Bridge Called Hope (25 page)

Nevertheless, there was something about her that spoke to me. Initially, she appealed to me because of her goofy stature. She was not only disproportionately short for her body; she was also incredibly strong.

The first time I saw her, I nearly laughed out loud. Her front legs were separated by a
huge
chest. The gap between her knees was nearly wide enough to park a Volkswagen! Her body was so large and her legs were so short that she looked a bit like a white, freckled minibus with legs!

Oddly enough, it was a combination I had been looking for. As silly as this seemed, her ridiculous conformation, the
overall picture of how she was put together, was an important feature in my mind … because most of the disabled kids that we work with are also short and “round.” So a sturdy horse that was low to the ground would be the perfect fit for kids who are a bit heavier and unsure of heights.

Even though my “test drive” with her was somewhat disastrous, complete with constant straining to return to the barn, bucking, and my personal favorite—two attempts at a fullblown “run away”—there was still something
special
about this hefty girl that called out to me.

After loading her into the trailer and paying out one thousand dollars for her purchase price, I climbed into my truck and shut the door. I literally had to grip the steering wheel with both hands for a moment … to keep from
slapping myself in the head!
“Girl! What have you just done?!”

Once at the ranch, Shonee, who had been named after the Shoshone Indian Nation, began her metamorphosis. Somehow, certainly not by any of my genius, this little spotted mare methodically chose to change into what I would consider a candidate for the world’s greatest kids’ horse. In only a few weeks’ time, “simply Shonee,” miraculously transformied into “Shonee the Wonder Pony!”

She continually proved to everyone that she could do anything. She was patient with little kids, unbalanced kids, frightened kids, noisy kids, bouncing kids … and the same list could be dittoed for adults as well. She loved bareback-riding and simply being wallowed with affection. For kids who were celebrating their birthday at the ranch, she was often chosen as the “painting horse” because she made such an incredible “canvas.” There was something wonderful about connecting her dots with bright red, blue, and orange that was of particular
delight to our youthful, paint-smeared “artists.”

In parades, she was always a favorite. I often wondered if her spots didn’t have some sort of magnetic value, because everywhere she went, she seemed to posses a “gravitational pull” on the young at heart of those who surrounded her.

Concerning unpredictable trail situations, she was always as solid as a sunrise. She never really considered spooking or being flustered about anything. She enjoyed carrying a pack saddle because she quickly learned that somewhere amidst all those supplies was a snack waiting just for her. Nothing seemed to ruffle her in the least—traversing a rushing mountain stream, navigating a difficult trail into an alpine meadow, getting tied to a high line at night, or being blanketed, hobbled, or beset by bees or bug spray. Shonee continued to prove daily that whatever shape it took, she simply enjoyed her life. For her, the method, company, or venue of attention wasn’t important as long as she was loved. All that really mattered was love.

Of everyone who adored Shonee, perhaps no one could have been more truly devoted than a young, slender girl named Sarah. After several years of riding at the ranch, it appeared that Sarah’s heart was slowly being surrounded by “spots.” This shy, tow-headed little blond fell hopelessly in love with Shonee the Wonder Pony.

Born with a genetic deficiency in her vision, Sarah began wearing thick, corrective glasses at the age of two. Learning is challenging enough for kids who can see clearly … it is incomprehensively harder for those who cannot. Sarah remembered being asked by an inquisitive peer, “Are you blind? You look so funny in those lined glasses.” Her casual yet brave response was, “Nope, these lines are prisms, and they help to exercise my eye muscles so they get stronger.” Sarah was never ashamed
of the path God chose for her. Even now, she understands that her “uniqueness” has made her more compassionate, tenacious, and thoughtful.

After six years of prismed glasses, eye patches, eye exercises, and vision therapy, Sarah underwent corrective surgery on both of her eyes. While recovering from her operation, she exclaimed in complete wonder to her mother, “Mom, I
never knew
I had freckles!” Through an incredible amount of hard work and perseverance, Sarah currently enjoys nearly perfect vision and wears glasses only to assist her with distance.

At the ranch, Sarah found the balance in friendship that she so earnestly sought. There was no question that in her eyes, that “balance” was named Shonee.

Innocently unaware, each was leading the other by their simple example of what the foundation of true friendship should really be. Sarah never noticed the funny looking way that Shonee was built, and Shonee never noticed that Sarah had any more struggles than any other girl. All they seemed to truly care about was how much each loved the other.

In an effort to keep her spotted friend close to her heart between visits, Sarah’s mother had shared with me how Sarah had literally plastered her room with Shonee pictures: Sarah feeding Shonee flowers, Sarah giving Shonee a bath, Sarah cantering on Shonee for the first time, Sarah and Shonee sharing a kiss. Layer by layer, Shonee became the freckled bricks in the rising wall of Sarah’s self-confidence.

Watching Sarah and Shonee together was like watching a butterfly and a flower. Together they became a visual example of something all kids and adults should practice. Instead of quickly judging each other for their unique differences, each seemed to understand and embrace those very distinctions for exactly how they were created … as one of a kind. Instead of rejecting those who are different than ourselves, Sarah and Shonee chose strong friendship, each complementing the other, each making the other better … each loving the other exactly how they were.

