A Speckled Rainbow

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” 

Romans 8:28

“Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems, and he has a name written that no one knows but himself.  He is clothed in a robe dipped in blood, and the name by which he is called is The Word of God.  And the armies of heaven, arrayed in fine linen, white and pure, were following him on white horses.” 

Revelation 19: 11-14

    This is a story about a horse that was terribly broken.  He will never be famous.  He only lived seven years.  But he made a difference.  God used him to make a difference.

     God has used this broken horse, Speckles, to minister to so many, including me.  Everyone was a little afraid of Speckles at Hope Reins, a group that uses horses to minister to children.  He was young, recently gelded, a bit aggressive and super fast.  In addition, he didn’t come across as a very intelligent horse; and a slightly dumb, fast, aggressive horse can be intimidating.  But one day, as he was stealing the food of another horse, I walked towards him and my dog training background came out.  I squared my shoulders and stomped towards him.  And he looked up directly into my eyes and stepped back.  And for that one moment, I saw him, the real him.  And I knew that look - I know quite a bit about hiding.  

     So when I joined the training team, I found myself asking to train Speckles.  Terrified, but doing it anyway.  He scared the heck out of me at first.  I didn’t know how to train, much less how to train a large, fast creature who kept charging at me and kicking as he rushed by.  So, I practiced lunging with my dog at first.  That lasted 10 minutes before she sat down and refused to budge.  So, I lunged the kids and they loved it!  They made themselves halters and made a carrot stick for me.  Then we practiced so that I didn’t have to worry about how to train - just how to deal with Speckles.  I even lunged my husband! 

      When I went back to training Speckles, I started to see patterns.  My job before kids involved troubleshooting - looking for unusual patterns.  And Speckles was a horse with unusual patterns!  God gifted me with fibromyalgia and joint pain, along with several other health concerns and a smorgasbord of eating disorders.  He has shown me how I tend towards frustration and irritation when I am in pain.  He has given me permanent health issues that flare when I am stressed, sick, or sometimes for no reason that I can fathom.  And here was a horse who matched my very own patterns.  He lashed out when he felt pain, isolated and hid his personality to protect himself.  He couldn’t be used like other horses - he had a locking stifle and upwardly fixated patellas – lots of inflammation, arthritis, pain.  And yet... as I learned about him, I realized where he had come from and changed my behavior.  And changing myself changed Speckles.  He started to trust.

     As his trust increased, I could suddenly see a beautiful, intelligent, sensitive horse.  He was gentle and fun-loving, desiring only to please.  But he had been so hurt, so broken.  He was found up to his knees in muck, starving to death, in the dark.  So if you scared him, if you pressed him to be like other horses, if you did not change yourself to fit his needs, he ran, he lashed out, he retreated inside himself.  What an amazing opportunity for ministering to families of broken children, children who isolate themselves, who lash out, who will never be whole - physically or mentally.  And what a hope for parents who see that to change a child, they must only change themselves.  To see that the hurt and frustration that parents feel can fall away when they know that the behavior breaking out in the children has a reason, and they can find it.  To see that a broken, neglected, abused, scared and scary animal is an angel in disguise.  To see that bad days do not mean failure.  

     And Speckles had bad days.  Weather fronts, wet days – this meant be careful!  His hips would pop, his joints would stiffen, his ears would flatten.  But on the other days… oh those other days were pure bliss.  I will always remember….

 I remember taking him to the picnic table where my children sat, doing schoolwork.  He stuck his head in schoolbags, slobbered on paper, and then attempted to climb OVER the picnic table to get to my purse!  I had a moment of panic, wondering how I would explain to the training leader just how I had managed to strand my horse on top of a table!

I remember the funny face he made when I rubbed his cheeks.

I remember spending 30 minutes in a very bad training session - he was bucking and kicking instead of lunging, biting and pushing me. I got so frustrated that I just stopped everything and unhooked his lead rope. Then I walked away to the mounting block, hoping he would not run after me and stomp me. I climbed up, sat down and put my elbows on my knees, head down on my hands and asked God why this horse was so darn hard. And there was Speckles. He followed me across the ring, put his head in my lap and just stood there, waiting. We sat like that for at least 15 minutes and he never moved. And I knew that he wanted to connect, that he needed me. I know just how those kids in our program feel.  I remember how it felt to hold his head in my lap.

I remember training Speckles, then releasing his lead line and walking away.  He would follow me anywhere, sometimes with his chin resting on my shoulder. 

I remember asking two Hope Reins volunteers to help me – I had them work with Speckles like we would ask a child, and then walk away.  And Speckles was more than willing to follow.  More than willing to please.  Even when he was hurting.

I remember when I realized that he was hurting when the weather changed. I tried to catch him but he did not want to be caught.  After I caught him I noticed that his pink eyelids were out and his eyes were bloodshot, just like my daughter’s.  His hip was popping and he shied away from the saddlepad - he thought it meant riding and he was hurting!  I did not put the pad on him - he was just too scared that he'd get hurt. He always was a smart cookie.  But when I put him back, I watched him for a while.  I sat down beside the fence and he came right over and gave a great sigh - relief that I wasn't going to hurt him.  He was soooo worried when I took him out.  He stayed by the fence with his head in my lap until I decided to go. 

