I never expected to ride again. Not like this with my husband beside me on a horse I love. Scott on a horse we both love. It just seemed a thing of the past, something God had taken away from us. When Soda Pop died, I thought it was done. I couldn’t imagine riding another horse after I lost him. I haven’t ridden in the mountains since. I’ve hardly ridden at all.

And the babies kept coming.

You change diapers for twenty-three years, certain you were made for it. Certain God planned this life for you, and will give you the strength to keep on keeping on.

You want to thrive, but instead you survive. 

That’s how mothers of little ones often feel. Sleep deprived, and energy deprived, and fun deprived. Forget the thrive. It’s about survive. Your idea of a luxury vacation is a full night’s sleep. You forget to take care of yourself because you’re taking care of everybody else.

And you think God’s got you. Really got you. He won’t let you break.

And then you break.

You break so hard, you leave your house in an ambulance, your wrists in restraints, and you think all hell just broke loose on you…

After my breakdown I spent a lot of time petting the colt in our pasture. A young bay with a crescent moon on his forehead. The kids named him Diego. This long-legged foal born the same month as our seventh child. His warm hide like velvet under my hands. Those meetings at the fence where I stroked that horse, and he stroked something deep inside of me.

Something worn out and wounded.

But I never thought we’d ride him. I thought we were done with horses that way. The way where you saddle up and ride till you’re happy tired and all your cares are gone. Something Scott and I used to do together before we grew too tired to do anything but raise kids.

So for a decade we just raised kids. Stopped riding horses to grow our family. And I’d do it again. In a heartbeat do it again because “Children are all blessing from the Lord, a reward from God” Psalm 127:3:5.

The day G2 started kindergarten that colt in our pasture went to the trainer’s barn. Some of you might remember that blog: Half Wild Horses. What I didn’t say in the post was I’d cut a deal with the trainer– a family friend who feels more like family than friend. My horse, Heart, was already at the trainers’ place, and had been for several years, because when Heart was about to come home, I was diagnosed with cancer in my leg and could hardly walk for several months after surgery, let alone ride a horse. So in tears, I told the trainer to keep her. Just keep her. And to keep Diego (a two-year-old colt) until he turned ten. That was our deal since I didn’t know if I’d ever ride again. The trainer–a real cowboy who needs his horses to work cattle– would have Diego’s strongest years while I hopefully gave the remainder of my strongest years to raising kids.

And honestly, I didn’t know if I would survive anyway. I just wanted my horses to have a good home. To be used by someone who loved horses like I did.

So I can’t tell you how surprised I was when the trainer brought Heart home a few days before Mother’s Day, and said, “Here she is. Ride her!” This is by far the best Mother’s Day present I’ve ever received. Then just a week later, the trainer called again and said, “I’m bringing you Tucker (Diego’s registered name is True Blue Tucker Chex so the trainer and I agreed to call him Tucker instead of Diego since Diego is a cartoon character). I can’t keep him any longer. I’m getting way too attached to him,” said the trainer.

So the next day there was our colt with two names in the pasture. But he wasn’t the same horse that left here last August the day G2 started kindergarten. Instead of running up to me with all the trust of before, he came to the fence slowly, his eyes old and wise and a little sad.

It made me cry to see him broken. Humble. Cautious.

I still don’t know what to call him: Diego or Tucker. Maybe he needs a new name like True Blue. I told him many times at the fence after my breakdown he’s a true blue friend.

And as I stroked him again, his hide still like velvet, but now with saddle scars, I said how sorry I was for sending him away to school. That it had to be done. He had to be broken for us to ride him. To use him for what he was created to do. Carry a human being. And in that instant, it came to me, the epiphany came to me.

I had to be broken for God to use me, too.

This same day in my Streams in the Desert devotion I read:

“We were under great pressure,… so that we despaired even of life… But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead” 2 Corinthians 1:8-9. The pressure of difficult times makes us value life. Every time our life is spared and given back to us after a trial, it is like a new beginning. We better understand its value and thereby apply ourselves more effectively for God and for humankind. And the pressure we endure helps us to understand the trials of others, equipping us to help them and to sympathize with them. Some people have a shallowness about them. With their superficial nature, they lightly take hold of a theory or a promise and then carelessly tell of their distrust of those who retreat from every trial. Yet a man or woman who has experienced great suffering will never do this. They are very tender and gentle, and understand what suffering really means. This is what Paul meant when he said, “Death is at work in us, but life in you” 2 Cor. 4:12. Trials and difficult times are needed to press us forward. They work in the way the fire in the hold of a mighty steamship provides the energy that moves the pistons, turns the engine, and propels the great vessel across the sea, even when facing the wind and the waves. A.B. Simpson.

God used the outside of a horse to touch the inside of me. How creative Our Lord is. And how well He knows us. Deeply, truly knows the human spirit.

You may not speak the language of horses, but God knows the language you speak. He will use what you love to train you. Because what you love is what you know. The Bible says a man will know a woman when she becomes his wife, and this is meant in the most intimate degree of knowing. The sweetness of knowing someone body and soul is one of the greatest gifts on earth.

So let Jesus train you so you no longer rely on yourself, but on the Maker of heaven and horses. And so you will know Him. Deeply, desperately know God.

It’s been brought to my attention that when I switched over hosting last month, those of you subscribed to my blog lost your email connection. So sorry about that. You can resubscribe now on the sidebar and my posts will again be sent to your email. Thanks so much for taking this journey with me. You all have become my tribe. The ones I do life with and I pray for you and so appreciate you!