Bridge Called Hope (26 page)

Even here, in this remote refuge for my heart … catastrophe had followed my tracks like a predator … and struck.

“Shonee is with the vet. It’s bad … they need you to … to … to give the … okay … to put her down.”

A myriad of questions immediately log-jammed within my brain. As I fought to untangle them, Sue handed me her phone and said with her eyes, “Mine works … make the call …”

In moments I was speaking to Darrin, who was not only a trusted friend but one of our veterinarians as well. I hardly recognized his gravelly voice … his easygoing tone was gone. What I heard sounded more like a bow string, low and taunt, stretched to near breaking. I could feel my throat closing with the revelation that whatever was going to come out of his mouth was irrelevant … I understood my friend well enough to realize that he already knew … it was over.

Just the tone of his voice … made me want to throw up. Darrin proceeded to recount in gut-wrenching detail how Shonee came into the clinic for a routine pregnancy exam. The purpose of such an exam is to determine if the mare
is
pregnant so appropriate follow-up measures can be immediately initiated. Understandably, this is valid information, because special vaccinations need to be administered to help prevent the mare from contracting viruses that could cause her to spontaneously abort her foal.

Somehow, during the completely standard rectal ultrasound exam, her rectum was torn. Although such tears are extremely rare, they can occur in isolated cases. Darrin explained that it was a ventral tear … meaning that it was along the bottom of her rectum. Waste materials were leaking into her belly cavity. In a matter of hours she would be septic, and no antibiotic on earth could stop the ensuing infection.

Even though Darrin was not the vet who had performed the procedure, because of our friendship he had taken over the case and was caring for Shonee as if she were his own. Just to be sure … and perhaps a bit for my own heart … Darrin elected to
wait a few hours, draw fluids from her belly cavity, and let the results of that test tell us what needed to happen next …

Chris, the overseer of our horse program and the person who, at my request, took Shonee in for her exam, witnessed the entire tragedy. She knew what was about to transpire. With great strength, wisdom, and compassion, she chose to use the extra minutes to bring a few of the older kids from the ranch into the clinic to give as much love and comfort as they could … and to say good-bye.

After a heavy sigh, I switched off the phone. Together, Sue and I knelt on the hillside … and prayed for our little horse with spots.

To ease my breaking heart, I hiked until dark.

When I returned … as I opened the camper door, one look at Troy’s ashen face confirmed what I already knew to be true: Shonee … my precious little horse … was dead.

Like a mother grieving for a child lost, I sobbed openly against my husband’s chest. In a voice that only God could hear … I let my anguish fall.
Oh Shonee … oh Shonee … not my precious Shonee … Shoneeeeeeee … SHONEEEEEEEE
 …

Time and space ceased to exist … all that was real was the crushing grief that consumed my heart.

Lord, this is so wrong. She was a healthy horse this morning … she left the ranch … and never got to come home. She never got to say good-bye to her family. She was fine … and now she’s dead. Where is Your purpose in this? She was the cornerstone of such goodness … such love … how can this be better? How can this be right?

My anguish continued to gush out in wave after wave of racking, mournful tears. Eventually, my exhausted heart poured out across the flood plains of tearless realization that nothing would ever be the same … except the bedrock of truth within my heart: God is still in control.

No matter how out-of-control my perspective might be, I can rest on what I
know
is true; it has been true my whole life, proven over and over: God
is
in control.

Slowly, my grief-tattered heart turned from questioning … to resting.
I trust you, Lord … I trust You … even though it doesn’t make sense … I trust You.

Returning home to the ranch was difficult. While driving up the driveway, I scanned the herd as I always do. Shonee’s absence was gaping. Once the chores were done and everyone had left for the day … I went and just hung on the main corral gate … and cried … mourning the fact that my beloved Shonee would never pass through this gate again.

When I was able, I pulled my heart back together and summoned the courage to call my friend Lynai … the mother of little Sarah.

After a painful recounting punctuated with many tears, Lynai confirmed that her little girl’s tender heart was completely obliterated. “She told me she never wants to come to the ranch again. It would be too painful … because there will never be another Shonee. She will never be able to love another horse like her Shonee Girl.”

Gratefully, time always proves what is true. In this case, time proved that the heart of a child, when handled with care, is a very resilient thing.

With careful consideration, little Sarah decided that she would try one more time to come to the ranch. She chose to come on the last day of the year that the ranch would be open for riding. Just in case things didn’t go well, she could leave and have no reason to ever come back.

Sarah worked with Chris, who was masterful in choosing a young horse that was still in training and had yet to be ridden
by a child. Sarah had felt so honored to be the “first kid” to ride Phoenix. Under Chris’s gentle instruction, Sarah’s time on the ranch was a successful relief to all, especially after Sarah gave Phoenix a bath and led her into the arena for a roll. Phoenix didn’t quite understand what Sarah wanted her to do … so I suggested that she get down in the sand and
show
her! True to form, Sarah rolled like a little champion and hoorayed in triumph when Phoenix finally understood and dropping into the sand, rolled with her.

Chris built the bridge … and Sarah
chose
to cross.

When the day was all but over, I looked for Sarah to give her a hug of support and congratulate her on her victorious ride … and roll. After a bit of searching, I found my little friend curled up on a fence rail by the main corral gate. Stepping through the fence poles, I sat down beside her. Even though her tiny face was turned away, it was clear that she was crying.

Certainly, it is our actions that prove what is true. No words were going to soften the pain for either of us. Our actions reflect what is truly inside our hearts. So there on the fence, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand and heart to heart … we wept.

