by Kim Meeder
For me, it is within the example of what has been “made” that I can clearly see the Maker’s purpose. If I could see His peace … it must look like these high lakes. If I could see His power … it must look like these mountains. If I could see His faithfulness … it must look like this sunset. If I could see His friendship … it must look like these forests. Perhaps it’s not coincidental that the survival of the tallest trees on earth comes from their reliance on the depth of true friendship.
Because of their immense height and remarkably shallow root system, redwood trees should be very susceptible to high wind. Yet they rarely blow down because they practice something truly amazing. Even though they have very superficial roots, they are still free to grow into towering giants because of one simple thing: Redwoods hold each other up.
Initially, it may not look like much support at all when we gaze up into these majestic forests and see these trees only casually touching. What we cannot see is that beneath our feet, few other trees on earth interlock their roots with more tenacity than redwoods. Therefore a redwood tree cannot survive long by itself. It is when they stand together … allowing their intrinsic individuality to weave seamlessly one into the other … that redwoods are truly strong.
When our roots … and hearts … are intertwined together like the redwoods, we can hold each other up in strength, together standing firm against the winds of adversity.
We need each other. We need to reach out to those around us who are being buffeted by the wind. By choosing to send our love deep into the hearts of those we call friends … our own heart is stabilized, embraced, and nurtured. It doesn’t just happen … it is a choice to send out our roots.
It is God who created roots; it is ultimately we … who must choose to use them.
As if inspired to dance to the music blaring from the stereo, strands of long blond hair whipped free from Hannah’s ponytail and danced in the wind that poured through her convertible Mustang. The car was a “dream come true,” a treasured surprise given to Hannah by her father.
Occupying the seat next to her, with mouth open and tongue wagging, sat another treasure, her truest companion—Halen Van Hannah, her Doberman Pinscher. All who knew them understood that wherever Hannah went, Halen went.
At eighteen, Hannah Dunn’s life was as carefree as the classic rock that she sang along to. Balancing on the summit of her golden high school years, she chose to be many things—loving daughter, friend, honor student, horseman, cheerleader, track athlete, and fisherman. Like any teenager, she loved her family, friends, horses, the outdoors, and cruising behind her dad on his Harley.
Hannah was also completely zealous about putting the needs of others before her own. She was determined, strong, joyful, balanced, fearless, and compassionate. Giving of herself through volunteerism was for her was as natural as breathing. Hannah could regularly be found donating her time to the local police department and the Red Cross. In her mind there was no such thing as a stranger; everyone deserved her attention because everyone deserved to feel liked and special.
It would be impossible to know Hannah apart from her most endearing trademark—her “quick draw” smile and the laughter that always followed. No matter what circumstance she found herself in, she always sought the brighter side and encouraged her peers to do the same.
As a young, natural leader, Hannah taught those around her to overcome their fear. Justice flowed as freely within her chest as her own blood. Like a lioness, she was fierce in her protection of the weak. She regularly used her voice to speak up for those who had none, and she sought to be an advocate for those in need.
Hannah’s youth never stopped her from striving for what she believed in—doing what she knew was right. At her school, she made a point to reach out to what most would consider the “fringe” kids, those who did not easily fit in with others. One afternoon, she shared with her mother how she had befriended two new girls: “Mom, you know what they told me today? They said, ‘We couldn’t believe that you would actually want to be our friend. Nobody as beautiful as you wants to be friends with girls like us.’ ” Hannah continued to recount how happy she was that these girls trusted her enough to lean against her as their own self-confidence took root.
“One of our horses has just died … can you help us?”
The urgent plea came from a woman who had owned two horses but had recently lost one. She explained how the horse had died by intentional poisoning from an unknown soul who clearly wished to have fewer horses in the neighborhood.
“Seven horses in our local area have already died,” she went on to clarify. “My girls and I do not wish to be without our remaining horse, but we cannot bear losing her as well, especially in this cruel way. It is our understanding that the poisonings are happening at night, so the only way we can fully protect our remaining horse is by keeping her in our garage.”
As soon as we were able, Chris and I made the forty-mile trip to check out this sad situation. All we knew about the remaining horse was that she was a mottled gray, small, ponyish five-year-old from the Warm Springs Indian Reservation. We were told that since the sudden death of her best friend, the little mare was reduced to uncharacteristic fear, spookiness, and deep sorrow over the loss of her soul mate. We were also made aware that the neighboring colt—with whom she shared a fence, and who was also a close friend—had died from poisoning as well.
Upon our arrival, the extremely kind woman who had asked for our help led us out into their nearly empty corral. During the daylight hours, they were turning the little horse out for some fresh air.
When we first saw the gray mare, she was lying down. “That’s no pony,” I thought, as we quietly approached her. Apparently napping, she was a bit startled by the visitors and quickly rose to her feet … huge feet! It was immediately clear that this “little” mustang was at least fourteen hands, with the bone structure and wavy mane and tail often characteristic of a draft-crossed breed.
