Bridge Called Hope

by Kim Meeder

  The first time I saw her, I nearly laughed out loud. Her front legs were separated by a huge chest. The gap between her knees was nearly wide enough to park a Volkswagen! Her body was so large and her legs were so short that she looked a bit like a white, freckled minibus with legs!

  Oddly enough, it was a combination I had been looking for. As silly as this seemed, her ridiculous conformation, the overall picture of how she was put together, was an important feature in my mind … because most of the disabled kids that we work with are also short and “round.” So a sturdy horse that was low to the ground would be the perfect fit for kids who are a bit heavier and unsure of heights.

  Even though my “test drive” with her was somewhat disastrous, complete with constant straining to return to the barn, bucking, and my personal favorite—two attempts at a fullblown “run away”—there was still something special about this hefty girl that called out to me.

  After loading her into the trailer and paying out one thousand dollars for her purchase price, I climbed into my truck and shut the door. I literally had to grip the steering wheel with both hands for a moment … to keep from slapping myself in the head! “Girl! What have you just done?!”

  Once at the ranch, Shonee, who had been named after the Shoshone Indian Nation, began her metamorphosis. Somehow, certainly not by any of my genius, this little spotted mare methodically chose to change into what I would consider a candidate for the world’s greatest kids’ horse. In only a few weeks’ time, “simply Shonee,” miraculously transformied into “Shonee the Wonder Pony!”

  She continually proved to everyone that she could do anything. She was patient with little kids, unbalanced kids, frightened kids, noisy kids, bouncing kids … and the same list could be dittoed for adults as well. She loved bareback-riding and simply being wallowed with affection. For kids who were celebrating their birthday at the ranch, she was often chosen as the “painting horse” because she made such an incredible “canvas.” There was something wonderful about connecting her dots with bright red, blue, and orange that was of particular delight to our youthful, paint-smeared “artists.”

  In parades, she was always a favorite. I often wondered if her spots didn’t have some sort of magnetic value, because everywhere she went, she seemed to posses a “gravitational pull” on the young at heart of those who surrounded her.

  Concerning unpredictable trail situations, she was always as solid as a sunrise. She never really considered spooking or being flustered about anything. She enjoyed carrying a pack saddle because she quickly learned that somewhere amidst all those supplies was a snack waiting just for her. Nothing seemed to ruffle her in the least—traversing a rushing mountain stream, navigating a difficult trail into an alpine meadow, getting tied to a high line at night, or being blanketed, hobbled, or beset by bees or bug spray. Shonee continued to prove daily that whatever shape it took, she simply enjoyed her life. For her, the method, company, or venue of attention wasn’t important as long as she was loved. All that really mattered was love.

  Of everyone who adored Shonee, perhaps no one could have been more truly devoted than a young, slender girl named Sarah. After several years of riding at the ranch, it appeared that Sarah’s heart was slowly being surrounded by “spots.” This shy, tow-headed little blond fell hopelessly in love with Shonee the Wonder Pony.

  Born with a genetic deficiency in her vision, Sarah began wearing thick, corrective glasses at the age of two. Learning is challenging enough for kids who can see clearly … it is incomprehensively harder for those who cannot. Sarah remembered being asked by an inquisitive peer, “Are you blind? You look so funny in those lined glasses.” Her casual yet brave response was, “Nope, these lines are prisms, and they help to exercise my eye muscles so they get stronger.” Sarah was never ashamed of the path God chose for her. Even now, she understands that her “uniqueness” has made her more compassionate, tenacious, and thoughtful.

  After six years of prismed glasses, eye patches, eye exercises, and vision therapy, Sarah underwent corrective surgery on both of her eyes. While recovering from her operation, she exclaimed in complete wonder to her mother, “Mom, I never knew I had freckles!” Through an incredible amount of hard work and perseverance, Sarah currently enjoys nearly perfect vision and wears glasses only to assist her with distance.