Finally, when her tears were spent, she slowly moved her head backward and looked up into my face. Although she said nothing, her expression was questioning.

Lord, it is time to rebuild her foundation. Please help her to understand … and trust
, I prayed before I began to speak. “Shonee was one of the greatest horses that ever lived. She made us all better just by being our friend. Without her, the ranch will never be the same. It will be
different
. Shonee knew that you loved her every day of her life, even to her last minutes. She was loved all the way to heaven’s gate. Sarah … I have something that I need to share with you …”

I took a deep breath and continued to silently pray for wisdom.

“Sarah, love is a very powerful thing … especially the
pure
love of a little girl. Your love, Sarah, is a precious gift to those you choose to give it to … it changes them from the inside out. Being loved changes us all. Honey, your special love … is special indeed. I think that your Shonee Girl was completely
full
of your love—enough to last a whole entire lifetime. Maybe … just maybe … it is time for another hurting horse to be filled up … to have their life changed by your special love. Do you think that it’s possible?” I asked in a small voice as I held her upward gaze.

Magnified by her glasses, her round eyes were so big they looked more like deep blue moons. I don’t know if it was their size or depth or the fact that they were shimmering with tears, but in that moment Sarah’s eyes seemed to be penetrating my very soul.

Momentarily she glanced to the side as she contemplated the new idea that I had just presented: Could there be another horse that needed her special love? The wheels of possibility churned within her. When she seemed to have reached a conclusion, she turned back to me and, without a word, solemnly nodded.

As Shonee “ran on ahead” … perhaps another was trailing behind … another who was lagging back in brokenness … another who was in great need of the love of a little blond girl with thick glasses.

T
he first heavy snows of winter were beginning to fall, and with it came an unusually heavy amount of folks who were wishing to donate horses to our ranch. Since the ranch is located on only nine
tiny
acres … our corrals “runneth over” with our own herd of twenty-five to thirty horses. Because not every horse that the ranch rescues is destined to be suitable for children, horses that are not a “fit” for our program are adopted out into appropriate homes … occasionally making room for others to come in.

While walking around the snow-laden “block”—which, where I live, is about four miles—Chris and I were catching up on all that had transpired since our last time together. Conversation flowed easily between us as we carefully navigated the snow and ice. When we turned the final corner toward home, Chris suddenly burst out, “Oh my gosh!
Now
I remember what I was going to tell you. Remember the folks from Washington who bought that little gelding for their daughter? They sent more information yesterday. You’re not going to believe this …”

Once Chris had revived my leaky memory, she launched into the next chapter of information. A young mother wished
to buy a small horse for her six-year-old daughter so they could trail-ride together. After finding what appeared to be a suitable horse—small, quiet, slow, uncomplicated, and patient—they brought the little gelding home and quickly realized that his “quiet” temperament was attributed to the fact that he had been drugged! The small gelding “awoke” into a very frightened, nervous, head-shy little man who had all the markers of a horse who had been violently battered.

Even though this little horse was obviously not the right one for their family, the mother could not, would not return him to the home where his abuse was perpetrated. Instead she kept him for nearly three years and sheltered him as her own, daily leading him down the path of kindness, trust, and love. All the while, she knew that this special tiny gelding had come into her life for a reason, for a purpose as yet … unknown.

The generous mother of two inadvertently became the mother of three. Within the years the little horse was in her company, she lived such an example of love and compassion that his life was changed forever because of it. The gelding’s fright was replaced by peace, his nervousness by calm, his fear of being touched by loving to be touched. She had built the bridge … and he chose to cross it.

The gentle mother, realizing that her adopted “son” was now ready for his born destiny, called our ranch for advice about perhaps placing him with us or a trusted family.

“And that’s not even the amazing part of the story,” Chris beamed.
“You have to see this,”
she continued, as she nearly led me by the hand into the bunkhouse toward the computer. Within a large stack, she quickly located a printed e-mail with a picture. Turning around, she held it up at head-level, not far from my face, and said, “Who does
this
look like?”

Leaning toward the picture, I squinted as I absently took it from her hand.
Oh Dear Lord … what are You doing to my heart?
I could feel my eyes beginning to flood as the picture came into sharp focus. The best I could do was raise my hand over my mouth for a moment and wait for my throat to relax. I looked up at Chris and quietly stated what she already knew was true.

“He looks like … Shonee.”

Other than a few minor differences, the small gelding in the picture looked like a male version of our Shonee. Certainly, he could easily pass for her little brother. He was a white Pony of America … covered in little black spots. His name was Gideon. “The little horse that could,” I thought to myself.

As usual, my heart ran far ahead of my brain, immediately making plans of how we could move him to the ranch.
Whoa, girl
, began to rise out of what was left of my reason.
The ranch is
full … 
there is no space available for him to come.
In what was starting to feel like a “slug fest,” my heart countered back with my personal “poster child” of truth: “Yeah, but you
know
that if God is in it … 
He
will provide for it!”

For an adult with dyslexic and ADHD tendencies, it is not uncommon for me to feel pulled apart by internal conversations.
Okay, okay: Heart and head … go to your separate corners! Truth has spoken. If it is God’s wish that Gideon comes to the ranch … a space will become available for him. It is not wise to rush headlong into what we
think
we want; allow God’s wisdom to
prove
what is true. Head … do you agree? “Yes.” Heart … do you agree? “Yup.” All right then, now let’s get back on the tracks and start pulling together
 … With my mini-uprising put down, it was time to rest in what I knew was always true.