Fierce Beauty Read online

  I darted in and grabbed the trailing line under his carapace and wrapped it twice around my hand. The turtle felt the line pull deeper into his flesh and instinctively dove straight down, taking me with him.

  Together we plunged headfirst toward blackness. My ears popped repeatedly as the gray light from the surface rapidly dimmed. Unable to reach his head as he plummeted, in a final effort I yanked as hard as I could and felt a snap.

  Kicking back toward the surface, I looked at the line I’d pulled free. It was only a portion of what I knew was still snarled around the turtle. For all my good intention and effort, what I’d done hadn’t helped the turtle at all. I looked down in mounting grief as the dying turtle dove deeper into the inky water from which he had come.

  My frustration rose with my tears. I had failed. A dying soul needed my help, and the best I could do was cause it more pain.

  Again I questioned: Why, God? In Your world so full of beauty, how does this senseless tragedy fit? What am I supposed to learn from this?

  The rain, which had fallen softly earlier, now came down so hard that the surface of the sea appeared to boil. It seemed that even the sky was crying for this doomed turtle. The firmament appeared even more gray. My attention alternated between the fishing line still in my hand and the black abyss into which the turtle had plunged.

  With rain spattering on my head, the voice of the Lord began to gently fill my heart: Look at this consuming blackness, My child, and never forget. This is—exactly—what it looks like when you allow yourself to become entangled in sin. You become snared and infected, blinded by all you choose to value over Me.

  In moments of despair you call on My Name … and I come. Releasing you from your bondage can be painful, especially the longer you let the bonds grow into your flesh. When I try to tear your entrapments away, you have a choice. You can be still and know that I am your God. You can patiently allow Me to free you, to heal you. Or you can turn away from Me toward your own understanding and, just like this turtle, plunge into utter darkness, toward your own destruction.

  This is what it looks like when you turn away from Me and try to solve your own problems.

  Remember.

  Remember.

  I’ve kept a fragment of that fishing line to this day.

  TIME TO STOP RUNNING

  The more we run from the Lord, the more we become entangled in the traps of the enemy. We have but one escape—to stop running away and start running toward the welcoming arms of a loving God.

  Sins—even “little” ones—have a way of turning into something terrible. They’re not content to stay in the corner where we believe we’ve confined them. Instead, our hoarded indulgences will mimic the invasive behavior of an abandoned kudzu vine. Left unattended, they send up growing tendrils that invade every area of our souls. Like any parasite they multiply at an alarming rate. Our sins wrap and curl a black, threadlike network around every thought and deed, stealing away our lives as they go. What’s certain about this insidious tangle of death is that it will never stop growing.

  Most of us have experienced moments of feeling surrounded by the negative things we’ve permitted to enter our lives. Among these threads of destruction, we become like a hapless butterfly landing within a web. We believe the silvery filaments that surround us are no match for our ability to fly away. Yet moment by moment, day by day, season by season, the sheer number of these evil, multiplying strands subtly, silently overwhelms our capability to extricate our hearts from their consuming grasp. Without rescue, a grim fate awaits.

  It’s easy for us to feel trapped and helpless against the negative things we’ve opened our lives to. But there is something we can do.

  Freedom begins with a single decision.

  No knot of sin can withstand a repentant heart that honestly cries out to Jesus. No matter how we became ensnared or how confusing our entrapment might be, there is no bond of darkness that the redeeming love of Jesus cannot cut through.

  Yet we must realize something first. The real truth about our bondage is this: the things that cause so much havoc in our lives don’t actually hold us. We hold them!

  Think about it. God’s Word is clear. He repeatedly warns us to be careful of the things we enjoy so they don’t grow into habits that control us: “Even though ‘I am allowed to do anything,’ I must not become a slave to anything” (1 Corinthians 6:12). Sadly, the overriding voice of this world calls us to reject any sort of control as an infringement on our right to have fun. Many of us believe that real freedom is doing anything we want. The truth is that when we follow our every sensual desire and a soft life of pleasure, we eventually become a slave to them.

