Kindred Spirits

     On Saturdays when we aren't deluged with to-do lists, I drop Asherel at the barn she rides at- His Barn. For several hours, she and a handful of other teens volunteer. They do so because they want to be near horses, and also because Miss Jill, the single owner of this remarkable riding program, needs their help and they love Jill. Asherel has ridden here for years, with a brief foray into English riding.Jill's philosophy is one that I can fully embrace. Horses are one of God's creation, and riding/horse care can be done in such a way that His glory and creation is honored and He is magnified.
     Jill has to train the crew of teens and sometimes must wonder if the effort exceeds the results. Yet, she understands that in our urban,materialistic, computer based society, few kids understand the connection with nature. The Industrial revolution brought many wonderful things, but many wonderful things were lost.
     I always find it a little mystifying that the girl who loves to lie on the couch playing computer games, and moans when I order her outside to walk the dogs, or do chores...will gleefully get up early on Saturday (for her) and eagerly wave goodbye as the barn world envelops her. The work is hard, and she is usually exhausted when I pick her up several hours later, but the first thing she says when she sees me is,"Do I have to go?"
     "Can't I stay a little longer? We are letting the horses out soon," she asked as I found her with the group resting in the barn office. All of their pants were soaked from the knees down, doubtless from cleaning the troughs, which I had heard was on the agenda.
     "Sure," I answered, and went to sit in the van to wait, since it was a little cold outside. As I sat there, I watched Asherel take the horses out for a drink, and then run over to the bleachers along the riding ring. She climbed up on one where a fat cat was sunning itself. She gathered the cat in her arms. She was backlit by the sun and her hair streamed in the wind like a golden halo. She looked happy.
     I flashed back 45 years to when I was a young girl, working on a farm down the street from us. I used to race home every day after school, put on my old smelly barn clothes, and vanish to be with the horses, the goats, cows, cats, and dogs til dinner time. It was one of the happiest times of my life. I found myself a little choked up watching this girl who loved animals as much as I, and knew at a gut level that God created them to His glory, and our delight. I don't think it is any accident that in Proverbs 12, the righteous are linked with loving animals, and contrasted with the cruelty of the wicked.

Proverbs 12: 10
¹⁰ The righteous care for the needs of their animals,
   but the kindest acts of the wicked are cruel.

God will be the saddle

I drew myself into a corner. I do that sometimes. I draw on my iPod usually with something that happened that day in mind, and then the next day, I blog about it. But yesterday I drew a horse. Just because I like horses. With our hectic schedule this summer, and now school year, we haven't been around horses as much as I like. But I doubt I will be seeing horses this weekend. Asherel goes with a friend to a Beatle Tribute band today, and then the rest of the long weekend we will be at a Dog Agility Trial.

I had horses on my mind, however. I have been editing my second book, which is a compilation of stories of my encounters with angels, and with God. The Bible tells us we are often entertaining angels unawares. I have had at least two occasions where I recognized them as angels...though not until they were gone. In some circles, I have now been marginalized into the nut case category. So be it. As long as I have gone that far, I may as well tell you that I think God has sent animals with a specific role to teach me something, or to deliver God's message. I am not sure that animals can be angels... but many animals have been messengers and guardians in my life.

Anyway, many of the stories in my soon to be released book involve animals, and one that I just finished editing involved a horse. He was a very special horse, and he taught me a great deal about the nature of selfless love. I won't tell the story here because then no one will buy the book.
As I have been editing however, a distinct pattern to my life is emerging. I almost never tackled something I was qualified to do. That pattern persists to this day. Most of my cherished moments in life involve tackling something I have no skill, inclination, training, or gifting to accomplish.

I am working my way through the book of Exodus, and have been struck (again) by the lack of training of most of the great leaders for God. Right now, in my reading, Moses has just begged God to relieve him of the duty of speaking to Pharaoh to try to convince him to "let my people go." Moses is a stutterer, and in his eyes, and probably most people's eyes, the last person God should use as His spokesman. But God won't let him off the hook. In the end, Moses becomes an eloquent defender of his people, before God, delivering one of the most beautiful speeches of selfless leadership ever spoken, when his perpetually sinful people trample God's commands, and God threatens to wipe them out. Moses concludes his speech with this sacrificial plea: "But now, please forgive their sin—but if not, then blot me out of the book you have written."

Ultimately, what God has called us to do, He will empower us to accomplish. And when we are stumbling, He sends angels...and sometimes horses, along the way to carry us. And we don't necessarily need to know how to ride. He holds us in place. God will be the saddle.

