Life is Between the Triumph and the Fall

Some people have horses in their blood. I'm not one of them. I wasn't born into a "horse" family, nor, at any time in my life, has it been among God's design to bring me by adoption, or by blood, if it were, into such a destiny. Instead, He placed horses in my soul.

This morning, I called my boss to request a vacation day, and my request was granted. On the spur of the moment, I decided to go, alone, to the movie Secretariat, and only a few hours later found myself alone (quite literally) in a huge, darkened theater, watching a matinee showing, enjoying the life of one of the greatest horses ever to place a hoof on earthly soil.

Even knowing the story, knowing Secretariat won the Triple Crown in 1973, I still laughed and cried and rejoiced at the triumph and the simplicity of one of God's greatest creatures. (I've given nothing away about the movie; the history of the horse is only the vehicle that carries, as Paul Harvey would have said, "the rest of the story.")

Then, this evening, Netflix, on my pauper's account (the single-disk version), Ruffian was delivered to my mailbox. I have to chuckle at Providence here, for until a few days ago, another movie and another TV series was in line far ahead of this movie. I changed it on a whim.

So it was, today, that I came to realize that I was born between the triumph of Secretariat and the fall of Ruffian, during what may have been one of the greatest periods in the history of American horseracing.

I'm thrilled to have been conceived, born, and weaned during such a time, simply to be able to claim my heart was perhaps already beating in symphony with those of two of the greatest racehorses ever to grace American soil, bar none.

Ah, but do I wax too poetic? I cannot help it; as I said, I have horses in my soul and believe they were placed there by God himself, for He continues to communicate with me through these incredible works of art, these paragons of beauty of His own creation.

I've written before of one of my earliest childhood memories:  Mom holding me up so I could see what was passing by our house:  two horses, two riders. I asked what those creatures were, and Mom explained, carefully, that they were very beautiful animals called "horses".  I exclaimed, "Oh...I LOVE horses!"

I meant what I said, down to my soul, to my heart and to my intellect and will.  Oh, yes, in spite of the fact Mom told me many times as I grew up, upon viewing my many drawings of horses and my many requests for ownership, that I would "outgrow it."

It's the only thing Mom was ever wrong about:  I never stopped loving horses.  That love has matured, but it has never left me, and in fact, was a vehicle to my conversion.

This afternoon, I came home from the movie and spent some time reading, then decided to take a brief nap. As I drifted off, thinking of horses, I thought of Brandy, the Shetland pony owned by a family in my neighborhood.

(As an aside: is it called a "neigh-borhood" as opposed to "the hood" when there are horses in it and not just gangstas?)

Grazing Contemplation

Perhaps it wasn't just fishing that introduced me to contemplation. Perhaps it was horses as well.

I remember the first time I rode Brandy, and I recall, vividly, even though I was only 8, being bucked off. She didn't like the way I rode her very bumpy (to me, the unschooled sack of potatoes on her back) trot, and decided to be rid of me. She succeeded the second I realized she was bucking. I could paint you a photograph of her  hind legs stretched out above me, the image from the impact as I struck the ground, before I rolled away in survival-mode.  I still remember Laura, the girl who was leading Brandy, getting her under control, her mouth a perfect "O" as she turned towards me, shocked, a mere teenager, unsure of what to do, her blonde bob refusing to move itself being in the same state of shock.

I stood up, shaking, assuring her I was fine, but it was years before I rode again - I mean rode.

Still, through Brandy, I also learned forgiveness. I so loved horses that I could not stay away from her, the horse (pony!) who had broken my heart by introducing me to fear.

I decided I needed to really make friends with her and so I visited her often. She seemed so lonely. She was not kept in a paddock like other horses, and the one shelter/paddock she did have was a junkyard. It may have been a shelter, but the neighbor kept all sorts of rusting tools and implements there, and there wasn't a shred of green in that fenced-in piece of hell on earth. For that reason, they kept her tethered with a chain around her neck, and attached on the other end either to a spike in the ground or a tree on the slope across the gravel "road".

