Bridge Called Hope Page 3

  It is not possible for a horse to live that long without water, but mercifully, two weeks before, her saving grace fell in the form of snow. The frozen white surface in her former corral had the pocked appearance of a giant golf ball. Literally thousands of fist-sized holes could be seen where all four of the horses had tried to stem their thirst by eating mouthfuls of snow.

  Thankfully, all went like clockwork. While Marie went into the house with the filly’s owner to get a bill of sale, the girls and I worked together like wheeled cogs in getting the hay out of the trailer … and getting the filly in. I am uncertain if it was the tantalizing hay all over the trailer floor, or if this filly somehow comprehended that getting into this box was going to change her life forever. Either way, she was astoundingly eager to hop up into the waiting trailer. I noticed that once we secured the door behind the filly, Karmen became particularly anxious to leave. While looking in the direction of the house where Marie and the owner were apparently wrapping things up, she muttered, “What’s taking so long? Let’s get outta here.”

  In her weakened condition, the simple act of being moved the few miles back to our ranch, height and weight taped, photographed, and vaccinated taxed the black filly to complete fatigue. Once all was finished, Karmen slowly led her into the ranch quarantine paddock. After a very long drink of water and a few bites of hay, our tiny new charge collapsed in utter exhaustion.

  Because the weather was bitter, her new home, which was approximately twenty by forty yards, came complete with a heated water tank and a three-sided wind shelter full of clean, dry shavings. Perhaps because she had never known the use of a shelter before, she didn’t choose its warm comforts, but instead crumpled into the windblown snow. Her condition was so severe at this point that I wondered if she might die. Her tattered black form lay in sharp contrast against the pure white snow upon which she chose to rest.

  Yet, removed from her familiar hell, in this strange new world, she was alone.

  Perhaps, of the four women on the rescue team, Karmen understood the black filly the most. At fifteen years of age, she was the youngest. Karmen had been coming to the ranch off and on for several years with her severely disabled sister. Now, she was coming solely for herself. With very focused intent, she sought help in traversing the lonely bridge away from her chosen life of self injury. I will always remember the day that she asked for my help.

  I have seen it before, it’s called cutting. Insidious and permanent, it is the dangerous, newly revealed scourge moving through the underbelly of our country. Like an invisible plague, its only purpose is to destroy those it haunts. If attempted suicide were a sibling, cutting would be its desperate little brother, both silently screaming for help. Cutting is a symbolic ritual of releasing pain, guilt, anger, shame, or sorrow through slashing one’s own skin with a sharp blade and literally bleeding it out. It is the external equivalent of an internal agony.

  The first time Karmen showed me her scars, it would have been easy to assume that she had a serious encounter with a barbed wire fence … and lost. Her forearms and lower legs bore the marks of her torment. Some marks were old and faded into a normal flesh tone. Others were purple or pink—or worse, a recent, shiny bright red. She told me how, collectively, they all mocked her, daring her to go deeper each time, taunting her for being a coward and not just “doing it” … not just ending her life. She, as do all cutters, understood what the approaching ultimate conclusion of this behavior would be. Karmen knew that she needed help … soon.

  Cutting would destroy her; she knew that. Yet removed from her familiar hell, in this strange new world, she, too, felt very much alone.

  Quietly standing outside the quarantine paddock, Karmen’s freezing breath rose around her as she watched the solitary young horse lying on her sternum, motionless in the snow. Karmen silently rested her chin on her arms, which were folded over the top of the gate. She was completely motionless. Loneliness is a dark, cold prison. Those who have escaped its abandoned walls know that the only key is not found within … but without. Only by honestly giving of one’s self in true friendship can true friendship honestly be received.

  After an achingly long, cold moment, Karmen straightened to her full height and with the soothing hush of the quiet breeze that moved around her, silently made her way to the collapsed filly’s side. Sacrificing her own safety and comfort, a broken young woman lay down in the snow, side by side with a broken young horse.