  Unlike the turtle, we’re not helpless in escaping from what binds us. Often it’s something we’re choosing not to escape from. Because God sent His Son to free the lost, from His perspective we are holding our shackles in one hand and the keys to freedom in Christ in the other. The real question is, which do we love more—our freedom in Christ or our bondage to sin?

  Choosing to let go of sin and embrace Christ is only the first step. Like the helpless turtle that couldn’t escape the tangle of fishing line and floats, we are equally helpless to cause our sin to go away. If we truly want to be released from our pain, we must make the decision to stop bolting away from God once we’ve asked for His help. The removal of things that have grown into our flesh can be painful, but leaving them to fester in our souls can be fatal.

  We must make the decision to be still, to stay with our Rescuer through the pain and allow Him to carefully extricate every strand of darkness.

  This process reminds me of training horses in our round pen. Some of the horses that come to our ranch have little or no experience with humans. Because they view people as predators, when placed in a round corral, they will run in circles, looking for a way of escape. Some canter lap after lap around me, driven by their fear, desire for dominance, or pride.

  No matter what motivates a horse’s flight from me, my first goal is to encourage it to slow down and trust me enough to stop running. Through subtle cues I help the horse understand that the best thing to do is stand still, turn to face me, and look at me with both eyes.

  Once I’ve gained the horse’s trust and full attention, the foundation of our relationship is built on his choice to come to me. The horse must choose to walk into the center of the circle and stand with me. It’s here that the horse finds rest, peace, and love. The horse is free of any restraints and can bolt anytime it wants. But if it runs away, there will be no rest. The horse must keep moving its feet until it chooses to return. As long as the horse continues to run, it gains no freedom.

  When the horse finally makes the choice to stop running—to come to me and stand still at my side—the healing of its brokenness begins. For it is only when it chooses to stand with me that I am able to gently place my hands over every part of its body. By doing so, I put all doubt about me to rest, and the horse is able to physically feel my gift of love and peace.

  Are you held captive by sin wrapped around your heart? No matter how badly trapped you’ve become and how strongly you desire to bolt, you have a Rescuer. His name is Jesus. In the presence of His love, peace, and rest, no shackle can survive.

  Will you choose to hold still and allow the One who made you … to free you?

  6

  THE WOUND

  Our One Hope

  While relocating a horse in need, some of my staff became aware of two dogs that lived in the same crumbling location. Among their other visible problems, both dogs had been starved to half their normal body weight. Kelsie and Laurie decided after much prayer and consideration that they could do more than simply feel bad—they could each make a difference for a dog in need. They returned to the dilapidated residence, and each brought home one of the suffering canines.

  Immediately a sad truth emerged. For these rescued dogs, being savagely thin was not their worst problem. Laurie’s dog had a severe and potentially lethal form of
diabetes, and Kelsie’s dog had a very serious injury to her throat.

  The dog Kelsie chose, a Dalmatian mix, was sweet and mostly white with an adorable black patch over one eye. On the day of her rescue, the dog was so ill that Kelsie drove her directly to a veterinary hospital.

  At the clinic the doctor determined that the injured dog was feverish from a systemic infection. He also examined the gash on her neck—a gruesome, gaping three-by-five-inch hole in her throat just below her chin. From the wound seeped a continuous issue of bloody serum and pus. Kelsie was sent home with a sack brimming with powerful antibiotics and detailed instructions on how to administer aid to her new, sick dog.

  On the way home Kelsie reached across to the passenger seat, where her ailing dog lay curled. She gently stroked the wounded animal’s head to comfort her. The feeble dog lifted only her eyes, apparently too weak to move much else. In the moments that followed, Kelsie’s car slowly began to fill with the soft, continuous rhythm of canine gratitude. In glances as she drove, Kelsie watched hope begin to rise within the dog’s ravaged body. In a feeble effort at thankfulness, her tail gently strummed against the seat. And so a new friendship began.