That's usually where I found her.

I remember, shortly after she bucked me off, finding her wound by her chain tether around the tree. She let me approach and even nickered at me, clearly recognizing her demise. She kept trying to reach her head to the ground to search for grass, but she was held fast. I took her by the chain and led her, unwinding her from the tree. After awhile she became anxious and started to run. I  ran away, diving to the side as she did so, thinking she was after me, angry with me.  But no...she was only happy to be free!  (It took me years to realize that, sadly. But one best learns about horses by being with them.)

I remembered from Laura's instruction how to leap onto Brandy's back, but because Mom had aways taught me to ask permission to access someone's property, I started asking the neighbor (in spite of my intense shyness - my love of horses, and Brandy was enough to overcome it) if I could visit her and sit on her back while she grazed. The neighbor stood there in his dirty wife-beater, holding his can of beer, and grunted his approval. He didn't care what or when I did it, as long as I didn't let her loose.

It was carte-blanch access to her, and yes, I took advantage. Mom always knew (I think) when I went to visit Brandy.  (Mom was insistent on safety around animals and insistent that she "know" an animal I was around!)

I recall long summer afternoons, either walking or riding my bike along the part-paved part-gravel road of our country neighborhood, approaching Brandy who often took little notice of my presence. I always asked her if she minded if I just "sat along". She didn't, so unless she was obviously agitated (which she was, some days), I leapt aboard and spend the hours daydreaming. Sometimes she would walk a bit, according to what her tether would allow, and my heart leapt at the movement.  In those hours I spoke with Brandy, I spoke with God and...I was fully myself. In all that I was, I was me. Alone, in solitude and maybe...contemplation.

I didn't need anyone or anything else. There was no one there to demand anything of me, there was no one there to ridicule me, there was no one there to laugh at me. It was me and the horse and God. Perhaps it was there that I really learned to pray.  I remember thanking God over and over again, for horses, even if they be at rest in the field. So was I.

As a child I was always a loner. Some of that had to do with the lack of children in our neighborhood. Certainly I had some wonderful friends, but I learned early on never to depend on their presence in order to have fun. I always loved reading, and silence, and nature. If Mom kicked me out of the house and told me to go play outside, I had many places to go...the woods across the road, the yard, riding my bike in our country neighborhood, or maybe visiting Brandy, my favorite pastime.  I was never lonely, and if I felt lonely, I went to Brandy, for I thought she might be lonely, too. Her "family " never seemed to pay attention to her, and she was often without the food and water she needed.  More than once I provided for those things, out of what I knew:  immediately fresh-cut grass and gallons of water from our sink.

Ah, Brandy, who in her passive grazing, taught me so much about forgiveness, compassion, contemplation, and action.  

This afternoon, as I drifted off, I felt myself once again astride that stout little bay as she grazed the bare crabgrass on that shadeless Illinois hill....ah, yes...I forgave her, time and time again for having thrown me that one time. I'm sure it must have been my own damn fault. After all, I'd never ridden a trot before and bounced like a sack of potatoes. She was meant for better things.

God has often used horses to reconnect with me. Of course, it is never He who has needed the reconnection, but me. I have needed the grounding, the foundation.  I have found, in looking at the pattern of my life, how God has used horses to bring me back to "center". Fr. Barron, of Mundeleine Seminary, speaks in his video "Three Paths to Holiness" of "finding the center".

Some find it in the rose-window of a Cathedral, and yes, I see it and find it there, too, and of course, in Jesus in the Blessed  Sacrament, exposed in the Monstrance or held aloft at Mass.  Yes, indeed, there is My Lord and Savior.

But I also find Him, in lesser form, which connects me in perhaps a lesser way to Him, through horses. Through their movement, through nature, through the solitude inherent in an afternoon ride.

While I tolerate commercial trail rides, I prefer the silence and solitude of riding alone or with someone who also prefers the resonance of passing hooves, the dappled shadows of an autumn day, the calls of random birds, and the rhythmic movement of one of the glories of creation in full stride.