  At the ranch, Sarah found the balance in friendship that she so earnestly sought. There was no question that in her eyes, that “balance” was named Shonee.

  Innocently unaware, each was leading the other by their simple example of what the foundation of true friendship should really be. Sarah never noticed the funny looking way that Shonee was built, and Shonee never noticed that Sarah had any more struggles than any other girl. All they seemed to truly care about was how much each loved the other.

  In an effort to keep her spotted friend close to her heart between visits, Sarah’s mother had shared with me how Sarah had literally plastered her room with Shonee pictures: Sarah feeding Shonee flowers, Sarah giving Shonee a bath, Sarah cantering on Shonee for the first time, Sarah and Shonee sharing a kiss. Layer by layer, Shonee became the freckled bricks in the rising wall of Sarah’s self-confidence.

  Watching Sarah and Shonee together was like watching a butterfly and a flower. Together they became a visual example of something all kids and adults should practice. Instead of quickly judging each other for their unique differences, each seemed to understand and embrace those very distinctions for exactly how they were created … as one of a kind. Instead of rejecting those who are different than ourselves, Sarah and Shonee chose strong friendship, each complementing the other, each making the other better … each loving the other exactly how they were.

  Every day they were together, each honored the value of the other, proving how truly precious every moment is with those you love. Because in the end, we never know when the next moment … will be the last …

  Because there are so many unwanted horses in the world that need help, the ranch usually chooses not to breed any of its acquired mares. But since the ranch already had a pregnant mare, whose foal would be in need of a playmate, Shonee was instantly elected to become the sweet mother to provide that companion.

  Although we knew virtually nothing about Shonee’s past, her “stretched” conformation and udder clearly spoke to us that she had already given birth to many foals. With great delight, we could only imagine how incredibly cute her previous babies must have been … and certainly how special her next would be.

  After choosing the right stallion for our freckled girl, we had to part with her during her breeding process for an entire month. Everyone on the ranch was highly aware of Shonee’s absence. Perhaps more than any other horse, Shonee was chosen as the “first ride” by most of our new riders. Those riders subsequently fell in love with her as well, seeking her out every time they came to the ranch. Without a doubt, the void she left could be filled by no other. She was as unique as a thumbprint, and she had left her hoof print on the hearts of many.

  Gratefully, within the multilayered activities of the ranch, Shonee’s time away passed quickly and she was returned to a cheering assembly of open arms. Now our greatest challenge concerning Shonee would be to wait the nearly eternal eleven months and eleven days to see what kind of spotted foal we would all be greeting.

  As fall began to deepen in color and temperature, it brought with it the cool remembrance of another year silently drawing to a close. The breeze over the high desert had turned brisk, calling through the grass and trees like a messenger proclaiming the imminent narrowing of time before white rest falls. For this particular year, the chill on the back of my neck translated into one thing … book deadline.

  I had been asked by Multnomah Publishers to write a “follow up” to my first book, Hope Rising. Since the ranch had blossomed into more than a full-time job, the only season that I could endeavor to actually sit and write was deep winter. Even then, many of the ranch staff must not only complete their own job
s but also help shoulder parts of mine to clear a “time path” for me to write.

  With my last major speaking engagement of the year complete, Troy and I loaded up our camper and drove to southeastern Oregon. Because of its incredible desolation, it is truly one of my favorite places on earth. I have an extremely public life for which I am very thankful. Yet I am fully aware that one of the major reasons I can tolerate the constant time compression is because of the efforts Troy and I make to maintain some “solitary” time. Having learned from my own failures, I have a deep understanding that a person cannot give … what they do not have.

  It is important to understand that as humans, we are finite. We really do have limitations that even the best of intentions cannot supersede. We really don’t have infinite amounts of any emotion that we wish to share. Therefore, we must be mindful to do our best to “fill the storehouse” with all that we have expended. This “refilling” process can take on as many different shapes as there are people who give. The truly important thing is not what venue we choose to recharge our hearts through … but simply that we do recharge them.

