly fractured family, Jason’s maternal grandparents were located and began to show great involvement with their grandson. After he spent many fun-filled outings with them, his grandparents made it openly known to all that their intentions were to obtain legal guardianship of Jason. Being in their forties, they were still young and had decided that they could give him a loving, stable, and permanent home. Jason was overjoyed.

Brenda continued Jason’s tale of woe by observing how his new horizon of hope was crushed beyond recognition when the grandparents realized it was possible that their daughter, Jason’s mom, might eventually be released from jail and want to reclaim him—which would be a complicated, emotional bridge that they did not wish to cross. Almost as suddenly as they entered his life, Jason’s grandparents exited. To say that Jason was distraught might be the same as saying it smarts a little to be run over by a train. Brenda recounted how his sense of rejection and devastation reached a new and overwhelming low.

Because of the constant love that surrounded him, Jason fought like a drowning child, once again, struggling to reach the surface of his own life.

After many weeks, Brenda was contacted by Jason’s case worker. Miraculously, his biological father had now been found. Through a messy tangle of circumstances, Travis had become separated from his son and had been searching for him for many years. He had full understanding that his son would not remember him and that Jason had since been cared for by many men who had stepped into the role of “father.” Travis made it clear that he wished to re-enter his son’s life as gently as possible and hopefully become the family that Jason needed most.

The case worker had arranged a neutral meeting in ten days.

Brenda continued her sad saga by relating how both she and the case worker agreed that they would not put Jason’s heart through another trial of “high hopes” only to have them trampled again. If Jason were to safely meet his biological father, it would be best for his tender heart if his father’s identity was not revealed to him until they were sure that Jason felt comfortable and safe within Travis’s presence.

Initially, Brenda related that the case worker was going to set up the meeting within a bowling alley because it was a fun and open, kid-friendly place. But Bren, knowing the true depth of Jason’s loss and continued suffering, understood that this environment was too noisy and too public if Jason needed a safe retreat. She intuitively knew that Jason required a place to go where meeting a stranger wouldn’t be so strange. “Kim … can we set up the meeting at the ranch?” was her true reason for calling.

I was grateful that the appointed day for Jason to meet his real father fell on an afternoon when the ranch was closed. Coming over on her day off, Sandy, who was part of the ranch staff, volunteered to help me with this very tenuous encounter. She offered to bring out an extra horse so that Brenda’s older
kids could also ride in the arena, and this might make the day feel more “natural.”

Before Brenda and her family arrived, a strange car pulled into the ranch’s main yard. From it exited a very nervous young man and his mother. I introduced myself to Travis, Jason’s father, and to his grandmother, and tried to make them feel as comfortable as possible. I knew that they both lived in Idaho and neither had seen Jason in approximately five years. Together they had driven a great distance and must surely be exhausted … both physically and emotionally. In an effort to relieve their understandable anxiety, I invited them both to join me across the driveway to meet some of our baby horses. As we scratched the young horses, many silent prayers rose for the outcome of this extremely fragile day. It was very apparent that not only was a child’s heart in peril of being destroyed … but his father’s heart as well.