She turned to look at us with the large, slightly crowned head of her apparently massive ancestors.
Her owner laughed a little and stated how a couple had recently come to purchase this mare … until they saw her head. In not so careful terms, the potential buyers made it known that this horse was far too “unlovely” for them to consider purchasing.
I looked at her with complete fascination and curiosity. In my eyes, she was not homely in the least. I felt instead that she possessed a strangely unique, powerful beauty that one might associate with a small horse of war. In her own right … she was stunning.
Together Chris and I carefully evaluated the mare. As we customarily do on the drive home, we discussed everything that we saw and felt while observing the small, gray girl. In effective unison, we both agreed—we were completely smitten with this sweet horse and would bring her home as quickly as we could make a space for her on the ranch.
In the time before we brought the mare home, I privately contemplated what her future might become with us.
Since the beginning of the ranch, it has been customary to rename nearly all the horses that have come up our hill. I have always felt that a name is a title that they will hear often, a banner of honor under which they will live. Amongst our herd, almost every horse’s name has a special meaning to each individual, often something to be aspired toward.
The gray mare would certainly need a new name because the one she had was already in use by one of the equine “pillars” of the ranch. Even though I contemplated at length an appropriate name for her, and listened to many wonderful suggestions … there was nothing that just seemed to fit.
So often as it is in this walk of faith, we usually do not clearly see the next step until it is virtually under our feet. It wasn’t until the day that we brought the gray mare home … that something astonishing, remarkable, and unspeakable happened.
While working in the office, Troy was just starting to wade through his e-mail messages when one title caught his eye. It simply read “For Hannah.”
The e-mail began by introducing a young woman named Hannah Dunn. She was a senior from Highland High School in Indiana, and for those who knew her best, she was a country girl to the core. Although she was an excellent student, she rarely read books for pleasure, and even then was not easily impressed. Apparently she had recently read the book Hope Rising and was so deeply stirred and inspired by its message that she was moved to emotion. Upon finishing it, she purposefully determined that she would be moved not only to tears … but also to action.
Hannah realized that there were basically two ways that she could help. She understood that she could choose whether to “give a man a fish or teach a man how to fish.” In her mind, that meant that one option was to send help to Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch directly. Or … after reading Hope Rising, she clearly saw and understood that the fun she had been having all along in her backyard with her personal horse “Big John” and friends was perhaps helping them even more than she realized. A greater purpose galvanized within her heart to reach out to even more around her who might need this benefit.
In typical Hannah style … she chose to do both.
With all the money she had earned, Hannah bought as many items for the ranch as she could. While sitting together with her mother at the table, Hannah packaged her gifts for mailing and shared how she believed that her life would never be the same: “Mom, even though I have helped others and ‘officially’ volunteered, I don’t think that I realized just how simple it is to be a ‘living volunteer’ … to reach out to others all the time … with whatever you have.”
Hannah conveyed how much she loved horses, running, cheerleading, camping, sleeping in the barn … how much she loved them mostly for her … for all the fun and happiness that they had given just her. She understood that although all these things involved other girls, she really never thought before how completely easy it would be to shift her focus from how these things benefited only herself … to how she could allow them to benefit those who might need her friendship, support, and encouragement.
Hannah’s mother was so moved by her daughter’s selfless realization that she reached across the table and pulled her into a firm hug.
The e-mail message went on to recount a school morning not long afterward that began in a typical way. Hannah came down the stairs and spent some time just talking with her mom. When it was time to go, she and her mother hugged each other strongly, as they always did. During their embrace, her mother whispered, “I love you” into her daughter’s ear and Hannah repeated it back into her mother’s ear before letting go. Together they walked to the backdoor where her mother said, “Have a good day …” As Hannah walked out to her car, she called back, “Okay.” Her mother closed the back door and watched her girl drive away toward another day of high school.
Forty-five minutes later, the stillness of the morning was broken by a sharp knock on the front door. Hannah’s father opened it to find a county policeman waiting for him. In a soft voice he reported that Hannah had been involved in a car accident and had been rushed to the hospital.
At 7:12 a.m., on February 24 … Hannah died.
It was the end of a long day and I had just come up the hill from the ranch and into my office. Only moments behind me, I heard the familiar sounds of Troy coming up the steps into our home. Twenty-five years of marriage has taught me many things about my husband; immediately I could hear that his steps were “heavy.” I knew that either he was exhausted … or something very hard had happened.
The sounds coming from the other room were as familiar to me as my own heartbeat. It was easy to visualize him pulling off his boots and throwing his jacket, hat, and gloves into the old rocking chair as he walked into the kitchen.
Rising from my chair, I walked to the doorway of my office and just watched him for a moment. It was heavy news … I could feel it emanating from him. He straightened up from the open refrigerator door and just looked at me. “I brought something that you need to read …” He reached for the counter and handed me the e-mail, which I assumed was the origin of his burdened heart.
