By Jessica Porter, DPT
“Here we are”, I announced as I cautiously opened the door to the truck. Slowly stepping out I examined the horse trailer we had in tow to assure it was still attached after the very difficult trek we had just taken in search of our ranch-away-from-ranch destination. We took in the lay of the land which wasn’t very fancy, but was all together practical. Now... “which gate?” There were plenty of options among the puzzle of horse pens before us, but we had no idea what the horses we were picking up looked like, so we were a bit helpless in that decision. But, before we could explore all of our options, a tall gentleman with a cowboy hat shading his eyes and a coffee mug held to his lips meandered over our way. My sister and I introduced ourselves and explained that we were here to pick up the two horses he was loaning us for the week to use at a Christian camp for individuals with special needs. He was expecting us and gently pointed us in the right direction. “They’re not much, but I hope they’re a help to you.” Cutting my eyes to my sister, I knew she was thinking what I was thinking. “What the heck does that mean?”
We made our way in the direction we had been pointed and finally set eyes on our two four-legged prospects. Both were pleasantly finishing the breakfast they still had before them. The horse on the left immediately caught our fancy. It was the younger of the two. His muscles were well defined and the potential of strength and power that he contained were captivating. His coat was slick as a well-oiled saddle and decorated with white and brown splotches. The kind I had always loved on a paint horse. The second horse the man offered us was less captivating. He was the typical bay horse that was obviously weathered from his years of experience, small in stature and slightly frail. My sister had already haltered him and walked him out of his stall. She always seemed to have this love for the less fortunate animals we came across in our lives. As she walked the older horse, we both noticed the crippled knee. It kind of looked like the horse had what was parallel to a human club foot. “Poor guy”, I said wincing as I watched each limp when he walked. “Well, at least he’s gentle.” I talked myself into finding something to like about him in comparison to his much finer counterpart in the stall next door. “Let’s spend a little more time with them and then load them in the trailer” I told my sister. We had given ourselves plenty of time to pick up the horses and get them over to the camp site. At least that’s what we had thought.
When it came time to load up into the trailer, Old Nobble Knees, jumped right on in, willing and ready as if he knew where he was headed. Then it was the handsome paint’s turn. I watched as his strong legs stepped up toward the trailer. Yet with each step closer that he took, his defined muscles quaked with trembles. He was afraid! As I prodded him on, I began to realize... he was terrified! But we needed this horse’s help with so many people counting on his presence at the camp. So, we pulled him forward to the small space. With every prodding I gave his strength pulled against me until there was nowhere else for him to go but up. He towered over me as he reared and I realized, this horse was going to need much more time to accomplish this task than I had allotted for. Could we achieve this? Well, my sister’s face was as determined as mine. So, we tried again, and again, and again. Until we truly ran out of time.
We climbed into our truck, with only the old clunker horse behind us in the trailer and headed off to camp. My first-choice horse had turned out completely useless to our situation and whinnied goodbye as we drove away. Our spirits were low as we made the trip back to camp grounds. But what I didn’t realize was the magnificent lesson I was about to learn.
We parked near an open field where we unloaded what was now our solo horse. He willingly accepted all the tack we had brought and patiently waited for the arriving children. We saw around 20-25 riders that day. Each rider had their own unique struggles that the little old horse didn’t ever once protest. From wheelchairs to loud, uncontrollable shrills of excitement, this little pony was consistent, faithful and a friend to anyone who wanted to climb on his back. His limp never went away the entire time he worked with us, but his irreplaceable heart of gold seemed to shine brighter and brighter each day we worked with him. Until the last day when he outshined all the others.
A 20-year-old young woman with quadriplegia had been persuaded to try and ride our little steed. Depression had been her companion that traveled with her everywhere she went since the car accident that stole her freedom to move her arms and legs. Curious to see what this little horse had to offer she ventured out to explore the idea of riding. Everyone was hesitant, as we all knew that the weight of her paralyzed body would push the limits of our little horses carrying capacity. The look in the horse’s eye twinkled with reassurance that even if his legs couldn’t take it, his big heart was strong enough to carry them through. The frail horse struggled under the weight. His lame leg stumbled a great bit, but as we dismounted the rider from his back after her ride, she beamed with happiness. For once, since her accident, she had found a friend far better than depression to travel with her. She had found some hope through the kindness of a horse who taught us to believe in more than just what the eyes can see and to not underestimate what or who God can use to achieve great things.
Later on, I found this lesson summed up in the Bible where it says, “Remember, dear brothers and sisters, that few of you were wise in the world’s eyes or powerful or wealthy when God called you. Instead, God chose things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise. And he chose things that are powerless to shame those who are powerful. God chose things despised by the world, things counted as nothing at all, and used them to bring to nothing what the world considers important. As a result, no one can ever boast in the presence of God.” 1 Cor 1:26-29
My beautiful first-pick horse was like the wisdom of the world. It appears beautiful and mighty and so tempting, just like popularity and wealth and selfishness and happily ever after fairly-tales always do. But those things are really foolish and worthless when compared to the things of God that matter and last. The important things that our little old crippled horse reminded us of. So, which would you rather be? The simple, crippled little horse or the powerful, beautiful paint that was left behind?
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