Hope Rising (18 page)

“Honey! Look!”

Startled, my head snapped around to see my little grandma stepping down into the living room. “Do you mean
this
pony?” she beamed as she held it out to me.

“Oh, Grandma.…”

The tears of a little girl began to fill my eyes as I gently lifted it from her. Its gray color and smooth roundish surface were exactly how I remembered. “Yes, Grandma, this
is it,” I quietly said through falling tears.

“Honey, it’s yours. It’s always been yours,” she said, as she placed her hand on my arm. The image of this small, laughing pony embodied the journey of my life.

Holding it in my hands was like holding the very figurehead of my own heart. As a child, I could have never known the incredible significance of this small glass horse. As an adult, looking back, its powerful symbolism astounded me.

Finally, through the rushing swirl of emotions, my thoughts cleared enough to say, “Grandma, I don’t think that I realized until just now … this was my very first horse.”

My precious little grandma, the one who by God’s strength saved my life, fell gravely ill. While surrounded by those who loved her, only weeks before the completion of this book, she let go of this life with her left hand and with her right received the outstretched hand of her Heavenly Father. In a single moment I lost my grandmother, my mother, and my best friend. But the truth is she is not lost at all. I will see her again, and until then, I will lay hold of the strength, love, and hope she infused into my life
.

Victor’s Boy
 

T
HROUGHOUT THE
season the ranch hosts dozens of groups that come to visit, ride, or volunteer. Each group brings with it a special “flavor” that all combine to add richness to what the ranch is becoming. The Haven Project, a nonprofit organization that pairs inner-city children with professional actors, is one of our favorite groups. Together, actor and child rehearse for a local production while being sheltered under the protective wings of friendship and trust.

The Haven kids are especially funny, happy, and playful. They truly bring out the best in me, my staff, and apparently everyone that their smiles spread over. We always look forward to our time with them.

Victor is one of the adult actors who volunteers for The Haven Project. His large, commanding James Earl Jones presence is completely balanced by his soft-spoken kindness.

The children streamed out of the school bus like a multicolored ribbon, and I looked for Victor. In moments, however, the happy chaos consumed my attention.

Seven horses had been brought out, and all of the kids had been divided into alternating grooming and riding
teams. The squealing excitement settled into a busy hum, and I turned to see Victor approaching with his wife and their two beautiful little girls.

“Victor!” I cheered, and I threw my arms around his neck in a welcome hug. Even through his completely gentle response, I could detect that he was distracted.

I noticed that as we quietly conversed, he was politely looking over and around me. Subconsciously, I turned slightly to try and see the object of his search. With a fraction of anxiety he asked, “Is he still here? Is my big boy still here?”

Immediately I realized that he was looking for Luke, the giant draft horse that Victor fell in love with the previous year.

“Yes, Luke is right over there,” I said, pointing into the main corral. “I was waiting for the hitching area to clear out a little so that I could bring him out for you.”

I could tell that Victor didn’t really hear me. He quickly moved away as if being pulled by a magnificent golden magnet. Luke, as if on cue, moved to the rail and reached over to greet Victor.

Over the mild chaos I watched them. With the tender touch of a father, Victor cradled the massive draft horse’s head in his big hands. I could see that he was speaking softly to Luke. A big man gently getting reacquainted with his big horse.

It was a wonderfully sincere moment that I felt privileged to witness.

I continued to watch as Troy waded through the kids and hailed a greeting to Victor. The big man turned toward my husband. The warmth from his expression was radiant; I could literally
feel
it from where I stood. He was
beaming as he looked at Troy and quietly said, “You don’t know how much I have looked forward to this moment. I rode this horse last year. In my heart … I have ridden him every day since.”

Simple Gifts
 

E
IGHT INCHES
of perfect white blanketed Central Oregon, muting every sound into a hushed lullaby. It was an unusually heavy snowfall for November. For Cheree, a single mother, it marked the first year that she had carved out a simple life in the country with her daughter. A year since they had moved from their small rental in town to a house of their own on a handful of acres—a fixer-upper that, side by side, they were working to make into their dream home. A year during which they had strategically planned and saved so they could realize their vision for a new life together.