Exodus 4:10-12
 ¹⁰ Moses said to the LORD, “Pardon your servant, Lord. I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue.”
 ¹¹ The LORD said to him, “Who gave human beings their mouths? Who makes them deaf or mute? Who gives them sight or makes them blind? Is it not I, the LORD? ¹² Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say.”

Exodus 32

¹¹ But Moses sought the favor of the LORD his God. “LORD,” he said, “why should your anger burn against your people, whom you brought out of Egypt with great power and a mighty hand? ¹² Why should the Egyptians say, ‘It was with evil intent that he brought them out, to kill them in the mountains and to wipe them off the face of the earth’? Turn from your fierce anger; relent and do not bring disaster on your people. ¹³ Remember your servants Abraham, Isaac and Israel, to whom you swore by your own self: ‘I will make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and I will give your descendants all this land I promised them, and it will be their inheritance forever.’” ¹⁴ Then the LORD relented and did not bring on his people the disaster he had threatened.³¹ So Moses went back to the LORD and said, “Oh, what a great sin these people have committed! They have made themselves gods of gold. ³² But now, please forgive their sin—but if not, then blot me out of the book you have written.”

The Medical Slave Trade

I was covered with dust and dead spiders. My chore at the farm had been to organize the tack room/office. Jill the wonderful owner of His Barn had just returned with her trail riders and was now letting the ponies in from the field. She opened the gate and all the ponies quietly filed en masse into the barn and then split like billiard balls into their correct stall. It always amazes me to watch them do this as though choreographed. One pony sauntered in wearing a muzzle. it was a big plastic contraption around his nose, just like what you see vicious dogs wear to prevent biting.

What could this pony have done to deserve this muzzle? He seemed like such a nice pony. Had he been attacking the other ponies, fighting over his acre of grass? Or worse, had he bitten Jill, the hand that fed him?

"What's with the muzzle?" I asked.
"Oh that's because he's fat," she said, "It keeps him from overeating in the field."
Well of course I had images of the new billion dollar industry I could form curing obesity by developing a similar contraption for people. Asherel could decorate it with patterned duct tape.
"It has a little hole at the bottom so he can eat a little grass, but he can't gorge," she continued explaining.

Perfect, I thought. it would be like an enforced Weight Watchers plan. The size of the hole could be expanded as people began to lose weight and get a better idea of portion control. I could have graduated muzzlers based on the number of pounds one wanted to lose, and how quickly one wanted to shed them. I could call it the "Weight Grate". The marketing slogans were endless- "Put your muzzle where your mouth is", or "Take the bite out of fat", or "Use it and lose it!" 

I'd had a brief scare while cleaning the barn office. One of Jill's volunteers came in, and I noticed he had a health care logo on his shirt. He worked in the medical field.
"Hi," he said, "I guess Jill isn't here?"
"No, she is on a trail ride right now."
"Ah, I'm here to say goodbye to take a last ride with my patients."
I glanced at the medical logo. I thought it said he worked in I.T. (Computers), but maybe he took a personal interest in the facilities' patients as well.
"Oh, that's nice," I said.
"Yeh....being sold so I wanted to have one last ride."
Sold? He was selling patients? I wondered if the authorities knew about this! I glanced at the phone. I was cornered in the office. This slave trader could be eyeing me as well.
Keep him talking....that is what the murder mystery writers all say you should do with the villain. Stall for time, and develop a rapport. They were less likely to kill you if you kept babbling.
"Why are you selling them?" I asked, my voice squeaking just a little.
"Down-sizing," he said.
Oh it was worse than I thought. he was selling the weak and infirm to reduce the load on his facilities 'cash flow! Despicable! Scum!
"Yeh, I've been riding Patience for years."
"Wait....is Patience a horse?"
He looked at me like I was the slave trader, and a dumb one at that.
"Yes, the one in that stall over there."
Oh praise God. I was saved from a fate worse than death.

But I thought of a second entrepreneurial venture with the horse muzzle. People like me, so quick to speak and make fools of themselves could benefit greatly from something that hampered quick and easy speech, snapped on over that flapping tongue. I remember a friend once telling me, "Vicky, if I didn't know you were smart, I would think you were really not."

I wondered why God put me on Earth. Could it be just for comic relief to a serious world? I know you may think I am making the patients/patience story up, but it really happened. That is honestly the split second thought that coursed through my brain. I also thought of my poor sister, doped up on pain killers with pancreatitis, hoping that today she will be allowed her first sip of water in two days. 'Patients' and 'Patience' are actually a lot more interlinked than you would think on first blush.