  The utterly spent filly, sensing and taking comfort in the girl’s presence, relaxed even further. Her large brown eyes began to slowly blink and flag downward. Her neck, as if pulled by an unseen force, gradually curved downward toward the ground. The filly, in a final expression of exhaustion, finally rolled over, inch by inch, until she was lying completely flat on her side. In moments, the young horse was overwhelmed by sleep.

  As the filly rolled toward her, Karmen stealthily matched her movements until her chest was against the prone horse’s back. Karmen, now in full contact with the filly, watched in complete wonder as her new friend slipped deeper into her blissful escape. Fascination overtook her as she observed the tiny horse begin to jerk, blink, and twitch. There, with snow as her bed, the worn-out equine began to dream.

  A new realization rose within Karmen’s heart. Despite all the trauma and heartache this devastated little horse had been through, even through all her lack and failure … she still had dreams.

  Karmen shared with me later that it was at this time, this exact moment, that she began to feel the battlefield within her heart quietly subside. It was during this incredibly special “mirroring” that she started to reconcile the fact that if this young, broken horse was still fighting for her dreams … perhaps it was time for the young, broken girl … to do the same.

  So there, with snow as her bed, the worn out girl extended the arm that had been supporting her head, laid down flat, closed her eyes … and began to dream.

  Karmen relayed to me that it was as if she could feel the clenched fists inside her heart begin to slowly open … into hands that reached out to the One who was calling her toward safety, freedom, release, and love. In that cold and quiet time that followed, Karmen understood that this was the time to choose to let go of her pain, anger, frustration, and sorrow.

  She said that she felt like she was waging a war within her chest. All her negative emotions came fighting forward, battling for nothing less than her imminent destruction. Yet still lying there next to that little filly, she felt empowered. Strengthened by the determination of a tiny black horse and a merciful God, it was then that she realized her life was worth fighting for … and fight she did.

  Her eyes shone with fire as she shared how she silently called her emotional demons to come forth, one by one, and faced her new resolution of strength given by the Lord. Every emotion that fought for destructive control of her life, she called forward and symbolically destroyed them with the very blade that they had been using to destroy her. When she was finished, she said that it seemed like remnants of sorrow, pain, bitterness, loneliness, anger, and grief surrounded her on the snow like broken leaves. Barring that she would choose to pick them up and reconstruct them, each one lay mortally broken around her.

  A late afternoon breeze moved through the pines overhead. Their tranquil music was the only voice that drifted over the white, frozen ranch. Cradled together by the unmistakable lullaby of God whispering down through the trees, two weary hearts rested against each other. It was a new start for both.

  Below the boughs, resting together in a newly forged sense of freedom and peace, side by side in the snow, lay a young dreaming horse and a young dreaming girl.

  Not long after, a few of the rescue team came into the bunkhouse for lunch and warmed themselves by the wood-stove. Ideas of what might be an appropriate name for the new black filly circulated. “Solstice” quickly rose to the top of the list. Her rescue came only two weeks after the winter solstice. It seemed only fitting. She had survived the darkest da
ys of her life. From this day forward, each day would be a little brighter than the last.

  While the crew was finishing up lunch, Karmen arrived. I asked her what she thought of that idea. She remained silent and thoughtful for long moments. Perhaps the image of brighter days was slowly finding its way into her heart as well. Or maybe she, too, was considering a symbolic name change.

  Finally, in cool, quiet, typical Karmen style, with a half smile and a nearly imperceptible nod, she simply stated, “It’s good.”

  Joshua, age 9:

  “There are only two kinds of people in this world …

  those who pick their nose … and liars.”

  As faithful as a sunrise, little Lucas ran straight toward me, stopping only when he crashed into my thigh with a little-boy hug. He looked up at me momentarily, then quickly tucked his chin straight down into his chest. Clearly, this was his wordless invitation, summoning me to continue my “tradition.”

