If a picture is worth a thousand words, perhaps I need a thousand words to paint a snapshot of my last few months — check that, weeks — no my last few hours.
Since my last entry, not only have I spent many more days volunteering at the therapeutic riding center I mentioned, but they accepted me as an intern to become one of their instructors. This was days after my last post. For perspective, the year before I was still very weak and taught my amazing “horse girls” how to work with horses while I was sitting outside on the ground or in a lawn chair, not strong enough to do the work myself. In one year, I journeyed from working through my own “disability” to training to serve those with greater challenges than I’ve ever known. To God be the glory!
As an “Instructor-in-Training,” I’ve had to take tests on horsemanship skills, various disabilities and how they relate to therapeutic riding, and industry standards. I’ve also spent hours shadowing my mentor instructor at the barn during lessons, attended workshops on anything from matching riders to horses with different sizes and movement for optimum therapy to writing and teaching mock lessons. Now I’m the one in charge of mounting each rider at the beginning of the lessons and teaching the warm up exercises. Which brings me to tonight.
Tonight. Tonight several of the riders whom I’ve grown to know and love made some astounding strides. One small child who refused to talk for months as each instructor and volunteer made it their sole objective to get the tiniest whisper from his lips — indeed, who’s silence prompted his parents to seek help in therapeutic riding — this one small child spoke tonight. Tonight, during a game, he forgot himself and many of us heard his precious little voice for the first time.
Tonight, brave ladies, who have overcome tremendous obstacles to get back in the saddle — who once knew horses and health and vigor but now face debilitating diagnosis — tasted again riding freely without their volunteers following their horse’s every step. The volunteers sent to the corners of the arena, these ladies tonight experienced an independence and agility they have fought so hard to get back. Tonight they rode — just the two of them and their horses.
If only I could share a picture of the faces of those who first heard this little boy speak, or of the determined perseverance in the eyes of these two ladies, or of the smile others wore when, stretching painfully to grasp a ball, they victoriously threw it into a hoop… If only I could give you a picture of how God is using horses and humble volunteers in old boots and sneakers to bring hope right down into a dusty arena… then maybe you could see what seemingly dusty, dirty things He wants to use in your life to work hope and healing in your circumstances and relationships. He’s like that, you know.
Lord, please give me eyes of faith to see how You are taking things in my life that may appear extremely ordinary, guiding them purposefully and gently with Your Master’s hand, and painting them into a portrait of the hope found in the face of Jesus Christ. Your fingerprint and mark of craftsmanship is everywhere plain for the eyes of those who are looking to see Jesus — even if it comes dressed in furry hair and with the sound of four rhythmically-falling hooves. Make us fit to share in this Your work today… and tonight.
Riding Wild Hope 