Ecclesiastes 7:8

 ⁸ The end of a matter is better than its beginning,
   and patience is better than pride.

What is the wrench for?

I knew that as soon as she rode away I would forget the list of instructions if I didn't write them down. As the three horses traipsed happily off to the shady forest with my daughter bouncing merrily to her lesson, I looked at the wrench in my hand.
"I hope you were listening, Marie, because I don't remember why we have this wrench, do you?"
Marie was my accomplice in helping out at the farm while our daughters had their riding lesson.
"I wasn't really listening," said Maire.
"Well maybe when we head over there, we will figure it out."

Our job was to drain and clean the algae covered watering troughs. At least, that was the job as I remembered it. But then that wrench in my hand seemed to indicate there was something else we were supposed to do, but for the life of me, I could not remember how it involved the wrench. There was no water supply for the one trough, if I recalled Jill's instructions correctly, which as we have already established, I did not. We were given two buckets, scrub brushes, a large bottle of bleach, and 2 pairs of plastic gloves....and the wrench.

We had to empty the grungy green water first, so we used the buckets and bucket by bucket tossed out the water.
"I do remember we were to leave a little water in the bottom, pour bleach in around the rim so it dribbles down and cleans the sides, and then scrub."
So I began to pour the bleach down the sides. I wasted half a bottle of bleach missing the sides. I was already having a bad day having tried to play Eidelweiss from memory on my guitar. I have been practicing it for 2 months now. I can't even consistently remember the first 6 notes, and struggle to pluck the right string without looking at it. I had been reduced to tears of frustration, and Asherel, who is teaching me, told me that for now it was ok if I didn't do any other music at all except Eidelweiss.
"That would be a good idea," I sniffled.
And now, I was wasting Jill's bleach because I couldn't pour steadily on the trough rim. And there was still that wrench, menacingly gaping its open jaws at me from the lawn beside us.

Marie and I scrubbed the trough which was so full of noxious bleach fumes that I could feel my hair turning white (r) as I breathed in. We cleaned it til every last bit of algae was gone. Then together, we hefted the huge trough over to drain the last bit of water.
"How do we refill it?"
"Or rinse it?"
The water pump was a good distance back at the barn.
"Well how about if we just get a couple of buckets full to rinse it, and then Jill might be back."
"Yes, and we will have to admit we don't know what the wrench is for.And that I wasted half her bleach."
We trudged back with our sloshing buckets, rinsed the trough, and then dumped it again by together tipping it and laboriously tossing water into it from that awkward angle. Satisfied we rolled it back, and that is when I noticed the drain...with a nut the perfect size for a wrench to open. Oh.

And I realized that most of my life, I ignore or forget that I have a wrench always available to help me through the hard parts, but I struggle to the point of despair on my own, not using the one useful tool I have been provided. As I settled into bed last night, I felt waves of sorrow wash over me, and panic about the upcoming State Science Olympiad, teaching calculus to my homeschooled girl when I never took calculus myself and this week could not figure out partial factors using induction, all the little details of the wedding trip and reservations still to be made, the dental appointment coming up, the 9th grade curriculum to be ordered.... I thought of how when Marie asked how I was, I said, "I am weary." No wonder, wrestling every night with all these rusted pipes of life with my bare hands.

After stewing for an hour, I grabbed my iPod from beside my bed and saw a new message. It was my daily Bible reading that pops up every morning. Must be after midnight, I thought. And there was a verse which as soon as I read it, my heart slowed, my panic retreated, and I fell asleep. The verse could have been, "Jesus is the light, the way, and the wrench...." but it wasn't.  It was a simple verse from Jeremiah, reminding me that I was not alone, and there was a source of relief for my weary soul....the wrench I too often forget.

 Jeremiah 31:25
I will satisfy the weary, and all who are faint I will replenish.

Cleaning from the Inside Out

Four grody, mud encrusted horse blankets hung over the fence. My job was to ungrody them. Jill gave me a hose and a horse brush.
"Just get them to the point that I won't be kicked out of the laundromat," she requested.

While Asherel has her riding lesson, peacefully rocking on the back of a warm, fuzzy animal with gentle brown eyes, meandering through a trail in the shadowy forest......I volunteer to do whatever disgusting jobs have accumulated. I love Jill and I love her vision for His Barn, a riding instruction farm that also gives benefits for Healing Horses Rescue, and looks at animals as gifts from God that we should cherish, nurture, and protect. So, I am happy to do what I can to help during that hour.

