With Open Hands

She was long-legged and fiery red with an elegantly sculpted head and a white blaze racing down her face. Her spirit matched her color, and I fell in love with her from the beginning. Prairie nearly died just weeks into her arrival at the ranch. But God brought her to the edge of life to save someone standing on the brink of death, and the brilliant little Arab became even more firmly lodged in my heart. I dreamed of riding her up in the mountains where the sky is so blue and so close you can almost reach out and touch it. I knew she’d love it up there. I never imagined God would take her away. It was a little thing – a microscopic injury, nearly impossible to self-inflict and even harder to cure. The day I knew she was going to die I stood by her side and told her about the majestic mountains that she would never get to climb. Her death came at a time in my life when my world was falling to pieces. The fairytale castle I knew was going up in flames around me, and now my precious Prairie was gone as well.

Months passed. What faith I had thought was so steadfastly mine I was now fighting desperately not to lose. Until the night God met with me . . . and reminded me of something small but great . . . hope. Like a dream that you hold in your hand, palm open, and the wind comes and blows your dream away – but don’t ever close your hand and don’t ever stop dreaming. I asked God for a very special thing that night. I asked for a horse, a companion to work with and learn with and play with. A dream.

Two weeks later the ranch was contacted by a local lady who had a middle-age Arabian gelding. She had owned him for years and adored him to pieces, but was concerned that he was getting restless now that her son had moved away and he had no one to play with. Were we interested? Yes. As we approached the paddock, I saw curious chestnut ears swivel towards us. There was a broken diamond on his forehead like a precious stone that had been cut into . . . but not destroyed, not abandoned.

He came to the ranch a week later, and we gave him the name Sullivan. I want to take him to the mountains where the sky is so blue and so close you can almost reach out and touch it. Sullivan is my proof that brokenness is not the end of God’s story. Every time I see him I remember that it’s okay to hold all your dreams in hands that are open to the wind . . . Because there is a God, I will still dream.