I remember one day when he did not want me to spray the fly spray.  He grabbed it from me and tossed it about 10 feet away!

I remember a video taken on a work day at the farm.  Speckles was grabbing rakes from people and playing with them, shaking his head up and down with that silly pink pitchfork hanging out of his mouth.

I remember the first time I tapped his shoulder and he hugged my child with his neck on command.  I remember what it felt like when he hugged me.

I remember how excited he would get, prancing and tapping my shoulder with his chin when he knew he was doing well.  I remember how excited he got when he understood that I wanted him to pick up his feet – he started picking them up as fast as he could, always figuring out exactly which one I was aiming for.

I remember a volunteer telling me about running frantically across the field, because Speckles had the entire side view mirror of the volunteer’s truck completely inside his mouth.

I remember one day when I had a headache.  I was pushing him, not paying attention to the danger signals, not realizing that he was hurting too.  I woke right up when two back hooves suddenly appeared right in front of my face.  I sat down, upset and angry that he had tried to kick me.  And he crept right up to me and laid his head in my lap, trying to tell me that he was sorry, that he just hurt.

I remember the night when he got out of the fence and took a night out from his babysitting job.  He was calmly munching grass while Joey stood in the open gate, wondering where Speckles had gotten to.  The feeders weren’t sure how to get him back in the pasture, but Speckles walked right with them when they took the hay out for breakfast.

I remember lunging him while standing on a picnic table – he loved it!

I remember what a ladies’ man he was – prancing, bucking and galloping with his tail flying in the wind whenever he thought he had caught their eye.

I remember as his pain increased, he was not always easy to catch.  So I would train another horse. By the time I was done, he would be pressed against the fence, green with envy.  I would hold up the halter and he would shove his head in, anxious to prove that he, and he alone, was MY boy.

I remember walking him around trees and suddenly being pulled to a halt.  I peeked around the tree at him and his head jerked up, ears forward.  I jumped back behind the tree and …. slowly his nose peeked around the other side.  Boo!  Up went the ears and back we both jumped.  Then slowly his nose peeked around the other side!  That amazing boy figured out how to play peek-a-boo! 

I remember how scared he was when we tried to put a rider on him, not realizing what was causing his pain.  I remember how he lost his trust.  I remember a month of trying to earn his trust back, sometimes hiding from him behind Joey, afraid he might kick me.  I remember finally running over to a clump of clover, exclaiming “Wow!  Look at this!” and chucking it at him.  I remember the look of astonishment on his face – who is this crazy person running around to different clumps of my favorite food and throwing it at me?  Only took about 5 clumps and he was right at my shoulder, happy to come with me.

I remember how he watched my every move, how hard he wanted to please.

I remember coming out on a stormy day, worried about the horses.  And there were Speckles and Gabe, racing around at top speed.  I watched, afraid someone would slip and fall.  Then I realized it was a game.  Speckles would chase Gabe at top speed, then duck into the run-in shelter.  Gabe would realize Speckles was gone and would trot back to the shelter.  Then Speckles would LEAP out and Gabe would jump straight up in the air and they were off!  They did this for at least 20 minutes.

I remember as his pain increased, we would just hang out together.  We played the “grazing game,” where I would let him graze, then move to a better spot, tap the ground and exclaim, “Holy cow!  Speckles!  Look at this one!”  Only took a time or two and then he would wait and zip right over to wherever I pointed.

I remember how he didn’t like apples at first – only carrots.  Turned out that was just because he’d never had an apple.  Then he loved them!  He didn’t like clementines though.  I gave him one and he spit it out at full velocity, beaning me right in the forehead!

I remember walking around Hope Reins, leading Speckles – who was carrying a towel around in his mouth, chewing reflectively.

I remember a mare that we had, Scout, who panicked when I got her pasture-mate out.   Scout lost it - she came galloping out at full speed, crying and skidding to a halt.  Then she took off again and galloped back -  I thought she was going over the gate for a moment, but she stopped by the gate and cried frantically.  Here's the marvelous part.  Speckles comes tearing around the corner from the shed - ears up, chest out, neck curved and tail straight up in the air, hair flying back.   He came charging out like a knight coming to rescue his princess, with Joey high-stepping behind.  Speckles dashed up, put his head over the gate and started nibbling up and down Scout's back.  He kept it up until she calmed down, and then started at her ears and nibbled down to her tail.  The whole time he did this, our blind horse Joey stood there with his chin resting on Speckle's rear end.  Speckles kept it up until Scout dropped her head and grazed. Then he went back to grazing with Joey!

I remember watching him find a puddle and dance in it, reveling in the splashes and stomping harder to watch that water fly!