Horse blankets that covered horses all winter, that have been rolled in, sweated in, and rain spattered mudded on have a special scent all their own when dry. I cannot begin to describe the odor when wet. I thought I was getting off easy not being told to muck the stalls until the stream of water from the hose began to fully release the "eau de caballo" from within those blankets. And to scrub the blankets, I had to get my face right up to them so one hand could hold the flapping bottom taut while the other scrubbed.

"Well," I thought, "At least my arms are being toned for the sleeveless gown I will be wearing at Matt's wedding."
My sister Holly had warned me that old skin like mine is best seen covered. I can't wait til she is my age and I can repay all these loving comments she showers with regularity on her older sisters as though old skin is unique only to us. However, I do remember in my younger days watching older folks' flapping triceps jiggling like pancakes,  so I see her point.
"No pancake triceps for me," I muttered as grime and horse hair flowed away with the water. I had to keep switching hands to scrub because my jiggly triceps were actually getting pretty weary after just a few moments.

At first, I did just try to get off the chunks, but then something happened inside me. I was determined these blankets would look clean enough that perhaps the laundromat would not be necessary. My shirt and shorts and shoes were soaked with splotches of mud and horse detritus spattered all over me. My arms ached and I am pretty sure that passerbys were not calling Vogue to report a sighting of the next supermodel.  My old lady triceps jiggled and scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed. A horse fly bit me and left a huge welt, and still I scrubbed. Then I heard the voices of the returning riders. I turned off the hose, and stepped back to survey my handiwork.

"Wow," said Jill, "I was just hoping you would get off the chunks."
The four blankets, while not looking brand new, did look clean.
Asherel and her friend, Kathryn, who rides with her came over and the four of us gazed at the blankets, drying in the abnormally warm spring sun.
"Aren't they beautiful!" I exclaimed. The girls nodded, but didn't effuse the way one would expect over a minor miracle like this.

But I knew that this was a victory for me. I am a "just get the chunks off" kind of person. My sister Amy calls me a "surface cleaner".  My house is neat and organized....until you open a cabinet. We never do so unless we are swathed in full armor. Things leap out at us with astounding force. And I am sorry to say that this is probably a personality defect. It is hard to scrub beneath the surface. It is hard to look beyond what is obvious, and deal with what is hidden, til it is really clean.

I cringe every time I read Jesus' reprimand of the Pharisees.
"You clean the outside of the cup while the inside is filthy! You get off the chunks...but you leave the stains. After you clean the horse blankets, the laundromat consistently kicks you out."
He didn't mention the horse blankets, but the Bible is a living document that can fit any situation.
In actuality, Jesus was talking about souls. We look pretty on the outside....at least some of us do,( but no one over Holly's age according to her)......while our spirits are filled with corruption, deceit, and sin. Jesus doesn't mind us scrubbing off the chunks, but He advises we clean the inside parts thoroughly first. And He is willing to send His spirit along to help us. Since God is outside of time and space and age.... I suspect His triceps aren't jiggly.

Luke 11:38-40

³⁸ But the Pharisee was surprised when he noticed that Jesus did not first wash before the meal.
 ³⁹ Then the Lord said to him, “Now then, you Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside you are full of greed and wickedness. ⁴⁰ You foolish people! Did not the one who made the outside make the inside also?
⁴¹ But now as for what is inside you—be generous to the poor, and everything will be clean for you.

 

Being Watched

While Asherel had her horseback lesson, I offered to do some odd job to help out at the stable. The owner is a wonderful lady who dedicates her barn to God. It is called His Barn. I just love everything about it.

"Well, this back room really needs to be cleaned," said Jillian squinching up her nose, "... but it is a nasty job. It used to be stalls and all these boards need to be moved and the stuff underneath shoveled out. It is moldy and dusty. You probably don't want to do that.....?"

Of course I want to do that! Who in their right mind wouldn't want to do that!? I mean I just watched a video of the tsunami hitting Japan. I am just thankful to be alive and not own a house on the beach (for once!). I gathered tools and gloves and set to work. A lovely brown horse with a white blaze had his standing stall facing the room where I was working. He reached his muzzle out to me as I worked right in front of him.

