While I cannot recall the month or year the thought first occurred to me, I certainly remember the location and general time of day. I was lying in bed and it was early morning—between 2 and 3 a.m.—the time of night when I am known to wake up with a start to mentally work through situations that either excite or concern me, and to pray.

In this case I was both enticed and exceptionally uneasy, for our daughter had just a few hours before sat at the dinner table to announce that more than anything in the world she wanted a horse. The idea sounded wonderful and wholesome and well, kind of romantic to me. It also sounded way beyond me, for I am a countrified city girl. My roots were set in a sunny coastal California city and the only time I was ever around a horse as a child was when I visited my cousin. I recall feeling terribly intimidated even walking near her horse, for it was big and I did not understand horse behavior. My parents would bark out cautionary advice based on the handful of times they themselves had closed in on a horse.

“Don’t go near the back end of that horse—you’ll get kicked!”

“Feed that carrot from your palm or he’ll bite your fingers off!”

I preferred to watch from the fence, for either possibility sounded dreadful to me, outweighing the thrill of patting her horse.

But that was long ago and I remembered my vow to be flexible when parenting. Even if I had no personal experience, I promised myself I’d take my children’s requests and give them due consideration. The horse thing however….it was a real stretch, at first. That’s why I tossed and turned that early morning, running through all the implications to owning a horse. We’d need a horse—and the horror stories about “newbies” getting stung with a lame horse left me shivering. Then there were matters that involved clearing land for a corral and purchasing horse tack and cleaning equipment. But that was just the beginning. How would we choose a trainer, learn to feed correctly, and manage the continual cleaning? And what about transportation? We’d eventually need a trailer for hauling and a truck to pull it. How could we possibly accomplish all this?

Like every big dream, it has come together over time, thanks to the wonderful support of horse friends and our daughter’s contagious enthusiasm. And while I am not the one who does the riding, I have become a great lover of horses and enjoy nearly all that comes with horse ownership. I have challenged myself to learn how to maneuver around them with ease. I even like to clean out barns, for I can soak in the smell of leather and hay and horses, listen to Martina McBride on the radio, and talk out loud to God.

There was but one, last personal challenge I set for myself and I placed it on my Life List of Challenges: Hook up the trailer and haul the horse to a show. This has been a biggie for me and I contemplated the task for years. To accomplish it symbolized strength and independence. Yet it also signified a healthy dependence to me, for I was so intimidated with the plan that I needed the confidence and courage only God can provide me.

Just weeks ago, as Katie readied for a 4-H event, I made the announcement: The time had arrived for me to take the next step in horse ownership. I intended to back the truck up, correctly hook up the trailer, load the horse, then haul him to the arena. My hands were sweaty and my heart raced, but I asked God for courage and my husband for a lesson in hauling. I back and rebacked. I hooked, unhooked, and rehooked the trailer. I drove with my husband as escort, then drove with just Katie by my side.

The first time we pulled up, two girls and a trailer, our horse friends applauded.

To be sure this is a story about horses, but it is also a story of traveling a path, challenging oneself with a personally significant task, and dipping deeply into a world you know nothing about. For many people attending church, a Bible study, or even venturing into a conversation about God is terrifying. I believe, however, that God designs us with a longing for Him. Some of us instinctively understand that we are incomplete without Him, but others of us have no family history of such contemplation, so matters of faith seem foreign, even scary. While I cannot recall the month or year the thought first occurred to me, I certainly remember the location and general time of day. I was lying in bed and it was early morning—between 2 and 3 a.m.—the time of night when I am known to wake up with a start to mentally work through situations that either excite or concern me, and to pray.

In this case I was both enticed and exceptionally uneasy, for our daughter had just a few hours before sat at the dinner table to announce that more than anything in the world she wanted a horse. The idea sounded wonderful and wholesome and well, kind of romantic to me. It also sounded way beyond me, for I am a countrified city girl. My roots were set in a sunny coastal California city and the only time I was ever around a horse as a child was when I visited my cousin. I recall feeling terribly intimidated even walking near her horse, for it was big and I did not understand horse behavior. My parents would bark out cautionary advice based on the handful of times they themselves had closed in on a horse.

“Don’t go near the back end of that horse—you’ll get kicked!”

“Feed that carrot from your palm or he’ll bite your fingers off!”

I preferred to watch from the fence, for either possibility sounded dreadful to me, outweighing the thrill of patting her horse.

But that was long ago and I remembered my vow to be flexible when parenting. Even if I had no personal experience, I promised myself I’d take my children’s requests and give them due consideration. The horse thing however….it was a real stretch, at first. That’s why I tossed and turned that early morning, running through all the implications to owning a horse. We’d need a horse—and the horror stories about “newbies” getting stung with a lame horse left me shivering. Then there were matters that involved clearing land for a corral and purchasing horse tack and cleaning equipment. But that was just the beginning. How would we choose a trainer, learn to feed correctly, and manage the continual cleaning? And what about transportation? We’d eventually need a trailer for hauling and a truck to pull it. How could we possibly accomplish all this?

Like every big dream, it has come together over time, thanks to the wonderful support of horse friends and our daughter’s contagious enthusiasm. And while I am not the one who does the riding, I have become a great lover of horses and enjoy nearly all that comes with horse ownership. I have challenged myself to learn how to maneuver around them with ease. I even like to clean out barns, for I can soak in the smell of leather and hay and horses, listen to Martina McBride on the radio, and talk out loud to God.

There was but one, last personal challenge I set for myself and I placed it on my Life List of Challenges: Hook up the trailer and haul the horse to a show. This has been a biggie for me and I contemplated the task for years. To accomplish it symbolized strength and independence. Yet it also signified a healthy dependence to me, for I was so intimidated with the plan that I needed the confidence and courage only God can provide me.

Just weeks ago, as Katie readied for a 4-H event, I made the announcement: The time had arrived for me to take the next step in horse ownership. I intended to back the truck up, correctly hook up the trailer, load the horse, then haul him to the arena. My hands were sweaty and my heart raced, but I asked God for courage and my husband for a lesson in hauling. I back and rebacked. I hooked, unhooked, and rehooked the trailer. I drove with my husband as escort, then drove with just Katie by my side.

The first time we pulled up, two girls and a trailer, our horse friends applauded.

To be sure this is a story about horses, but it is also a story of traveling a path, challenging oneself with a personally significant task, and dipping deeply into a world you know nothing about. For many people attending church, a Bible study, or even venturing into a conversation about God is terrifying. I believe, however, that God designs us with a longing for Him. Some of us instinctively understand that we are incomplete without Him, but others of us have no family history of such contemplation, so matters of faith seem foreign, even scary. It is frequently the ways of man, religious institutions, language, and tradition that can derail some of us. It is for this reason that we must connect with people who understand God’s eternal love and experience a daily relationship with Him.

Only then can old horses learn new tricks.