Thanksgiving came and along with it the usual multitude of pre-Christmas sales. Because it was the only time they could afford to do so, Cheree and her daughter weathered the crowds and traffic to complete all of their Christmas shopping.

Beneath their snow-covered roof, they found great comfort in their simple home with a few simple gifts. With their shopping behind them, mother and daughter settled into the season, putting up their meager Christmas decorations with a deep sense of satisfaction.

The holiday season’s mail brought its usual mixture of blessings and bills. After work one day, Cheree sat down
to thumb through the daily stack. She came to a familiar envelope that enclosed the support check used to help cover their house payment and provide for her daughter. It always came with reassuring predictability, and her mind was already on other things as she sliced open the envelope and removed the check. Her tired eyes fell on it only briefly … but then zeroed in on the little figures. Her mind snapped into sharp focus. Her chin dropped. Her hand holding the check began to tremble.

It was made out for less than one-eighth of the normal amount.

Disaster! Without that money she wouldn’t be able to cover their house payment. In a single instant, the blessing Cheree had felt in being able to buy and give gifts during this Christmas season had turned into a crushing burden. Cheree’s heart hammered painfully as she allowed her gaze to wander around the warm kitchen that she and her daughter had worked so hard to turn into the welcoming center of their new home. Her mind twisted around a single thought: What were they going to do?

“Please don’t tell
anyone
where these came from.” A true philanthropist, my friend pressed into my hands nearly a dozen generous gift certificates from a local clothing store. “I’m trusting you to see they’re given to the people who need them most.”

Lord, show me where these belong
, I prayed as I drove from work back to the ranch.

The following afternoon we had our girls’ group meeting in our house. The gathering provides a safe environment for girls to share their challenges and victories
with leaders and peers in small groups. After the girls prayed for each other, everyone came together for a time of simple instruction on teen issues.

Meanwhile, the mothers met in a separate room, where they supported each other in much the same way. Half of the women were single mothers struggling to raise their children with little or no help at all. Encouragement and support of any kind were always appreciated by these weary souls.

I crept unannounced into their group, the bearer of anonymous good news. With quiet stealth I passed out the certificates, briefly sharing with each mother how I had come by these gifts. All were grateful. But when I placed two certificates into Cheree’s hands, she gripped them with white-knuckled fists as though they were a steering wheel. She closed her eyes, and tears streaked down her cheeks.

The room fell silent.

Finally, when she was able, Cheree spoke softly. “You can’t know what this means.” She gave a ragged sigh before she explained how this was going to be their first real Christmas. She told us about the excitement she and her daughter had shared, about carefully budgeting and buying all their gifts during the Thanksgiving sales. And then the disaster of the minimized support check.

“After a lot of prayer and consideration, we both agreed that there was only one option,” Cheree said, looking down at the floor. “A home is a home. We have nothing without it. We decided together that we needed to do whatever it took to make the house payment. It was hard.…”

She wiped her face and looked up in exhausted triumph. “So we took them all back. Every single gift we’d bought. And with a few other changes, we were able to make our house payment.”

Cheree let her breath out slowly. “We agreed that this year our gift would be our home. It was the right decision, and it was enough,” she added, with a decisive little dip of her chin.

She looked down again at the gift certificates clutched in her hands. “I never expected this.” Her voice trailed off and she murmured, “God is so faithful.”

The moment washed over everyone in a tearful wave of encouraging hugs and laughter. “I think,” Cheree said thoughtfully, wiping her face, “that I’ll use this to buy my daughter a letterman jacket. She deserves it. Last year she lettered in academics with a 4.0. I was never able to afford a jacket … until now.”

She looked at the understanding faces around the room. “We’d accepted what we had to go without. But instead, this has turned out to be the
best
Christmas ever.”

My heart traveled from the warm glow of that moment to the generous person who had made it possible. I hoped that the joy the gift had produced would take wing and find him. I hoped he would know his part in proving God’s faithfulness, because he had followed in the tradition of the greatest Giver of gifts—the One who makes every Christmas the best ever.

The Patriot