Since my hands were gloved and gross already with dust and who knows what else, I touched my cheek to his muzzle. He breathed warm air on my face. There is almost nothing softer or sweeter than a horse's muzzle. If you want to ease all the aches of the world that lie on your heart, kiss a horse's muzzle. It goes a long way towards comfort. While I shoveled and scraped, and wondered if perhaps I really didn't want this job, the horse watched. Every few minutes, I would walk over to him and lean my face against his muzzle.
"What do you think?" I asked him, when I finished brooming the last of the debris away in the first section.
He looked at me with clear affirmation in his gentle eyes.
"Wow," said a young lady who volunteers there, "That looks great."
"Yeh.... If I would put this much effort into cleaning my house, imagine the results!"
"I know, or my bedroom..," she laughed.
We looked out over the clean stall, and wondered in silence why it is that we will sometimes ignore the obvious needs at home to do such wondrous works abroad.

The horse breathed in the now fresher air at his head. That's what I need in my kitchen- a horse watching. I would clean a lot more joyfully if I could just lay my cheek on a horse's accepting and appreciative muzzle now and then. Maybe I just need an audience. Someone clapping and cheering would be nice too. As mothers, and keepers of the home, we are usually more likely to hear notice when we have offered up something green on the dinner plate. It is rarely complimentary. Sometimes, what we do needs to be done with the clear conscience of doing what is good, what is right, just because it is good, and it is right. Sometimes, the most affirmation we will get is the soft air puffing out of a horse's muzzle. Often, we won't even get that.

A friend posted something on Facebook recently that stopped me short. She said that maybe being a selfish jerk was the way to go in this world. They seem to get all the rewards. Perhaps doing the responsible, and right thing just wasn't really worth it. Job, the Old Testament model of patient suffering, asked the same thing.
In Job 21, he cries out, " I am scrubbing toilets out of the goodness of my heart, and for this I get my children killed, my crops ruined, and hideous boils on my face ?" (This is a paraphrase , Vicky translation.)
The wicked do seem to thrive sometimes, while the righteous go on struggling, unnoticed, and often maligned. And God never really answers Job. He simply appears to Job near the end of the book, and Job needs no further explanation. Seeing God is all Job needs and he is content. I don't know exactly what he saw, but I suspect it was a glimpse of eternity.

I glanced at the dust bunnies hopping along my wall boards. Today I will tackle them. There isn't a horse in my kitchen with a soft muzzle and encouraging nicker, but I am being watched.

Genesis 16:13
“You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.”

Just Beyond Reach

The horse stood straining, its neck stretched as far as it could go, but it could not dip low enough to reach the few tufts of grass on the other side of the fence. I was walking while waiting for Asherel's riding class to end and I had seen the horse in the distance. As I approached him, he had not yet moved a muscle. He stood parked like a show horse, his body elegantly stretched, his eyes focused before him. As I neared I saw the delectable object of his protracted interest- there were 4 distinct but small tufts of grass just beyond his muzzle.

His field was covered with grass, albeit short and cropped by him and his friends. Still, I was surprised that he had noticed those few little off limits morsels, and that he was fruitlessly giving them such unwavering attention. He barely acknowledged me as I approached.

"Hello," I said, "What a glorious day to be a horse, isn't it!? Sun shining, blue sky, warm wind lifting your mane. What more could anyone want?!"
The horse stared at those 4 small tufts of grass just beyond his reach.
I chattered on, "Friends in the pasture, four strong legs to carry you where you want to go, owners who love and brush you. You have it made, pal!"
The horse glanced briefly at me, and then returned his lockjaw gaze to the 4 small tufts of grass just beyond his reach.
"And look at that magnificent well kept barn! I bet you lay your head in splendor on soft fresh straw every night, lulled to sleep by the sound of barn owls and doves."
The horse was not interested in counting his blessings. His neck pressed down heavily on the top of the fence, the corral that prevented him from snatching those 4 small tufts of grass just beyond his reach.

"Do you want me to get the grass for you?" I asked.
He didn't look at me. His gaze was on....well, you know.
So I bent down and carefully gathered 2 of the 4 small tufts of grass just beyond his reach, and held them out to him, with my palm flat.
He nibbled them and then looked at me as I scratched his forehead.

As I walked on, he stretched his neck over the fence, his muscles straining, reaching, stretching to the 2 small tufts of grass just beyond his reach.

God sent me two messages via the hungry and determined horse. First, we are never satisfied. It is quite often what we do not have that we most desperately want. Sometimes we throw away all the rest of the joy of existence with our futile attempts to secure exactly what we have been fenced off from reaching. The open and glorious pasture is ours to canter across, feeling the ecstasy of rippling muscles, and the wind in our mane but instead we ache and long for the forbidden thing that will give us but a moment's joy and be gone.

