I was just out of high school when I got my first horse. I bought him from Ernest Wilson and had to take out a loan to do it. He was a registered paint horse. His registered name was “Snaps Valentine.” But everyone called him Stick. He was mostly white. He had brown spots on his flank, on his chest, and on one side of his face. On that brown side of his face was a startlingly beautiful blue eye. He smelled amazing. What sold me on him was his gentleness. He had the gentlest spirit. I had him for several years. I rode him as often as possible. Many people rode Stick. He was easy, but, of course, he did have his many quirks. He and I got to know each other very well. We spent hours together almost every day, just us.
Stick got cancer about 7 or 8 years after I got him. It was in his brown eye that was surrounded by white skin. Common for this type of skin. I nursed him as best I could, but I could tell he started to feel bad, so I decided the time had come to put him down. I made an appointment to bring him in and leave him there. I loaded him up, and with my heart breaking into pieces, I was about to drive off. My mom ran out of the house and said she was going with me. I refused and said I didn’t need her to go. I could do this by myself. To me, it felt like some right of passage for life – proving I could do hard things alone.
Now, it seems a bit foolish, but I was in my early 20s, so… I drove off with my chin up and gaze set to do this thing alone. I got down the road just a little bit and I started to feel bad. I turned around and went back home. I pulled up, and my mom ran out. I said, “You can come, but I don’t need you.” She said, “I won’t say a word.” She and I sat in silence on the drive. I loved that horse so much. I unloaded him and was crying when I walked him to the lady. That, in turn, made her start crying. Tears in her eyes, she asked me if I wanted to keep his halter. I said no. I kissed him on the nose, told him I loved him, and turned around. I cry as I write these words. I probably haven’t cried about that horse in 20 years, but here I sit.
I got back in the truck, my mom sitting stoically, keeping her promise to be as invisible and silent as possible. I cried for a solid 5 minutes. Then, I put the truck in gear, and we headed back home. I told my mom on the way home, “One of these days, I’ll wish the only hard thing I had to do is put a horse down.”
I knew, even back then, that life could be and would most certainly have its pains and difficulties.
But a bigger lesson there is the art of letting people. I came back home to let her. I could have done it alone, and I was incredibly determined to. The results would have inevitably been the same. But my mom wanted to come. For me. And I let her.
There is an art to letting people. I learned that early on. I know the joy it is to give. To do things for people.
I have done many things for many people. I’m very equipped to do so. Early in life, I could do physical things. I could go to their house and trim trees, take out fences, feed their cows, haul hay. My body was quite capable, and my heart was very willing.
As I got a bit older, my giving gradually turned less physical. I have sat beside people who have suffered terrible losses. I held two of my grandparents’ hands as they died. I helped dress my dear mother-in-law after her bath and secretly nursed her on a trip to Disney World. I baked things and gave them away. I taught classes. I taught school. I started listening more.
I’m kind of down to listening at the moment, but I am a rock star listener.
But I am also down to receiving.
People are giving me things. Food. Gift cards. Money. Lotion. Bath stuff. Time. Words of encouragement. Prayers. They’re taking me to appointments.
I am even having a benefit in about a month, which, truthfully, terrifies me. I like working behind the scenes and under the radar. That’s where I always like to stay.
I know I put these blogs out, and sometimes I flinch as I send them. They’re so personal and intimate, and I’m quite private. I do this as an act of giving to someone out there. Hard to do that behind the scenes, but I have a passion for writing and helping. I know what it is like to have someone’s words resonate through the chambers of my heart. I send each blog with that hope for someone.
There is an art to letting people. I have humbly accepted the offer of the benefit, though, I keep thinking of others who are much more worthy than I. My life has been so complicated and messy. Surely, I don’t deserve this. Yet, people are still coming out to show me love. For that, I am beyond grateful. I don’t even have the words to express my gratitude.
As much as we givers want to not let people, it’s so important that we do. No, never take. Never expect it. But let people. Right now, I need people, but also, people need to give. And I need to let them with a humble and grateful heart. And, friends, I do so with much humility.
There are times in our lives when we need to receive. When we are in survival mode for whatever the reason. When we have so much on our plates, when someone comes to offer, we need to let them.
Thank you all for everything you are doing for me and my family. Thank you for showing me so much love and support. I am beyond touched by each and every one of you.
One day, mountains.
Love to all.
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