  Not wanting to disappoint, I cupped his blond head between my hands. With great drama and ceremony, I hummed all the way until my lips touched the top of his head in a great big kiss. Mmmwah! I let him go as if I had been shocked by the impact. He looked back up at me with immeasurable delight … laughed once, then ran away.

  It is no secret that I love kids. Most of my days gleam with the combined brilliance that these little stars carry within their hearts. Some shine with the blinding glare of a supernova, while others blink with the little twinkle of a matchstick. Despite their diversity, they are all little bright lights that continually flood my life with their unique brand of sunshine.

  Most who know me understand that I love to hug and kiss. Being raised by my grandmother, I learned from the master herself. A sincere hug or a well-placed kiss can communicate a book of words in a single moment. And for many, I often wonder if they have been held close by anyone since they saw me last.

  As for kissing, my absolute favorite place is the top of the head. I am tall and kids are short, and it just makes sense that this is the perfect non-threatening place for me to kiss them. Many kids who frequent the ranch are yet unable to verbally ask for a kiss, but they wish for one nonetheless. These are my precious little ones who run up to me and either tuck under my arm and wait, or bow slightly forward, silently offering me their best kissing pose. For me, no matter how it transpires throughout the day, kissing kids is always a bright spot.

  Another beautiful afternoon was winding down toward conclusion. It had been a long and somewhat difficult day filled with much physical labor and many emotional challenges. I was scheduled to meet two women. One, who I already knew well, was bringing a friend who was going through a tough season. Her intention was for me to give encouragement and support to her struggling friend.

  I didn’t realize until after my guests arrived how completely exhausted I felt. After simple introductions, I led my two visitors away from the happy mayhem that surrounded the center of the ranch toward one of the picnic tables that had been pulled under the shade of a nearby locust tree. I was hoping this location might offer us a slightly more quiet and private place for the new guest to share her feelings.

  I smiled to myself as the three of us approached the wooden table. It had recently been painted a lovely forest green by volunteers. What made me smile was a cartoon that had been painted on top. It was of a goofy bi-plane pulling a banner that stretched most of the length of the tabletop and read, “Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch … You’ll love it here!”

  Sensing the heaviness in my new guest, I had already decided to sit the closest to her. Once we sat down together, I immediately recognized my mistake. Those closest to me understand that the more exhausted I am, the more fractured my thought processes, and the more difficulty I have staying focused. My mistake was guiding my guests to the table and allowing them to sit with their backs to the ranch … which meant I would be facing all the happy tangle of activities behind them. This is the vantage point I normally choose, but in my weary state I knew I was about to struggle greatly to hear and comprehend what these woman came to share with me. I understand that it takes great courage to share painful family issues with a stranger, and I did not wish for any details of our conversation to be lost.

  I stepped over the bench and straddled it like a horse so I could fully engage face-to-face the woman who was having a difficult time and needed the most encouragement.

  The area behind her was flowing with happy pursuits. Every available leader was paired with a child, and all were whirling within various stages of ranch activity.

  Although we sat to the side of the main yard on the grass, my view encompassed the entire mid-section of the ranch. To my right was the main herd corral, tacking area, and activities barn. Straight ahead was the main yard, and just beyond was the grassy hill where the kids bathe the horses, engage in squealing water fights, and have summersault races. To my left was the bunkhouse, riding arena, round pen, and another bathing lawn that was currently filled with wet kids and horses.

  Many more “mini groups” of volunteers were busy administering their unique gifts to this simple little place. Adding to the grinning mayhem was a dear friend who serenaded all on her violin with her cheerful fiddling. Funny how music changes everything. Suddenly, for some, pulling weeds became a moment to “swing yer pardner” … even if your partner was a weed! It was so fun for my guests and me to watch for a moment as the entire ranch seemed to rise to the music that played across it.

  Slowly, the women’s conversation moved toward family issues—the true reason for this visit. My meandering attention yanked back to the woman in front of me. Her tone was becoming more serious, and I could see her eyes beginning to shine with gathering tears.