However, it is also possible that God was reminding me that if we long for something with single minded determination and devotion, if it is worth having, don't give up. You never know when God's merciful hand will prompt a friend to reach across a divide we are unable to leap on our own.

On one hand, the Bible talks about the pearl of great beauty that the man found and sold all his possessions to secure. Nothing else mattered, and the rest of his life could be sacrificed if he could but only have that treasure. And on the other hand, the Bible tells us that by trusting and obeying the "fences" that God has erected by obeying His word, only then are we truly free to experience the full joy of all He is offering us. Adam and Eve learned that lesson the hard way.

So which horse am I? The one reaching futilely for what I can't have.....or the one seeking the one thing that is truly worth having above all else?

On my second lap, I handed the unwavering horse the other two small tufts of grass just beyond his reach.


Matthew 13:
  ⁴⁴ “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.    ⁴⁵ “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. ⁴⁶ When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it.

Romans 7:21-25
 ²¹ So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. ²² For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; ²³ but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. ²⁴ What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? ²⁵ Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!

A Horse of a Different Color

Lexington is horse country, and while we love to visit Matthias at law school, it is not disappointing that the Virginia Horse Center is in the same town as Washington and Lee.  The shows there are always free- at least that we have seen, sparsely attended, and the coliseum has free wifi. The food is good and not too pricey and the horses are often national quality. This may be as close to heaven on earth as it gets. The only thing that would make it better is a free style and trim by Vidal Sassoon himself while we sit there with one eye on the horses, one eye on our email, and chomping on soft pretzels.

So on our return trip from Law School Day with Matthias, we stopped to see the Draught Horse show. The Irish Draught horse was not the big clumpy Clydesdale-like horse we had expected. It is a powerful and muscular horse that was selectively bred in the early 1800s by the Irish who needed horses that were strong but not Arnold Schwarzeneggers like Clydesdales or Percherons. They were able to pull plows in the field, but then leap over fences on the fox-hunt outings.

On our trip, we first went to the indoor arena and watched the conformation show, which is where the owners show the judges how pretty their horses are. Our favorite was a mare led in with her baby trotting behind her. The baby was not being judged, but apparently it was ok for the mama to have the beloved baby with her. I think that shows great kindness on the part of the Irish Draught horse show committee.

Then on the spectacular cool clear day, we headed to the outdoor arena to watch the jumpers. The mountains circled us in the distance, the air was crisp and perfect, and the horses were putting on a magnificent show for us as we ate our lunch.

"Oh look," said Asherel, "That horse has a skeleton painted on it."
I glanced up.
There at ringside was a white horse. One side of him was painted with an anatomically perfect and well done horse skeleton. The other side, in full color was a painting of all his muscles. I am used to odd things.... afterall, I believe that God became man and numbers every one of my hairs and every sparrow feather. Still, one cannot look at a white horse with a skeleton painted on it and not ask....WHY?
Perhaps this is a brief worm hole into a parallel universe where everyone has an exoskeleton except the bugs, who have strong internal bones. Squashing them would be much more difficult, and in fact, I suspect in that universe, the bugs would squash us and laugh when they notice our blood is red and not yellow like theirs.

"The Breyer horse collection has a horse like that," Asherel told me.

So someone took great pains to paint their horse so that his insides could be observed , so that his skin appeared to be invisible.  The more I thought about that concept, the more sense it really made. If our insides were clearer from the get go, we would make far fewer mistakes in dating and marriage. Maybe the divorce rate would go down. We would know a little better what we were getting.  If every time we lied or cheated or got unjustly angry or spoke unkindly or felt envious, or covetous, or arrogant.... it was painted with bright colors on our skin, I suspect we would be a little more careful of our insides.

But actually, this is the case. We may not have eyes to see that way right now, but Someone does. God sees every thought and every deed. His xray vision permeates to our very heart. And it is the heart that is judged... not the outer skin.

I don't know if the skeleton horse was being paraded around to remind us to keep our souls pure and not worry so much about outer trappings. However, I think that it would be a good message, and a good use of a horse of a different color.

1 Chronicles 28:9 (NIV)
"And you, my son Solomon, acknowledge the God of your father, and serve him with wholehearted devotion and with a willing mind, for the Lord searches every heart and understands every motive behind the thoughts. If you seek him, he will be found by you; but if you forsake him, he will reject you forever.


