“What is one of your greatest personal accomplishments?” I hesitated momentarily at the interviewer’s question, just long enough to allow my initial reaction to become a clear visual in my mind.
“I adopted a rescue horse.” I was only mildly surprised not only by the answer itself, but also the certainty with which I responded. But certain I was. “Not so much because I feel that I saved him, but more so just through what I’ve learned from sharing life with him and walking alongside him.” My breath caught. “He’s been through so much. And the things he has taught me, through his own struggles… The way he has helped to make me stronger when I didn’t think I even had it in me.”
When I recounted my response to that particular question to my grandmother over the phone later that evening, she quipped happily, “Oh I just knew that would be what you’d say.” Perhaps I’m predictable. Or perhaps my pride in my horse and our relationship, with all of its challenges and quirks, has just been that transparent. Either way, when I examined it later, I realized that it was the truest answer I could have given.
It could have been about putting myself through college. Or job advancement. Or even traveling to a third world country on a mission trip, which does remain one of my most cherished memories. And while all of those things have helped to shape who I am, Tuff was still my first thought. For one, I think it’s because our relationship is still evolving. I’m still learning, being the amateur horsewoman that I am, and he still has gifts to give. But something else occurred to me as I was driving home from the barn the other night. One of the lessons horses can teach us, especially rescue horses, is that sometimes just getting through something is cause enough for celebration. We may not be where we want to be, and we may at times feel stymied by the pain and hurts from our past experiences, but if we stop long enough to breathe in deep and recognize that we did in fact survive that situation…it can be enough. It doesn’t mean we ever stop healing, or moving forward. But at least for me, I know I can get so caught up in trying to understand the why of something that happened or dwelling upon how things didn’t quite go like I hoped, that I forget to count my blessings for the getting through part itself.
Maybe it’s because pain can run deep, leaving us feeling like we’re still in the midst of it, and not on the other side. I imagine this can be true to a certain extent for horses too. Even the instantaneous relief that some of them may feel once being rescued – some of them from death’s doorstep and unfathomable cruelty, which makes my own struggles seem paltry – may be occasionally overshadowed by memories of pain and fear, the sting of which can still be sharp and poignant.
But as I watched my horse happily devour the hay in front of him that evening, seeming a world away from the pain and neglect of his former life, I was reminded of what it means to take joy in the small things. The small victories. You may never forget where you came from, or what you’ve been through, but it’s ok to take delight in the very fact that you’re still here, still pressing on. It may not be as far along as you’d like to be, but there is still comfort in knowing you are right where you’re supposed to be in the process. It’s not something I do well, certainly. But each time I find myself celebrating the small things my horse does (he lifted his right front foot with no hesitation! *insert happy squeal here*), I know that it’s possible.
“In the shelter of your eyes
I have finally learned the song
It took so long to realize
I just can’t make it all alone
Words are only what they say
But this feeling isn’t wrong
I’m so glad I found my way
It’s good to be where I belong…”
- In the Shelter of Your Eyes, Don Williams
peoplehelpinghorses
kristinbrown
