Sarah learns to love

The second Sunday of lent, 2012. 

On the second Sunday of lent, the sun shone.  Coming from Oregon, this beautiful Texas weather astounded me.  It shone so bright I was able to wear a sundress, and by 10 O’clock in the morning, had the windows and doors of my cottage thrown open.  But this Sunday was a Sunday like no other.  The patches of blood from Freedom’s killing still stained the gravel behind the pasture, but for some reason, the sun washed away its blackening color.  And then there was Sarah.

I met Sarah on Thanksgiving Day, the day I met the landlord and his family, and the day before I moved into the cottage.  The day I met Sarah, she was a mud covered mean nasty thoroughbred mare, what we often call the “boss mare”.  It was her duty to kick and bite the herd into submission under her, and if the herd failed to obey, she would pin her ears and force her bitterness onto the other horses.  As I went from one horse to the next, meeting all eight of them with the landlord’s children happily naming and pointing to each one, we came to Sarah.  She stood there with her eyes threatening, and her ears half pinned. 

I reached for her, but she was shy, and threw her head away.  I noticed her mane was matted and covered in nasty burrs.  I reached for the burrs, but her temperament would not allow me to touch her, and within seconds she had galloped across the pasture.  

Over the next few months, I noticed that Sarah had a special bond with Freedom, the large jumping Gelding and pasture mate.  They could not be separated.  She truly loved his companionship.  The next few months for me were also some of the most difficult I had ever experienced in my life.

I got laid off from my job and only source of income.  I was terrified.  Six months pregnant, alone, struggling financially so badly I worried how I was going to keep my electric on.  I took the weekend a weekend in January to wallow in the despair I felt.  I decided to go for a walk along the back side of the ranch.  I pulled on a pair of cowboy boots and a jacket and made my way down the gravel road toward the back pasture.  As I was walking, I gave up a series of prayers to the Lord, asking him in devastation to have pity on me and help me wade through this mud.  It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen any of the ten horses that roamed the property, not even my two geldings. 

As I walked around a heap of brick and other pieces of debris, the back pasture came into view.  But it wasn’t the pleasant pasture I was anticipating.  Something was wrong.  Sarah  had tangled herself in the white stretchy fence wire, ripping it from its posts, and dragging it about 60 feet into the pasture.  The wire was wrapped over her neck, between her breast and the around her left hock so tightly her leg was up and her head was low.  She couldn’t move.  Remarkably, my geldings calmly sandwiched her between them, heads low, softly nickering to her, reassuring her.  I approached her softly, and as I did, my geldings moved away.  The rest of the herd looked on with sadness; sure Sarah was a goner. 

At six months pregnant, I had a lot to lose by trying to free this mare.  She was known to kick and bite, but for some reason, I believe she knew I was there to help her.  For about 20 minutes I struggled, pulled, gently rearranged the wire.  Finally, she broke free and cantered off to join the ecstatic herd.  They leapt and reared, grunted and whinnied at the wonders of liberty as I stood there pondering this lesson. 

And then God spoke.  Elizabeth, you are this mare.  Do not struggle.  If you struggle, you will surely fall. Have faith.  While you are stuck in this fence, you must wait patiently for me, for I WILL rescue you, just as you have rescued this mare.  Do not fear.

Then, one by one, the herd returned to me, walking this time.  Each had kind eyes, and heads low.  One by one they came to me and touched me with their noses.  One by one they thanked me.  And at that moment, a peace washed over me, a grace I had never known, and I thanked God.

Sarah began to transform too.  In the barn, she would weave, a terrible habit created out of frustration.  I would often comfort her, pet her lovingly, and she would calm down.  But still there was something she lacked, or perhaps it was something that I lacked, that kept us from trusting each other.

And then Freedom died.  Sarah’s rock, her cornerstone, her best friend.  She watched him die.  For a week after his death, I monitored her.  She stood alone in the pasture.  She did not eat.  She did not bother the other horses, nor did she pin her ears or bite.  I worried about her, but there was nothing I could do.  Throughout the week I would go to the pasture and stand with the horses, talking to them softly, petting them one by one.

But something about the sunshine on the second Sunday of lent brought us together.  Sarah stood at the water trough, thirsty and looking at the dry plastic.  I pulled on some boots and immediately went out to fill the bucket.  She played in the water then, something I hadn’t seen her do.  She pushed her nose through the water, splashing me lovingly.  Then she put her head over the fence and stood looking me straight in the eye.  There was kindness in that eye, so I reached for her.  Instead of pulling away, she leaned into me.  I scratched her neck, her face, her ears, and one by one I pulled the burrs from her matted fur.

Again God spoke to me.  See how much she has grown and changed?  See how much more she is capable of love, and kindness?  She the anger she has left behind?  The fear of you she has conquered?  Soak up the beautiful sun and know that you have come this far as well.  You are yet again a new creation.  And I am proud. 

I was astounded.  It hit me quietly, peacefully, this revelation that not only had Sarah come so far, but I TOO had traveled this road with God by my side, and not only transformed myself more into his liking, but also those around me.  As people kicked and bit me along the way, God gave me the grace to love them anyway, to reach out my hand and fill their water troughs, remove the burrs from their faces, and offer my hand. 

So the two verses that follow truly made sense at that moment, a lesson learned yet again through the gentle quietness of a horse.

Stop being mean, bad-tempered, and angry. Quarreling, harsh words, and dislike of others should have no place in your lives. Instead, be king to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving you because you belong to Christ. 

Ephesians 4: 31-32

Look after each other so that not one of you will fail to find God’s best blessings, that no bitterness takes root among you, for as it springs up it causes deep trouble, hurting many in their spiritual lives. Hebrews 12:15