Psalm 139:23-24 (NIV)
Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. [24] See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

Beast of Burden

I wonder how the horse pulling the cart feels? Do you think he enjoys it? Does he appreciate the laughter of the weary travelers putting their feet up at his expense? What would he choose if he could.... if he suddenly realized that he really doesn't have to do a thing we say, as he outweighs us by a thousand pounds?

I am not sure his life is any easier since the concept of domestication came along. He used to have the run of open fields where he could graze all day long and his only concern was fighting off an occasional mountain lion. Shetland ponies used to live off the moors of the British Shetland Islands. They were bred over a thousand years ago, and the Shetland breeders describe them as having a "natural affinity for pulling carts."
That is like saying I have a natural affinity for cleaning toilets. Just because I can doesn't mean
I like it. How can anyone say that? How can they tell the pony enjoys pulling the cart? Do they go running into the barn and grab the harness with their teeth and knock out morse code with their hooves- "Can I please be your beast of burden today?" I think not.

Most creatures, me included, will do anything to get out of burden bearing. I think the epitome of that is the robot vacuum cleaner that will clean the house while you sit in a lounge chair eating bon-bons. But think of all the burden escapers we have in our home- automatic dishwashers, self-scrubbing bathroom cleaner... electric pencil sharpeners.... electric toothbrushes. Did you know they even make automatic mascara that moves the mascara wand up and down since we all know how exhausting it is to apply our own mascara?

I think we all are in for a rude awakening someday when the horses finally realize they really don't have to take it anymore.

So when thinking about how hard we all work to get out of burdens, it is all the more amazing that there is One that begged us to hand our burdens over to Him. We spend so much time and money to make our lives easier but the burden that weighs us down the most, our disconnect from our Maker, is the one we often hold onto with the most tenacity.

Psalm 68:19
¹⁹ Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior,
who daily bears our burdens.

Saddle Up

Asherel and I share a love of horses. All animals really... but horses are in the top 3. I have also always loved bicycling, and as a little girl, pretended my bicycles were horses. I named them, and talked to them, and pretended I was a great jockey as I galloped around the block. I worked on a farm as a child and spent many hours shoveling manure so I would be allowed to be near horses. As an artist, all I drew til I was in art school were horses.

When my first two kids came along, neither loved horses, bicycles, or art. I was flung into a world of incomprehensible math, music, and computers. I tried very hard to understand and love these things because I loved my children, but it was like an elephant trying to do ballet. I even went so far as to become a volunteer teacher at our math club so that I could share their passion.... but I was always a croaking frog trying to be a trilling lark.

And then, 9 years after birthing these alien beings so different from me, Asherel popped into our lives. Asherel loves all animals with the same passion as I do, even crying over squished ants. She loves horses so much that in a mirror of my childhood, when we stay at a timeshare to visit Matt in Virginia, Asherel volunteers at the horse farm there, just to be near the horses. And as if God had not blessed me enough, He gave her a deep passion for art and made her an exceptional artist. Finally, here was a child that I understood. Don't get me wrong.... I love my boys and am amazed by the things they know and can do.... but it is an incomparable gift to have a child that speaks your language.

The Bible passage I read yesterday was when Jesus is preparing His disciples for His imminent departure. He tells them that their role is not one of servant, but of friend. It struck me greatly that the God of the Universe would desire friendship of His children. The intimacy and gentleness of that passage reminded me of how lonely sometimes parenthood can be, how frightening, how overwhelming. I don't think in the younger years that our intent should be to have "friends" but to guide, discipline, and prune our children to grow strong and sufficient in God. But what a blessing and delight to have such a connection that when you settle back in the years of grey hair and aching joints to be able to say, "Saddle up, friend, let's ride together."

John 15:14-16 (New International Version)

¹⁴You are my friends if you do what I command. ¹⁵I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. ¹⁶You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit—fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name.

Slim the horse

Nicole of Hollow Creek Farm wrote to me. They had just walked two starving horses to their farm from a neighboring farm. The more decrepit horse, Slim, was as she described it, "one banana peel from a hole in the ground". The horse was dripping the effects of illness and malnutrition from its nose, and it was a collection of mostly bones wrapped in thin, shivering skin. As HCF staff walked the horse away, after encouraging the owner to relinquish it without the use of force or profanity (til out of ear shot), they noticed a yard with a new beautiful truck, and swimming pool. As they walked the starving horse from the people who claimed they couldn't feed it, they noticed a brand new John Deere riding lawn mower, and 4x4 Polaris. A few recreational 4 wheelers dotted the poor, financially strapped homestead.

