Running free.

I pulled in the muddy driveway and stopped at the edge of the grass. The children tumbled out, racing toward the knotty wire fence, gazing at the horses. A sleepy cat stirred from the corner of the house. Summer heat bore through my jeans.

He sauntered out, the retired-principal-turned-full-time-horseman, and shook my hand. One by one, he took the kids inside the small circular pen. Each one had a turn, riding bareback, led by the horseman. After brief instructions on talking to and leading the horse with a simple bridle, each child had a turn holding the horse’s mane and directing the horse — at first with the cowboy’s leading, and then alone. I cheered each one onward and dutifully took pictures of this first: bareback solo riding.

None had ever been on a horse before.

And then he walked up to me, pushing his cowboy hat further up his forehead, sweat dribbling down his cheek.

“How ‘bout you?” he asked.  I could feel the sweat forming in my palms.

Me? Me– who had borne those three kids– sitting on a horse? I think the last time I sat on a horse I was eight, or maybe even younger. I protested, but the cowboy insisted I try, and I was promptly led to the pen.

I brushed the flies away. I was tentative, a little bit scared. After all, who learns to ride bareback first? Isn’t that for advanced riders? Where was the saddle?

How do I get up this enormous animal?

I learned just like the kids, how to talk to and lead the horse. We made numerous rounds in the pen with me practicing saying “whoa” and other sounds like “tss” and another one to make the horse go (which I can’t figure out how to write). I leaned my body this way or that to tell the horse which way to turn. Finally the cowboy announced it was time for him to let go and allow me to lead the horse on my own.

No, I insisted, because I didn’t trust myself. Or the horse, for that matter, afraid it would take off running and I’d either look foolish or fall off. (Actually as long as I could hold on, I didn’t much care about how I looked, if my worst fear should come true!)

Cowboy-teacher let go, and I was left holding the mane and leading the horse. I wasn’t confident, constantly feeling like I would fall right off into the muddy dirt– which looked like a long way down from where I was.  I wasn’t sure the horse would really listen to me. I was moving, but fear was growing, until it overtook, and  I had to tell the cowboy principal that I was afraid, kind of like when Peter realized he was walking on water and then began to sink.

My maiden bareback reign was very brief.

But, it did occur, and it was a beginning.

Just like I had been gently nudging the horse, God began gently nudging me. How often is my faith tentative? Brief? Succumbing to fears of the unknown? Unconfident?

The next time we visit our southern cowboy friend, I’m determined to return and bareback ride again, and to keep going until it’s comfortable, until that horse and I can take a long, relaxing ride.

And the cowboy will nod, knowingly.

***

Sharing a recent post from the archives with Imperfect Prose, as I travel this week….


Sharing, for the first time, in two places, here…

And, here:
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