Almanzo knew that in the whole world, there was nothing so beautiful, so fascinating as a beautiful horse.
Laura Ingalls Wilder- Farmer Boy
“Dad, did you ever see a snake or a rattler while out working cattle,” I asked. “Oh sure, from time to time.” “Were you scared?” “Lord, no. I just used my lariat, knocked him out, got off, and killed him.” My eyes were wide as pie pans while he talked casually. When I could speak, I vocalized, “Yet there is no place for that on a resume.”
We went out riding, just my dad and me. “I better warn ya, Sis, things might get a little western.” “What do you mean,” I belted calmly. “Well, Jack gets excited when we head back for the barn, and he can’t go. Last time, Salty slid down the embankment and fell.” “Where was Brit? “She was holding Salty.” Pausing, I finally said, “You know these kinds of things don’t happen when I ride with my friend, Jessica.” “Uh-huh, well, you need these experiences.” “Thanks, Pops.”
The pasture was thick with green grass. The sun was long and lazy, like the deer that my horse, Freckles, spooked up. “Turn wide here, Sis. That’s an old fence row. There may be rusted wire spun under all this grass.” Sure enough, there it was. Right where I almost stepped my horse. “How do you know all these things, Dad?” “Oh, thousands of miles riding pastures, you learn a few things.” I smiled at his ability to know as we finished our ride, easing along through a canopy of trees and listening to hooves clipping along.
There are lessons learned with each ride. Getting back into horses takes more time than I realized. When we first started, I was ready to have it all right now. I remember heading out on our first trail ride. I was grooming my horse on a cool, brisk autumn morning. I couldn’t find a convenient place to tie my horse, so I chose a gate close by. I didn’t see my dad watching me from across the barn. I threw my saddle on top of the same gate and continued to brush before I tacked up. He quietly walked over and stood beside my horse while I finished.
“You’re not ready for horses, Sis.” I looked at him, confused. I was about to saddle up for an enjoyable day of riding pleasure and on my way to owning a horse of my own someday. Here, he was saying I’m not ready? “Mistakes like this could get someone seriously injured or killed. I watched a man do this very thing and spend months in the hospital; I don’t know if he ever fully recovered.” I still didn’t understand. “You cannot tie your horse to a gate, much less set your saddle on top of the gate. If this horse pulls back, and rest assured, they all can, you will be the target of the gate and saddle. There are thousands of these instances to avoid, Sis. It’s the knowledge you don’t have but the forethought you need.”
I was defeated before I even threw my leg over the saddle. How was I ever going to learn it all? I had waited too late, missing my opportunity to understand horsemanship as I should have when I was young.
Dad knew how I felt but also knew he had to tell me what I was doing wrong. Later on, he said, “Champions are not made in the arena; they’re revealed there. Champions are formed in the furnace of opposition and hammered out on the anvil of resistance. They’re made in barns, round pens, and pastures. Champions don’t come out of nowhere; they come out of somewhere of intentionality. They don’t whine and complain about the conditions around them; they adjust their sails to catch the wind that’s blowing. Champions are never formed alone; they have learned the value of a team and having someone in their corner. Champions work in good weather and bad; they never quit. They don’t rely on their skill but on the drill. “Do it again,” they say! Champions prepare. Champions are rare because they focus on the mark, not the prize. It’s tempting to focus on what we want instead of what we must do to achieve it. If you would be a champion, find your people, build your team, and get to work. Write the vision on your heart, not just a board. Keep putting one foot in front of the other and do something every day that moves you toward your dream.”
The girls tried on their new cowboy hats, each one fitting their style, except for me. Mine didn’t seem to fit me, although I liked it, I felt funny wearing it. Dad laughed when I told him. He encouraged me to wear it often. “A dress hat is boring and has a long life span. I’d rather be a work hat and do something that matters. Remember, champions are made.”
I continued to saddle up that day I was cross-checked. My sails were a little low, but not my heart. I don’t need to be the best in the arena, nor do I need to be known for my talents, but I want my family to know I am not a quitter, that I can learn and be better for it tomorrow. I am a champion in the making.
Continue in the things which you have learned and been assured of, knowing from whom you have learned them. 1 Timothy 3:14