In moments, I, too, felt as if my feet were too heavy to lift. The reason for the message was to make us aware that it was the wish of Hannah’s family that, instead of the gift of flowers to memorialize their daughter’s life, the parents had requested that donations be made in her name to our ranch.
In great sorrow, honor, humility, and respect … I held the message to my chest and wept.
Lord, hearts and lives are in pieces. Within this storm of grief … I know You have a purpose in this … even though it is hidden at this time. You have proven within my own life that out of unthinkable loss, You can raise up unthinkable purpose … unthinkable joy. Lord, let this truth find a way into the hearts of Hannah’s parents, brother, and family …
Forever faithful through sorrow and joy, the sun rose again on a brand new day.
Still feeling heavy-hearted from the night before, I was thankful that this new day dawned on what was the annual ranch “Pray Day.” It’s a time when staff, volunteers, family, and friends join hands and hearts together to pray over every area and horse on the ranch before the new riding season starts. After praying over the entrance, the common yard, and the hitching area, we began praying our way through the main riding herd of horses. When completed with the herd, there was one more horse to pray over—the small, gray Mustang mare that had arrived only the day before. As our group made their way into the “introduction” corral to meet and pray for the new little girl, I was still very aware that she had no name.
Suddenly interrupting my thoughts, Troy shouted over his shoulder “Wait a minute!” as he ran down the hill toward his office.
In moments, he jogged back up the hill waving a piece of paper. Still breathless, he began to read it to the group now completely surrounding the small mare. “This just came earlier,” he explained, as he read a request from Hannah’s parents: “I know that it is a lot to ask … I don’t know if you can oblige this request or not … but would it be possible … if, in the future, when you rescue a horse … do you think you might be able to name it after our precious Hannah?”
Suddenly, my internal “stonewalling” for a name made sense. Hannah’s family could not have known that the horse was already here … just waiting for a name—the right name. I watched in complete awe as one by one, everyone within the group raised their eyebrows in near unison, all silently asking the same question.
Finally, Chris hailed, “Hannah she is!” With that, everyone placed their hands on the little horse and prayed for her … by name.
In the days that followed, I learned much more about Hannah Dunn. In what I am now certain is no coincidence, Hannah’s favorite car, which she loved driving, was in fact … a Mustang. In all our years of rescuing horses—more than three hundred—this was our first rescued mustang. Truly, it seemed so completely fitting that the car she loved to drive would also become the breed of horse that would bear her namesake.
Through contact with Hannah’s parents, Randy and Melanie, a truth that has long lived within my heart was verified once again: If you see a great kid … usually, all you have to do is look over their shoulder … and you’ll see great parents.
Melanie shared this: “I learned so much from her. By remembering her joy, I will endeavor to be joyful because I have life this day. The memory of her “mime” dance in the second grade talent show, with her vibrant, happy, full-of-life style (an image I’ll never forget), still inspires me to ‘give it my all.’ I can still picture her doing her homework in the old maple tree … and I determine in my heart that ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’ I still picture her balancing the responsibilities of life with pleasure … and I realize that it can be done. Hannah was a friend to all, even those without friends. She showed me how important it is to take the time to make a difference in a person’s life. It doesn’t have to be big stuff; she proved that even with just a smile, a gesture, a word of encourageme
nt … a life can be changed.”
Her mother continued, “Hannah used to always say, ‘Mom, if I’m gonna live, I’m gonna live BIG!’ I watched her do it so often, and I now know that, for me, because of her example … the sky is the limit.”
Through many tears, her father quietly summed up his relationship with his little girl by simply saying, “Maybe sometimes I treated Hannah too much like a princess … but that’s only because when I thought of her as my daughter … I felt like a king.”
Hannah Dunn lived a life of example. She was moved not only to tears by the pain of her peers … she was moved to action. Now, even in her loss, Hannah continues to lead by example … for those who follow her life of selfless love and choose not to be restrained by what they think they cannot do … but instead to be drawn forward by all that they can do.
Continuing, in part, through a little strong horse … Hannah’s legacy will live on. Her namesake will carry on her newly forged tradition of loving those whom the Good Lord brings into her life here on the ranch. Hannah Dunn’s selflessness of placing others first and loving them through the things that she herself loved will go forward through those who know her story … and who choose, as she did, to follow their heart.
“It is a beautiful, wonderful, mysterious mix of simplicity, innocence, and adventure that made up our Hannah Marie,” her mother said. “She was our entertainment, critic, laughter, frustration, pride, and joy … she was our fireball. It is this awesome mixture that has helped me realize we don’t need to be perfect in this life. (Christ has already paid that department.) Perhaps we just need to make sure that the good outweighs the imperfection in each of our believing hearts. Perhaps that is Hannah’s legacy.”
And now, still more has happened that will serve to continue Hannah’s legacy in a new and completely unexpected way.
“Hannah” the mustang is due to foal in the spring. And by the looks of all the action going on inside … true to her nickname … she’s going to give birth to a real little Fireball!
