formed a bucket brigade to the central water tank of the race camp, keeping the leg cool with hand-poured water. The afternoon passed slowly as we made trip after trip, hauling the heavy sloshing tubs of water, hoping to restore a little horse … and a dream.
Sarah was in more pain than Mojave. It was devastating to see the storm of concern and anxiety building behind her silent expression. After deep consideration, I called our small team together. In a circle of combined hearts and hands, I prayed aloud a simple prayer for the healing of Sarah’s horse. I asked the good Lord that His answer would come in such a way that everyone would know it was His great love that made the difference. In the midst of hugs and tears, a cool breeze swirled between us—an unseen messenger that seemed to ferry our simple prayer up through the forested hillside and into the very presence of God.
It was early evening when a Volkswagen van rattled up the dusty road toward our camp. Sarah’s parents hadarrived. She approached them with the body language of a girl preparing to show her parents a failing report card.
After a brief and quiet conversation with them, she returned to her post at Mojave’s shoulder and continued his restorative care. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. Her vigil continued through the cool evening into the cold night. Twice she led her gelding the half mile to the vet check area, and twice he was declared still slightly lame. When it was dark and the area was illuminated only by headlight beams, the vet finally encouraged her with, “Come back around five-thirty in the morning, and we’ll look at him one more time.” She nodded in silent agreement as she cradled her horse’s head in her arms.
Fatigue drew all of us toward our frigid tents, but before turning in, I asked Sarah to wake me so that we could go to the early morning check together. Through heavy eyes and an even heavier heart, she promised she would. I watched her small flashlight beam retreat like a lonely star as she made her way to her tent.
The night passed all too quickly in dreamless sleep. I woke to a gray morning, my icy breath drifting up to join a thick layer of frozen condensation on the inside of the tent walls. Thin layers of ice had fallen onto my sleeping bag during the night.
Thankfully, I had stuffed most of my clothes into my sleeping bag to stay warm. The trick now was to dig them out and get them on without knocking down the layer of ice hanging precariously over my head. That accomplished, I crawled out of the tent and glanced at our portable corral.
We were one horse short. Mojave was gone. And so, Idiscovered, was Sarah.
Quickly I pulled on my boots and riding gear. Light was only just beginning to tint the eastern horizon. The long valley that stretched down toward the main camp and vetting area was filled with a smoky mist. The ground and every living thing that covered it were dressed in a woolly layer of heavy silver frost. Earth and sky blended almost seamlessly into a shimmering veil of gray. Pulling on my gloves, I scanned the milky valley for any movement. My feet crunched on the frozen grass as I took a few steps, straining my eyes. Finally, through the sea of gray, a form started to emerge … then two. I watched as they materialized into dark gray shapes.
They walked shoulder to shoulder with their heads down. Occasionally, without looking up, Sarah rested her right hand on Mojave’s mane. Their combined body language was either of extreme relief … or despair. I continued to study them as they approached, anxious for any sign, any clue that might hint at either negative or positive news. But they revealed nothing, moving like floating phantoms up the streaming silver river of frost beneath their feet.
My body wouldn’t move, my lungs wouldn’t fill. I was afraid to blink.
Lord, this is so important to a young heart.…
My rambling prayer ended abruptly as her head slowly came up and she
Sarah was in more pain than Mojave. It was devastating to see the storm of concern and anxiety building behind her silent expression. After deep consideration, I called our small team together. In a circle of combined hearts and hands, I prayed aloud a simple prayer for the healing of Sarah’s horse. I asked the good Lord that His answer would come in such a way that everyone would know it was His great love that made the difference. In the midst of hugs and tears, a cool breeze swirled between us—an unseen messenger that seemed to ferry our simple prayer up through the forested hillside and into the very presence of God.
It was early evening when a Volkswagen van rattled up the dusty road toward our camp. Sarah’s parents hadarrived. She approached them with the body language of a girl preparing to show her parents a failing report card.
After a brief and quiet conversation with them, she returned to her post at Mojave’s shoulder and continued his restorative care. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. Her vigil continued through the cool evening into the cold night. Twice she led her gelding the half mile to the vet check area, and twice he was declared still slightly lame. When it was dark and the area was illuminated only by headlight beams, the vet finally encouraged her with, “Come back around five-thirty in the morning, and we’ll look at him one more time.” She nodded in silent agreement as she cradled her horse’s head in her arms.
Fatigue drew all of us toward our frigid tents, but before turning in, I asked Sarah to wake me so that we could go to the early morning check together. Through heavy eyes and an even heavier heart, she promised she would. I watched her small flashlight beam retreat like a lonely star as she made her way to her tent.
The night passed all too quickly in dreamless sleep. I woke to a gray morning, my icy breath drifting up to join a thick layer of frozen condensation on the inside of the tent walls. Thin layers of ice had fallen onto my sleeping bag during the night.
Thankfully, I had stuffed most of my clothes into my sleeping bag to stay warm. The trick now was to dig them out and get them on without knocking down the layer of ice hanging precariously over my head. That accomplished, I crawled out of the tent and glanced at our portable corral.
We were one horse short. Mojave was gone. And so, Idiscovered, was Sarah.
Quickly I pulled on my boots and riding gear. Light was only just beginning to tint the eastern horizon. The long valley that stretched down toward the main camp and vetting area was filled with a smoky mist. The ground and every living thing that covered it were dressed in a woolly layer of heavy silver frost. Earth and sky blended almost seamlessly into a shimmering veil of gray. Pulling on my gloves, I scanned the milky valley for any movement. My feet crunched on the frozen grass as I took a few steps, straining my eyes. Finally, through the sea of gray, a form started to emerge … then two. I watched as they materialized into dark gray shapes.
They walked shoulder to shoulder with their heads down. Occasionally, without looking up, Sarah rested her right hand on Mojave’s mane. Their combined body language was either of extreme relief … or despair. I continued to study them as they approached, anxious for any sign, any clue that might hint at either negative or positive news. But they revealed nothing, moving like floating phantoms up the streaming silver river of frost beneath their feet.
My body wouldn’t move, my lungs wouldn’t fill. I was afraid to blink.
Lord, this is so important to a young heart.…
My rambling prayer ended abruptly as her head slowly came up and she
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