  What I love most about southeastern Oregon is that it is remote. When the nearest “town” is an hour away and bursting with a population of seven … quiet is one of many words that truly define this unique place. I also appreciate that more often than not, the road beneath you will be dirt, and that it leads to neighbors who are not the two-legged type but the four. You never know if you will be meeting heavy mule deer, scattered herds of antelope, burly big-horned sheep, wild horses, bobcat, or even the occasional mountain lion.

  Few things fill my heart more than being in the deep wilderness. Little else inspires me with the same vitality as adventuring through the wild places in the morning and then returning back to base camp to work the rest of the day.

  Such was this day. Troy was hiking on his own, and my friends Sue and Wayne, who had joined us in the desert, were a good distance away in town, visiting two of the seven folks there. It had snowed hard the night before, and the high, nearly treeless desert had been transformed into what looked more like a vast and flawless tablecloth. Tumbling down from the 9,000-foot peaks that hung overhead, its white splendor unfolded through every deep canyon and spread out into undulating folds over the foothills until its powdery softness eventually smoothed flat over the immense plains. I am convinced that, when surrounded by such immeasurable beauty … even a stone could write.

  Our camp was suspended on a small bench between the valley floor and the mountains that loomed above. I had been working for many hours when I heard a sound as familiar as a friend’s voice—the diesel engine of Sue’s truck approaching. “Odd,” I thought, since they were not planning to return until dark. As her truck growled up the last incline, I started moving my work to the side so I could step out and greet her. Before I could even open the camper door … she began calling me from outside.

  I couldn’t reach the door fast enough … something was wrong.

  Her anxious expression confirmed the fear that was rising within my heart. “Is your cell phone on?” she asked with great tension.

  “Uh, no … it doesn’t work out here,” I answered in a voice that trailed into near silence.

  Sue drew in a tight breath, hesitated, and cautiously proceeded. “Apparently your vet has been trying to reach you all morning. Kim … there has been a tragedy at the ranch …”

  In the seconds before she continued, endless scenarios of pain and disaster began crashing into my heart like house-sized boulders. I felt as if I was virtually being buried alive beneath an emotional avalanche of all the possibilities of what could be wrong. I could feel the naked pain within Sue’s voice as she spoke. Tragedy at the ranch. The words reverberated within my chest like a terrifying echo …

  Even here, in this remote refuge for my heart … catastrophe had followed my tracks like a predator … and struck.

  “Shonee is with the vet. It’s bad … they need you to … to … to give the … okay … to put her down.”

  A myriad of questions immediately log-jammed within my brain. As I fought to untangle them, Sue handed me her phone and said with her eyes, “Mine works … make the call …”

  In moments I was speaking to Darrin, who was not only a trusted friend but one of our veterinarians as well. I hardly recognized his gravelly voice … his easygoing tone was gone. What I heard sounded more like a bow string, low and taunt, stretched to near breaking. I could feel my throat closing with the revelation that whatever was going to come out of his mouth was irrelevant … I understood my friend well enough to realize that he already knew … it was over.

  Just the tone of his voice … made me want to throw up. Darrin proceeded to recount in gut-wrenching detail how Shonee came into the clinic for a routine pregnancy exam. The purpose of such an exam is to determine if the mare is pregnant so appropriate follow-up measures can be immediately initiated. Understandably, this is valid information, because special vaccinations need to be administered to help prevent the mare from contracting viruses that could cause her to spontaneously abort her foal.

  Somehow, during the completely standard rectal ultrasound exam, her rectum was torn. Although such tears are extremely rare, they can occur in isolated cases. Darrin explained that it was a ventral tear … meaning that it was along the bottom of her rectum. Waste materials were leaking into her belly cavity. In a matter of hours she would be septic, and no antibiotic on earth could stop the ensuing infection.