  Concentrate, Kim! I commanded myself. This woman is being courageous enough to give her heart … now you need to be focused enough to give her your attention!

  I peered intently into the woman’s face as she continued speaking. Her words were flowing out of her mouth, but not into my ears. My gaze strained to stay within the outline of her jaw, until it broke loose again. Wow, what a wonderful horse and child combination that is! I thought, as I glanced over toward the hitching post …

  Kim! Focus!

  Within my fatigue-hammered heart, I was dumbfounded and a little saddened at how little of what this woman was saying was actually entering my head. I felt like a brainless test dummy for some weird hypnosis experiment. Just stare at the lips … keep your eyes on the lips …

  Suddenly, Lucas ran up behind the woman I was straining to focus on. He was not even three feet behind her when he stepped up onto a railroad tie that encircled a flower bed and yanked down his pants! Completely oblivious to us, with the innocence and abandonment of a three-year-old, he began to “water the flowers”! This child was maybe seven feet away from me! I could feel my eyes ping-pong back and forth between the crying woman and the peeing boy!

  Not wishing to minimize the importance of the account being shared, I struggled even more to maintain my focus. Now my internal free-for-all began to pressurize as I fought hard not to smile or burst out laughing in the face of a distraught woman! I could sense that my face was turning bright red. With great difficulty, I was managing the task … until the little imp began sky writing!

  Thankfully, all good things must come to an end. I was exactly one moment away from discovering if a human being can actually blow her own head off with explosive laughter … when my little “high flyer” finished his mission, returned everything to its proper place, and pulled his pants back up.

  My relief spread like a hound on a porch. I could feel the muscles in my jaw begin to relax and the natural shape of my mouth returning. Obviously, seeing my ridiculous facial contortions, the sweet-but-distressed woman in front of me must have thought I was either the biggest drama queen on earth or the most over-emotional sap she had ever seen!

  All was going well again—until my little blond friend, who was still standing within arm’s reach of my guests, realized that h
is hand was “wet.” I stealthily observed him study his wet hand. He just didn’t seem to know what to do. His little brain churned with the realization that to wipe pee on your own clothes would be yucky.

  So, according to his three-year-old sense of logic, he did the next best thing. He wiped dry his pee-soaked hand … on his head. The top of his head … on the exact spot that I had just kissed!

  Once again, fall was descending on the high desert. Each frosty night gave way to a new dawn full of more color than the last. The trees on the ranch seemed to join in an unwritten melody, all singing together, through their dramatic transformation, of the sheer glory of life. Each year I can’t help but imagine that this is how nature gives one last glorious “hoorah!” before the deep rest of winter’s white falls.

  After walking up the hill toward our home, I kicked the edge of the deck to clean off my boots before going inside. Like taking a deep breath, I took one last, long look at the view. I was deeply struck by how the simplicity of man-made things was absolutely no match for the magnificent autumn wonder that clothed the ranch below. Anyone who knows me understands how much more my heart desires to stay in God’s masterpiece of creation … than to go into my office. But, we do what we must to keep going forward.

  Following my evening routine of taking off my hat and putting my sunglasses inside, it was time to finally sit. While leaning back in my office chair, I put my boots on the edge of my desk and thumbed through my daily messages. Immediately, a note confirming that Virginia had called earlier caught my attention. Virginia and her twin sister, Vicki, are close friends who work together on an enormous horse ranch just ten miles west of ours. Knowing my friend, she usually calls when she has a fun, horse-related message. I returned her call first.

  She began by explaining that she and her sister had just returned home from a “buyers” trip to a Canadian PMU farm. Her rapid-fire recount of the trip quite suddenly came to an abrupt pause. “Please know that what I am about to share with you in no way obligates you or your ranch in any way. In our purchase, we acquired a very special little horse that I would love for you to come and see …”