It was this that reconnected me with God, years ago now, and it was this that reminded me of my mortality.

Divine Providence

Who can foresee God's Providence? Doesn't He always provide for what we need?

Until a few days ago, "Ruffian" was not on my docket. Other things were. But I came across it and decided to   place it at the top of my queue in Netflix.  A few days ago, I proclaimed I would be in  to work as usual on Monday and able to handle a particular thing (nothing of importance).

This morning I woke up, felt just fine, but...needed a day off. I was tired of all the events of the past weeks, the irregular schedule involving late nights, early mornings, and irregular days off. I don't do well with an irregular schedule; I am a regimented person who needs, to function properly, a regular schedule. I haven't had one in over 3 years. But some weeks are worse than others, and this morning, I couldn't take any more: I needed time.

I called in to my boss, asked for the day, and she gave it to me. I don't know if I've ever been so thankful.

It was with this setting that I went to see Secretariat, and then, this evening, watched Ruffian.

Those who are not horse enthusiasts might miss the connection, so I will lay it out:   Secretariat won the Triple Crown in 1973.  Ruffian's first race was May 22, 1974 (as a two-year-old).  I was born just short of a month later. As I squalled in my mother's arms, some of the greatest horse racing drama in history was playing out, and some of the greatest horses in history lived, translating their heartbeats to hoof-beats, and in that time, I was introduced to their species.

I only wish I could have seen them. I am happy to have lived when they lived. I think, had I not been born a human, I would have instead lived as a Thoroughbred.

Yes, horses are in my soul, and may God will that it ever be so.

Do you give the horse his might?  

Do you clothe his neck with strength? 

Do you make him leap like the locust? His majestic snorting is terrible.

He paws in the valley, and exults in his strength; he goes out to meet the weapons.

He laughs at fear, and is not dismayed; he does not turn back from the sword.

Upon him rattle the quiver,

the flashing spear and the javeline. 

With fierceness and rage he swallows the ground; 

he cannot stand still at the sound of the trumpet.

When the trumpet sounds, he says 

"Aha!"

He smells the battle from afar,

the thunder of the captains, and

the shouting

  ~ Job 39: 19-25

 Amen 

*** *** ***

* The photos of Secretariat and Ruffian were taken from stock footage in their races at Belmont - in Secretariat's case, his winning run in the Belmont Stakes.


* The last pic is my own, a pastel on paper, "The Challenger" from 8th Grade. I may make a more complete picture possible at another date. It just seems to match the scripture and versus of Job.

Finding God...finding me

I just finished watching "Flicka" a movie based on the book, "My Friend Flicka". I still remember reading this book as a horse-crazy teen, although I can't recall the details.

You should know...I'm still horse-crazy, but still, without the horse to satisfy my cravings. Yet God is merciful and provides what we need, when we need it. In fact, horses figure prominently into my conversion, although that part was omitted from my overall conversion/reversion story.

Several years ago, I was living in an apartment with a roommate from whom I was becoming more and more estranged as our paths were parting. The bar life wasn't enough for me, and had no depth. I hated my job, I hated our apartment, I hated having no space. I hated that I didn't know who I was, where I was going, or why I existed. I knew there was something more...but what?

For a long time I'd desired to go horseback riding. All summer I bugged my roommate and other friends about it and got the lipservice, "Oh, sure, one of these weekends..." But that time never came. It was too expensive. There were other things going on. There were other people who would rather go to this or that.

Day after day, night after night, I sat on our deck in the summer months, watching the sun set over the cracked pavement and flickering neon signs that comprised our view. I was a caged bird, and I couldn't even sing anymore.

Finally I decided it was time...and one Saturday morning, I got up and called a local horse ranch, making a reservation for...one. I asked for a 2 hour ride, which they advertised but couldn't accomodate for only one. But they said I could ride as long as I wanted and the price would decrease each hour, allowing for the same cost for two hours.

