We were told the filly is supposed to be broke. At least a little broke, and relatively rideable. But do you know what she did? The day after we bought her, Warren saddled her and she put her head between her legs and snorted and bucked until she ran dead into a fence and flipped herself over, splitting her head open. She jumped up and continued her bucking escapade, completely oblivious to her surroundings and the blood dripping in her eyes. She almost barreled over Warren. Almost hit another fence. Didn't stop until she could hardly breathe.
The next day she did the same thing again.
And the next day.
I wonder if she'll ever learn?
Last night we came in from the barn late in the evening to a messy kitchen, a messy living room, a messy bathroom, a messy bedroom and not a scrap of clothing clean. Summertime calls for long hours in the barn and I've been putting in my share of them lately, eager to be with Warren and help him. When we came in the house, the first thing out of that Lover's mouth was, "It's okay. It's really not that bad." (I wonder if he read the panic on my face?!) I laughed at him and commented that if his barn looked like this, he wouldn't be able to sleep. I did the dishes and left the rest for tomorrow.
When I laid in bed I thought about the fact that I didn't read to Wesley as long as I wanted to today. I should've sent a note to a grieving friend. I meant to say goodbye when Sterling and Natalie went home after riding with us. I wish I could do perfectly on this never-ending (or so it seems!) trek of treating hypothyroidism. I want to be kinder, more attentive and a little less likely to want to accomplish, instead of just wanting to invest... The thoughts swirled and raced and I could almost feel blood dripping in my eyes from the constant running head-long into a fence of self-condemnation.
I think I might have something in common with that filly.
In the darkness, that Lover-man said something about wishing he had been able to ride a few more horses today, instead of dealing with all of the little interruptions that came up. And I told him to give himself a break; that he's doing a great job; that he's excellent at what he does.
Why oh why is it so easy for me to give grace and approval to others...so easy to teach it to my son and extend it to my husband...and yet, when it comes to me, it's the hardest thing I've ever done?
In the darkness, that Lover-man said something about wishing he had been able to ride a few more horses today, instead of dealing with all of the little interruptions that came up. And I told him to give himself a break; that he's doing a great job; that he's excellent at what he does.
Why oh why is it so easy for me to give grace and approval to others...so easy to teach it to my son and extend it to my husband...and yet, when it comes to me, it's the hardest thing I've ever done?
I remember vividly one afternoon on our family vacation in Estes Park last September. Rain was falling outside, and from our cozy mountain cabin you could barely see the bottom of a fog-covered valley and an occasional pair of headlights traveling slowly down the highway. It was too wet to go outside so the family was crowded in the cabin talking, playing games, watching movies and making food. I was sitting on the floor with Wesley and our (then) two-year-old niece Josalea, trying to entertain them through the long hours of being housebound. We had already played hide-and-seek, built puzzles, stacked Legos and read books. Trying to stay ahead of the toddler energy, I decided to play a game that Aunt Havilah had recently taught Wesley.
"How big is Wesley?" I said. His eyes sparkled and he threw his hands as high as they would go over his head.
"So big!" I exclaimed. Then I turned to Josalea. "How big is Josalea?" I asked.
She grinned, threw her hands over her head and she said, "Big enough!"
"So big!" I exclaimed. Then I turned to Josalea. "How big is Josalea?" I asked.
She grinned, threw her hands over her head and she said, "Big enough!"
Tears came to my eyes. The bright butterflies on Josey's shirt sparkled on a round belly and her little skirt covered roly-poly-toddler legs. Her fantastic brown eyes were full of pure delight in herself.
And I wonder...when did it change? When did the complete acceptance of myself and the willingness to extend as much grace to myself as I do to others -- when did it start to fade away?
There's that Bible verse about becoming like children to gain the kingdom of heaven and for all I'm worth, I want to become like little Josey Kate. I want to be as grace-engulfed as her...so all-believing and delighting and approving of myself. At the end of the day, with my best effort given and all of me poured out to my husband and son and all the people who make up my life, I want to lay on my pillow and say,
"Big enough!"
Because, for goodness sake, I don't have enough blood to spare to keep splitting my head open on this same da-blame fence.
And besides, it just really hurts.