I remember crying on the day when I picked his hoof and his muscle spasms brought him crashing to his knees.  I remember watching him fall and seeing his trusting eyes looking up at me.

I remember the day I went out after some diet changes.  Speckles galloped across the field and attempted to take off my head with his own swinging head.  Then he stomped up and down frantically.  He was hungry and needed more hay – and he knew that I would understand him.

I remember a special time with a mother during sessions.  When I got up in the morning, I thought about sessions and felt that God was telling me to take today's parent to the horses.  I wondered about that.  At Hope Reins we talked for a little bit at the picnic tables.  The mother was quiet today, frustrated and mad.  She was tired of always fighting with her child.  I told her a little about the horses, Speckles in particular.  She said "Can we go to the horses?"  So we did.  Speckles stayed right there and I was able to give a lesson on his present problem - mouthiness.  She watched the quick correction - and quicker praise.  She heard his story, his hard beginning, his pain, his lashing out.  She saw how much observation and patience it took to help him (not make him) respond.  I could see that she really heard his story.  Everything that came out about the Speckles fit right in with what she was have issues with - and she was seeing the results of looking for the underlying issues, rather than immediately correcting behaviors.  I watched her welcome her child after sessions with a happy smile and a hopeful heart, leaving Hope Reins filled with new ideas and dreams.

I remember when a parent got to see a hurting horse minister in a small way to a blind horse and a goose in pain.  We went in and petted Joey, our blind boy.  After he was done, I said "Watch this - he knows right where Speckles is."  Sure enough, Joey started for Speckles.  And Speckles watched him with a concerned look.  When Joey veered off a bit, Speckles nickered to get him back on track.  He welcomed him in.  As they went down the field, a lame goose hobbled in.  Speckles went right over and sniffed at the goose, which hurriedly tried to hop away.  But it was tired.  Speckles touched it with his muzzle.  And the goose lay down beside Speckles.  He touched him again, stayed with him to keep him safe until Joey passed by, then went off with Joey to graze.

I remember his story touching yet another mother.  She had an adopted boy who is brilliant, but came across as stubborn and dull when he felt threatened. They had had physical violence from him in the past. He had good and bad days - and she had to adjust to that, rather than insisting on only good days.  He had things he coudn't do, which frustrated and angered him.  She had to move with him, looking at what he saw, at what encouraged and discouraged him.  As I told her about Speckles, she kept exclaiming "That's just like my son!  I never knew that a horse was just like my son!  You HAVE to keep him.  People need to see a horse that can't be ridden because of his past.  A broken horse that can't be fixed.  A broken horse that is still perfect right here, that touches people because of who he is!" 

What hope to a shattered child, to watch a shattered horse minister to a blind horse, to watch him calm an anxious horse, to hear the story about Speckles protecting a lame goose.  To see that he has been made whole in the midst of his brokenness.

And I remember the past few weeks.

I remember reading chapters of a book to him through the fence, since his pain made him too unreliable to take out.

I remember standing on the other side of a big stump, knowing it was too dangerous to get closer.  Putting my hand on the stump and feeling him press his muzzle against my hand.  Knowing that he was in too much pain for me to touch, but feeling his need to touch me.  Knowing that this was goodbye.

I remember telling my children that the horse that we love so dearly will be leaving us.  That his pain was constant now, that we needed to help him, that he needed to leave us. I remember the gut wrenching pain that was now inside me.

I remember watching him as I said goodbye at the vets, galloping and bucking, happy and finally painfree on heavy painkillers, unable to recognize me anymore.  Knowing that God had given me a beautiful gift, a glimpse of the horse he should have been.  A glimpse of him running wild and free.

And I remember this morning, waking to that terrible pain, knowing that this is the first morning without him.  And getting phone calls, seeing the miracle myself.  God put a double rainbow right over Hope Reins this morning.  There is a song by Indelible Grace with these words: 

O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.

 Today I am holding on to that rainbow through the tears.

     Training Speckles has taught me so much more about myself.  How I assume so much - I assumed he was stubborn, when his stubborn behavior was just a cry of pain.  How I had to change my whole set of rules on horse behavior when I was with him - he was himself, not a generic horse.  How I need to look inside when I am frustrated or irritated - because that shows that I am in pain.  (I have a tendency to put my head down and crash right through life, pain or no pain).  How there is always a way to minister to someone who is hurting - it just may require thinking way outside the box.  How my own pains are simple teaching tools.  How anger and isolation both show tremendous need. How brokenness heals others.

     I always wanted my own horse.  I am so thankful that God gave Speckles to me, if only for a little while.  I will always love the memories that I have of him.  And those memories will continue to teach me and others about the love of God.  Speckles was a double reflection.  A reflection of God’s beautiful creation.  And a reflection of those broken people who broke him.  A reflection of humanity.  I pray that they will be shown mercy, and that they will be held as I have been when they behold the horror of what they have done.  How could I do less, when such great mercy has been shown to me?  Thank you God for my horse.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God's power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.

1 Peter 1:3-7

Amen.

See you soon my friend.