I put on my jeans, found my boots, and drove the forty minutes out of the 'burbs and into the Minnesota River Valley.

There was something that day that struck me. Forever burned into my memory is the image of descending into the valley, along the ravine that rose above us. I can still feel the careful steps of the horse, and I recall looking upward, only to see an eagle soaring above.

Finally, I had found peace. Finally, I knew who I was again. Finally, I was where I belonged, if only for an hour or so.

I literally fell in love with the land we were on, seeing beyond it, seeing the Creator, seeing our place in things. I remember the gait of the horse, passing through dappled shadows, the fields, the forests, the vistas, the river flowing, glistening, endlessly in praise to God above.

When we were allowed to let the horses run, I remember first the sense of being out of control as I found my seat again, and then, the second time, laughing joyfully in rhythm with my mount as we passed through the field together, of one mind, of one form.

All week, my heart soared up there with the eagle, and I knew I could not stay away.

But I knew this wasn't it. It wasn't so much about the horses, but it was about God. I had been seeking His face, and found it, once again, there at the ranch. I was quite familiar with horses; when I was 13, Dad paid for English riding lessons for me, every other week. That is a gift that has and will last a lifetime, skills applied to one of the greatest loves of my heart, something that continues to bring the presence of my Dad into my life.

And so, in the horses, the memory of my Father and the knowledge of God merged, and made me more aware of my mortality. Horses can be dangerous; they are animals, they are herd animals, and as such, they can be unpredictable. They are beautiful and noble and even obedient (some of them!), but no matter the temperment, one has to respect what they are and what they were created to be. It would only take a misstep of the horse to cause our downfall. If the horse spooks, takes a jump, runs into a tree...death can come quickly and unexpectedely.

This realization brought me back to Mass, although, sadly, not to Confession. Yet there I was, every week, at Mass, wanting to know God again. Wanting to be with Jesus, not having the courage to seek Him truly. But I could not stay away. Each Sunday, even if we were out until 2 am, I got up early enough to get to the 8:30 Mass before heading out to the ranch. It was in this time that I actually began leasing a horse, so each weekend meant that I was out there in the pasture, catching my horse, feeding him, brushing him, riding him...for hours.

I was living a childhood dream. I was a child again. That October was a very warm one and a couple of us crossed the river one day in favor of galloping along the state trails. It was amazing! THIS was the dream I'd had ever since I was a little girl, desiring to gallop headlong through the woods, under the shining sun, over hills, along paths reserved for the hoof, endlessly reveling to the rhythm of the horse.

I think I'm STILL picking bugs out of my teeth from that day.

All good things must come to an end, though. That winter I bought a house and so discontinued my lease with the horse. But something even greater happened, that took me beyond where I was and confronted me with reality.

There was a horse there that had been dumped off. This little guy was just cute as a button, and attracted me to him instantly. It was his condition I saw first; his sunken neck, his terrible hooves, the spine standing ridged by sunken furrows the entire length, his tail, the hairs broken off near the top, indicative of worms, along with his swollen belly. His inability to keep food in his mouth from his overgrown teeth.

Each time I was out there, I paid special attention to this horse, and it wasn't long before he would follow me around like a puppy. He nickered when he saw me, and when I left. His stricken shadow followed me wherever I tread. And so I named him "Nickers" and wondered if I should try to adopt him?

He was obviously neglected, and my friends who worked at the ranch tried to approach the ranch owner about him. But over months, nothing happened. Finally I took matters into my own hand...I could not stand to see this suffering, especially after the story I heard.

My friend revealed that a few years prior, there had been a neglected horse named "Silver" who had also been dumped off by an unknown person. Over time his condition worsened as the herd there in the boarders' pasture excluded him...he was weak. He was beaten upon, he was reviled, he was set apart in order to die for the betterment of the herd. The boarders got together and in pooling their money, got a vet out to care for him. And each did what they could according to the vet's instructions. Silver rallied for awhile, and then took a turn for the worse, this time one from which he could not recover. So they called the vet out again and together paid to put him down.