  Even though Darrin was not the vet who had performed the procedure, because of our friendship he had taken over the case and was caring for Shonee as if she were his own. Just to be sure … and perhaps a bit for my own heart … Darrin elected to wait a few hours, draw fluids from her belly cavity, and let the results of that test tell us what needed to happen next …

  Chris, the overseer of our horse program and the person who, at my request, took Shonee in for her exam, witnessed the entire tragedy. She knew what was about to transpire. With great strength, wisdom, and compassion, she chose to use the extra minutes to bring a few of the older kids from the ranch into the clinic to give as much love and comfort as they could … and to say good-bye.

  After a heavy sigh, I switched off the phone. Together, Sue and I knelt on the hillside … and prayed for our little horse with spots.

  To ease my breaking heart, I hiked until dark.

  When I returned … as I opened the camper door, one look at Troy’s ashen face confirmed what I already knew to be true: Shonee … my precious little horse … was dead.

  Like a mother grieving for a child lost, I sobbed openly against my husband’s chest. In a voice that only God could hear … I let my anguish fall. Oh Shonee … oh Shonee … not my precious Shonee … Shoneeeeeeee … SHONEEEEEEEE …

  Time and space ceased to exist … all that was real was the crushing grief that consumed my heart.

  Lord, this is so wrong. She was a healthy horse this morning … she left the ranch … and never got to come home. She never got to say good-bye to her family. She was fine … and now she’s dead. Where is Your purpose in this? She was the cornerstone of such goodness … such love … how can this be better? How can this be right?

  My anguish continued to gush out in wave after wave of racking, mournful tears. Eventually, my exhausted heart poured out across the flood plains of tearless realization that nothing would ever be the same … except the bedrock of truth within my heart: God is still in control.

  No matter how out-of-control my perspective might be, I can rest on what I know is true; it has been true my whole life, proven over and over: God is in control.

  Slowly, my grief-tattered heart turned from questioning … to resting. I trust you, Lord … I trust You … even though it doesn’t make sense … I trust You.

  Returning home to the ranch was difficult. While driving up the driveway, I scanned the herd as I always do. Shonee’s absence was gaping. Once the chores were done and everyone had left for the da
y … I went and just hung on the main corral gate … and cried … mourning the fact that my beloved Shonee would never pass through this gate again.

  When I was able, I pulled my heart back together and summoned the courage to call my friend Lynai … the mother of little Sarah.

  After a painful recounting punctuated with many tears, Lynai confirmed that her little girl’s tender heart was completely obliterated. “She told me she never wants to come to the ranch again. It would be too painful … because there will never be another Shonee. She will never be able to love another horse like her Shonee Girl.”

  Gratefully, time always proves what is true. In this case, time proved that the heart of a child, when handled with care, is a very resilient thing.

  With careful consideration, little Sarah decided that she would try one more time to come to the ranch. She chose to come on the last day of the year that the ranch would be open for riding. Just in case things didn’t go well, she could leave and have no reason to ever come back.

  Sarah worked with Chris, who was masterful in choosing a young horse that was still in training and had yet to be ridden by a child. Sarah had felt so honored to be the “first kid” to ride Phoenix. Under Chris’s gentle instruction, Sarah’s time on the ranch was a successful relief to all, especially after Sarah gave Phoenix a bath and led her into the arena for a roll. Phoenix didn’t quite understand what Sarah wanted her to do … so I suggested that she get down in the sand and show her! True to form, Sarah rolled like a little champion and hoorayed in triumph when Phoenix finally understood and dropping into the sand, rolled with her.

  Chris built the bridge … and Sarah chose to cross.

  When the day was all but over, I looked for Sarah to give her a hug of support and congratulate her on her victorious ride … and roll. After a bit of searching, I found my little friend curled up on a fence rail by the main corral gate. Stepping through the fence poles, I sat down beside her. Even though her tiny face was turned away, it was clear that she was crying.