  A week later at the ranch, with a radiant smile, Kelsie announced, “Her name is Dakota. It’s a Native American word for ‘friend.’ ” Dakota’s new moniker instantly became a purposeful banner over her life. Even in her weakness during her recovery, she was indeed a friend to all. Seasoned with multiple veterinary appointments, Dakota’s health slowly began to rally.

  Initially her front legs appeared to be extremely weak and uncoordinated. Unlike a healthy dog, she could not reach forward to hop up a step or spring over an obstacle. I also noticed that she relaxed in a peculiar position. Dakota consistently held her left front leg and shoulder slightly elevated and pulled in toward her center. In this stance she turned her head slightly to the left, with her chin tucked down toward her body. This was not a normal posture for a resting dog.

  Another strange observation was that she was terrified when others were motionless and intently focused on her. I noticed this the first time I tried to steady myself to take her picture. She was content and seemed to enjoy the attention I gave her until I pulled out my camera and turned it in her direction. Her response was to run and hide under the nearest truck. Kelsie and I were left to look at each other and ponder the reason for this peculiar behavior.

  Despite her mysterious conduct, Dakota slowly gained weight and strength. She began to run and play with other dogs and eventually became a beloved friend to Seven, my small blue heeler.

  Kelsie was told that in this stage of Dakota’s recovery, exercise would be good for her dog. The vet shared that it would stimulate her circulation, muscle development, and general well-being. When asked about the possibility of taking Dakota on a pack trip, the vet said it would be a fine idea.

  After discussing it thoroughly, Kelsie and I agreed on a plan of action. Because we always hike in while leading our horses under panniers, we knew if Dakota became fatigued, we could easily boost her onto one of their five strong backs.

  Once our horses were packed with enough gear and food for nearly a week, we cinched each of their loads into a high and tight position. After performing a quick check of every buckle, strap, and knot, we joined hands to pray over the trip. With all of us carrying our own backpacks and guiding our own horses, we set off toward a new adventure.

  Our travels would take us approximately seven miles into the Cascade wilderness. Since we’re constantly training our horses, I wanted each one to experience every position, from leader to follower, along the trail. To accomplish this, we rotated horse and hiker teams every thirty minutes. While guiding Cade—a relatively new-to-us, smoky buckskin—in the front of the string, I took great pleasure in observing how much Dakota enjoyed simply being a dog.

  She and Seven, or Sevi for short, explored every bush, log, and tree. Once we broke out of the forest onto the high Wickiup Plains, the two dogs ran with complete abandon, bumping shoulders as their canine teeth clashed in an open-mouthed romp of blatant joy. Had they let loose with a life-is-awesome celebration howl, I certainly would’ve joined them. Just the thought of it made me smile. It was wonderful to see this sweet dog getting better physically and feeling better too.

  After nearly two hours of hiking along the abrupt edge of an immense obsidian lava flow that soared three hundred feet above us, high plains gave way to a sweeping north-slope descent into a glorious, old growth forest. The snowcapped panorama of the pumice plains quietly succumbed to the towering, cool depths of the mossy canopy above. Snow-fed streams tumbled all around us, each flanked by a brilliant tapestry of pink monkey flowers, purple larkspur, red Indian paintbrush, and orange columbine. Small yellow flowers that I didn’t recognize also seemed to join in the merriment with a bright, visual laughter of their own. After another hour we turned off the main trail and blazed to what I knew in my heart to be nearly hallowed ground.

  The dense forest opened up into an expansive, southern-sloping meadow. While striding through the knee-deep grass, I realized this massive, green wonderland was also a favorite banquet area for mule deer, elk, and bears, as well as the steed at my side. The look of pure awe on my horse’s face was priceless. Perhaps he believed that somewhere along the way he had crossed an invisible threshold and had been transported from earth directly into heaven itself.