HCF put the horse in a stall, covered it with a warm blanket, and fed it a restorative diet of beet pulp. The vet arrives this morning with a slew of medicine and antibiotics. The horse is being fed small meals six times a day. This poor horse's troubles of neglect are over, though it will have a hard fight over the consequences of neglect. However, Nicole would go without food herself before she would let this horse know another moment of hunger.

Saving this horse will be expensive. It is just one horse, and there are many starving horses in today's economy. This is one horse that has come to my attention though, and Nicole asked if I could see if anyone might be tempted to donate to their nonprofit farm via hollowcreekfarm.org to help save Slim.

And for the first time in recorded history, this blog is offering a contest! The person with the top donation in the next 24 hours to HCF for Slim's recovery, (mention you are on the Vicky Blog Giant Giveaway) will be sent the lovely pastel featured on this post. Be sure you include contact information with your donation.

"I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me." Matthew 25:45

Bruised Toes and Bruised Hearts

There is nothing like shoveling animal excrement to help build close and tender family moments. The whole family went out to Hollow Creek Farm yesterday to help prepare for the Dec. 19 Open House Christmas party. A month of dog poop needed scooping (or at least it seemed like a month worth... with 30 dogs, it might have been just a few days....)Nonetheless, Nicole's house and yard were otherwise typically spotless. I don't know how she does it, when with only two dogs and one bird, my house is swirling in hair and feathers, lifted by our every passing breeze.

Arvo was assigned to raking out the pig and chicken area, and Asherel and I went to dog poop detail. While we gathered poop for two and a half hours, trying to sniff the fresh country air beyond the shovels we toted, countless dogs swirled around us. They all wanted us to pet them, though were polite about it. If we did pause to give one attention, he would then follow us anxiously nuzzling and begging for more. The little half eyed old pug wheezed noisily, and waddled over for her pat. The only one who didn't approach us was Spatula, whose story you can follow on hollowcreekfarm.org . HCF had nursed him back to health from a gunshot wound, and he still did not trust strangers. So he spent the entire 2 hours barking at us from a safe distance. The fact that he was so healthy again was a miracle in itself. Pea, the little black lab puppy was beside herself with the desire to be cuddled.
"You'll adopt her out quickly, won't you?" I queried.
"No," said Nicole, "She's black. She was going to be euthanized when we snagged her."
I don't know how Nicole doesn't weep every moment of every day in her work.

Finally as the last bit of poop was blessedly plopped in the giant receptacle where it will then be carted away to third world countries who don't have dog poop, Asherel and I got to go to our reward. I would get to work with Sadie the wild mustang, and Asherel would get to work with Bob, the evil pony (you can follow his escapades on the utube, Bob the Evil pony series.)

First we had to choose how to get over to our horses' pasture. Route number one entailed getting by the frisky filly Jamie, who is a lovely young horse, but a bit rambunctious. Route number two involved entering the rain- muddened pen of the cows who thought they were large dogs and all thousand pounds of them liked to come barreling into us. When the pasture was hard and solid, we could safely run for cover, but when the muck threatened to swallow us, we were stuck there like giant punching bags.

We chose the rambunctious filly route and made it safely to our wild and evil charges. While I was working with Sadie, I threw my coat over the fence separating the cows from us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sir Loin grab my coat. I sprinted to the fence and tugged it back before he absconded with it, making such a tremendous and sudden lunge that I almost ripped my toenail off on the too small inside edge of my boot. Struggling to not shriek in pain, and freak out the wild mustang, I smothered my urge to make hamburgers on the spot, and returned to Sadie. She won't let most people near her, but she has come to like me (or rather my pockets of treats) and let me get a halter nearly all the way over her nose, while I scratched her behind her quivering ears. It has taken me months to get that far, but I counted it a victory.

The next morning as I settled down to write, HCF sent me a video of a horse auction, where unwanted horses were led around and sold to what are known as "killer buyers", people who buy horses to resell them for profit to be slaughtered for human consumption. My throbbing black and blue toe had not made me cry. But the sight of those placid animals being quietly led to their slaughter, when with one hoof they could have killed their executioner made tears flow like blood from a wound.

It reminded me of another innocent, who had the power of all heaven at His disposal yet remained silent and meek as a lamb as He was led to His crucifixion.
At least His torture led to the salvation of a world. I knew of no redeeming value in the scene of those beautiful animals gently acquiescing to follow the rope attached to death.