Some horses are just born for kids. Mr. Ed was one of those horses. My folks named him after the TV show “Mister Ed.” He whinnied all the time, so they felt it was a very appropriate name. One day, Dad was finishing up some work out at Mr. Harvey’s barn, and I was riding bareback in the round pen. I decided to speed Mr. Ed up a little bit, and without giving it much thought, I kicked him into a trot. At six years old, Mr. Ed was a lot of horse bareback, and I could not hold on very well. As he started to trot faster and faster, I began to lose my grip more and more. It only took seconds for me to meet the gate head first and then land in the dirt. When I gained composure, I noticed I was on one side of the pen, and Mr. Ed was on the other. He just stared at me as if wondering what I was doing down there? I immediately began to cry, and daddy came running to my rescue. Rescue seems like a pretty strong word when referring to Mr. Ed, but at six-years-old, those scrapes and bruises seemed as big as he was. My dad scooped me up and dusted me off. He put me in the truck and took me home to Mom. She bandaged up my scrapes and laid me down for a nap. I remember when I woke up, my dad came in and sat down beside me. He began to explain to me how I could not let one fall keep me from ever riding again. He told me that if I let fear win now, it would conquer me later in life. He finished by telling me we were going back to the barn. I didn’t want to go, but I knew there was no way out. Dad loaded up the family and headed out to the barn. I noticed Mr. Ed was still corralled instead of turned out to pasture. Dad knew all along that we would be going back. He helped me get on Mr. Ed bareback, and same as before, he had me trot around. I gripped as tight as I could, and to my surprise, I didn’t fall off. Sometimes experience really is the best teacher.
Years later, this lesson would play out again, only this time I would be riding a three-year-old colt. I usually did not get to ride the young colts, but Red was extremely gentle. One day, I got too comfortable and threw my leg over the saddle horn to relax. I decided to take off in a lope while in this position, it spooked him and He took off in a wide-open run with me on him. No amount of force I applied could stop him. I knew this was a dangerous place to be. Our dad had warned us girls about runaway horses. They run blind, not caring what may be in their way. I knew Red was heading straight for the barn. The only problem was we were about a half a mile away on a gravel road, and there was a lot between us and the barn. I quit trying to stop him and just held on. He rounded the first turn and was headed for the second, which would make a straight shot into the barn, but when I saw where he was aiming, I knew I would have to bail off or risk serious injury. His aim was for a small side door in the barn. I did the only thing I could do. I jumped! I slid for what felt like miles and then all went calm. The worst was over except for the injuries I incurred. It took me several weeks to heal, but as soon as I was able, I put on my boots, walked out to the barn and saddled Red.
Now that I am grown, I can see that my father was not teaching how to get back on a horse. He was teaching me not to fear the ride of life. Life will throw us off sometimes. We must learn how to shake off the mud, dust off the dirt and climb back in the saddle again. When I got back on my horse that day, I still had the scars, but I left the fall behind me. I refused to carry the weight of all the dirt and mud. The fall is not what defines us, it’s the ride.
I decided a long time ago no matter what life would throw my way, I would love wide open, I would laugh loud, and I would live salty, as I heard a young man say, flavoring all I come in contact with. I want to leave this world a better place. I cannot do that from the dirt. When life bucks me off, and it will at times, I will let tears wash away the dirt and grime. I will let relationships be a part of helping me swing a leg back over the saddle again, and most importantly, I will not carry what was never mine to carry. Fear, regret, loss, grief, sadness, anger, hurt, sickness, disease, and poverty. Jesus paid it all. He nailed it to the cross so I could go free. My mother has a beautiful quote she says all the time, “Life was made to be lived, not feared.” So, saddle up, it’s going to be a beautiful ride…
“Surely, He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows, yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities. The chastisement for our peace was upon him, and by his stripes we are healed!” Isaiah 53:4-5
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