  We set up our base camp away from the meadow in a dense stand of trees. Because the thick canopy overhead thwarted any fragile plants or underbrush from growing beneath them, it was an ideal place to camp with minimum impact.

  Each day held unique rewards. Heralding every morning was a glorious sunrise, a visual concert with golden spears of light pouring over the jagged eastern horizon. On horseback we navigated by compass and daily indulged in hillsides of blueberries warmed by the sun. We exchanged all reason for the pure “wahoo” factor of plunging into a frigid lake. Evenings were framed by soft facial expressions warmed by the amber glow of a fire. And a grand finale came while lying on our backs in the meadow at night and watching our breath rise beneath a glittering display of endless stars.

  Within the vast array of gifts that our days held, there was one consistent task that Kelsie faithfully performed. Each morning and evening she heated water over the fire and made hot poultices to help draw out the seeping infection that still plagued Dakota’s wounded throat. In an attempt to keep the gash as clean as possible, after each hot-pack application, Kelsie tied a fresh handkerchief around the area where a collar would normally be.

  Despite Kelsie’s continuing treatments, the wound on Dakota’s neck simply would not heal.

  After our arrival home, my thoughts again turned toward Kelsie’s new companion. To the best of our knowledge, it had been a full four months since Dakota’s initial injury. The former owners had told Kelsie they believed the dog had been attacked by a bobcat. While neither of us believed that was the real story, we conceded that it didn’t matter how she was injured, only that her wound was not healing. After more trips to the vet than Kels could count on her hands, dozens of poultice applications, wound ointments, three full rounds of powerful antibiotics, and plenty of rest and exercise, Dakota’s throat injury persisted. Though she had returned to a normal weight and her wound was vastly improved, what troubled me most was that it was still festering.

  Kelsie and I now believed the wound track in Dakota’s neck traveled downward. This meant that any infection or minor debris would travel deeper into her body instead of flowing out. I shared Kelsie’s gut feeling that something was still inside Dakota, something her body could not expel.

  At the veterinary hospital we explained our suspicions to Dr. Shawn, a new veterinarian who hadn’t yet seen Dakota. He agreed there might be a fragment of some foreign body that had pushed down into the wound, perhaps a sliver of wood or even a piece of cheat grass. Either way, he was going to shoot a few x-rays before he surgically cleansed the seeping gash. It was his opi
nion this would take care of Dakota’s problem once and for all.

  Pushing through the exit doorway of the hospital and walking out with Kels to my truck—without Dakota—was hard. Barely settled into the passenger seat, my dear friend yielded to the pressure of her building tears. In a voice filled with emotion, Kelsie explained how much she loved this special dog and how—true to her name—she had become one of her dearest and closest friends. Flooded by another tearful tide, she barely managed to express that she didn’t know how she would make it … if Dakota didn’t survive.

  Teardrops slipped off Kelsie’s chin and dotted the front of her green ranch shirt. I reached across the cab of my truck and took her hands, and together we prayed.

  Fortified with the information that Dr. Shawn would call with an update as soon as Dakota was out of surgery, we made our way back to Crystal Peaks and prepared for the upcoming day.

  As always, the ranch was bursting with activity. Kelsie was bright, giving all she had to the kids and families she worked with. Yet knowing my good friend so well, I could sense her deep concern even from a distance.

  Late in the afternoon Kelsie bolted toward me—cell phone in hand—across the ranch’s main yard. Even before she spoke, I could see by her expression that she was equally elated and amazed. Her words poured out in an excited jumble of relief and astonishment.

  Sarah, my friend who as a young girl had helped me build the ranch, was now a veterinary technician working with Dr. Shawn. She’d just called and explained to Kelsie how she was routinely bringing the x-rays up on a computer screen in their darkroom before Dakota’s surgery. Sarah explained that when she realized what she was seeing, an electric surge rose from the soles of her feet and exited the back of her neck, jolting her thick, blond hair into needling hackles.