Every day they were together, each honored the value of the other, proving how truly precious every moment is with those you love. Because in the end, we never know when the next moment … will be the last …

B
ecause there are so many unwanted horses in the world that need help, the ranch usually chooses not to breed any of its acquired mares. But since the ranch already had a pregnant mare, whose foal would be in need of a playmate, Shonee was instantly elected to become the sweet mother to provide that companion.

Although we knew virtually nothing about Shonee’s past, her “stretched” conformation and udder clearly spoke to us that she had already given birth to many foals. With great delight, we could only imagine how incredibly cute her previous babies must have been … and certainly how special her next would be.

After choosing the right stallion for our freckled girl, we had to part with her during her breeding process for an entire month. Everyone on the ranch was highly aware of Shonee’s absence. Perhaps more than any other horse, Shonee was chosen as the “first ride” by most of our new riders. Those riders subsequently fell in love with her as well, seeking her out every time they came to the ranch. Without a doubt, the void she left could be filled by no other. She was as unique as a thumbprint, and she had left her hoof print on the hearts of many.

Gratefully, within the multilayered activities of the ranch, Shonee’s time away passed quickly and she was returned to a cheering assembly of open arms. Now our greatest challenge concerning Shonee would be to wait the nearly eternal eleven months and eleven days to see what kind of spotted foal we would all be greeting.

As fall began to deepen in color and temperature, it brought with it the cool remembrance of another year silently drawing to a close. The breeze over the high desert had turned brisk, calling through the grass and trees like a messenger proclaiming the imminent narrowing of time before white rest falls. For this particular year, the chill on the back of my neck translated into one thing … book deadline.

I had been asked by Multnomah Publishers to write a “follow up” to my first book,
Hope Rising.
Since the ranch had blossomed into more than a full-time job, the only season that I could endeavor to actually sit and write was deep winter. Even then, many of the ranch staff must not only complete their own jobs but also help shoulder parts of mine to clear a “time path” for me to write.

With my last major speaking engagement of the year complete, Troy and I loaded up our camper and drove to southeastern Oregon. Because of its incredible desolation, it is truly one of my favorite places on earth. I have an extremely public life for which I am very thankful. Yet I am fully aware that one of the major reasons I can tolerate the constant time compression is because of the efforts Troy and I make to maintain some “solitary” time. Having learned from my own failures, I have a deep understanding that a person cannot give … what they do not have.

It is important to understand that as humans, we are finite.
We really
do
have limitations that even the best of intentions cannot supersede. We really
don’t
have infinite amounts of any emotion that we wish to share. Therefore, we must be mindful to do our best to “fill the storehouse” with all that we have expended. This “refilling” process can take on as many different shapes as there are people who give. The truly important thing is not what venue we choose to recharge our hearts through … but simply that we do recharge them.

What I love most about southeastern Oregon is that it is
remote
. When the nearest “town” is an hour away and bursting with a population of seven … 
quiet
is one of many words that truly define this unique place. I also appreciate that more often than not, the road beneath you will be dirt, and that it leads to neighbors who are not the two-legged type but the four. You never know if you will be meeting heavy mule deer, scattered herds of antelope, burly big-horned sheep, wild horses, bobcat, or even the occasional mountain lion.

Few things fill my heart more than being in the deep wilderness. Little else inspires me with the same vitality as adventuring through the wild places in the morning and then returning back to base camp to work the rest of the day.

Such was this day. Troy was hiking on his own, and my friends Sue and Wayne, who had joined us in the desert, were a good distance away in town, visiting two of the seven folks there. It had snowed hard the night before, and the high, nearly treeless desert had been transformed into what looked more like a vast and flawless tablecloth. Tumbling down from the 9,000-foot peaks that hung overhead, its white splendor unfolded through every deep canyon and spread out into undulating folds over the foothills until its powdery softness eventually smoothed flat over the immense plains. I am convinced that,
when surrounded by such immeasurable beauty … even a
stone
could write.

Our camp was suspended on a small bench between the valley floor and the mountains that loomed above. I had been working for many hours when I heard a sound as familiar as a friend’s voice—the diesel engine of Sue’s truck approaching. “Odd,” I thought, since they were not planning to return until dark. As her truck growled up the last incline, I started moving my work to the side so I could step out and greet her. Before I could even open the camper door … she began calling me from outside.

I couldn’t reach the door fast enough … 
something was wrong.

Her anxious expression confirmed the fear that was rising within my heart. “Is your cell phone on?” she asked with great tension.

“Uh, no … it doesn’t work out here,” I answered in a voice that trailed into near silence.

Sue drew in a tight breath, hesitated, and cautiously proceeded. “Apparently your vet has been trying to reach you all morning. Kim … there has been a tragedy at the ranch …”

In the seconds before she continued, endless scenarios of pain and disaster began crashing into my heart like house-sized boulders. I felt as if I was virtually being buried alive beneath an emotional avalanche of all the possibilities of what could be wrong. I could feel the naked pain within Sue’s voice as she spoke.
Tragedy at the ranch.
The words reverberated within my chest like a terrifying echo …