I knew I could not let that happen to Nickers. And so on New Year's Eve when I went riding, I spent some time in the last daylight to take photos of my friend Nickers. The photos were forwarded to both the Humane Society and to the Carver County Sheriff, where I made a report of animal neglect. They had my name for the purposes of records, but I did ask to remain anonymous.

The ranch owner found out it was me, though, and I was banned. He said I was a "troublemaker" and it wasn't any of my business. He said that it was all for nothing, too, because "they" said that he was just old, and look what I'd given up in order to become such a chancre sore.

I can no longer return to that ranch, ever again. My friends kept me updated, though, and told me that the Humane Society made repeated visits, charging the ranch owner to fatten that horse up.

And the Humane Society doesn't make repeated visits if nothing is wrong. They are far too busy for that.

In some ways it saddens me that I can't return to that paradise on earth, but even that wasn't untouched by sin. It was a stepping stone God used to bring me back. He reminded me who I was, who I was supposed to be.

Loving horses...that's secondary. He reminded me that I am His own adopted daughter, so all of this already belongs to me. What is God's is ours and when we see injustice, even if it is detrimental to us, we are called to act, We are called to speak for those who cannot speak, we are called to remember that we do not act alone and for no reason.

Yeah, I'm still that horse-crazy girl who once fed a staving pony with fresh-cut grass from our yard and gallon jugs of water from our kitchen. (That's a different story). And I'm still that idealist that wants to see the world from the eyes of a child. Because no matter where I go, every paradise is corrupted because nothing on this earth will ever satisfy what I truly desire. Even horses.

Eight Facts/Habits Meme

Vito of The Long Road to Priesthood tagged me for a Meme. Here are the rules:

"The rules are simple…Each player lists 8 facts/habits about themselves. The rules of the game are posted at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed. At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog."

1. Some kids tried to shoot a friend of mine and I as we ran through the woods on the way to her house when we were 12. I remember hearing a shot and just next to my head, some bark flew off of a tree and hit me. I will never forget what the freshly-exposed wood looked like. And yes, they knew we weren't deer. And I can still identify them.

2. Several years ago, I got heat exhaustion when I went running in 102 F. heat with 90% humidity, in southern MN. For the record, I thought it was 98 degrees, I was dehydrated from the previous night (ahem), and my "run" was more of a walk because I was only mostly stupid. I don't remember most of my return home, but I can no longer tolerate heat like I did in the past. I am thankful to be alive because nobody knew where I was or what I was doing that day, and I was too stupid to call for help when I got home.

3. I love naps. There is nothing in the world like a good nap.

4. I used to be fluent in Spanish. Now I can carry on conversations, but with a certain amout of labored thought and bad conjugations. (As an aside...if there are any of you who speak German, let me know. This post linked to me and I have no idea what it says. There's another one but I'm fishing for German-speakers first)

5. I'm not entirely sure what my natural hair color is anymore

6. I have two tattoos, both obtained in my late 20's. One is a howling coyote on my left shoulderblade. The other is a galloping horse on my lower back.

7. I designed the horse tattoo myself but had to have the tattoo artist draw it himself to make sure it "matched" in size and general aspect the coyote I already had. During this process, I had to correct his drawing and basically teach him how to draw a horse, so the final result is actually not my own work but looks amazingly like a little neglected Arabian I nearly adopted a few years ago.

8. I got kicked off the property of a local horse ranch (trail rides and boarding offered there) for reportng the abuse/neglect of said bay Arabian horse in the boarders' pasture. I submitted photos to substantiate my claim, made the report anonymously, and the ranch owner figured out it was me and banned me. The claim WAS founded and the Humane Society in Carver County did react to improve the little gelding's condition.


I'm actually not going to directly tag anyone as I've done this Meme before and, I think so has everyone else. So if you are a frequent commenter with a blog who has not been tagged, please comment that you are "playing" and I will link you. If you are a commenter without a blog but want to answer, post away!