All the Pretty Little Horses

One of the great things about growing up on an Iowa farm, poor as we were, was that we had ponies. We rode in Fun Shows – rodeos without the cattle or bucking broncs. We rode in barrel races, pole bending, and keyhole races. Barrel racing and keyhole required speed in a specific pattern around barrels or poles and tires; pole bending was a long, figure-8 pattern around a line of poles. Speed was the required factor for winning, but knocking over any of the equipment or failing to fulfill the pattern was grounds for disqualification.

Our ponies were wonderful. Um, that may be hyperbole. Gyp wasn’t much of a race horse. Dad said he was appropriately named. A big friendly Paint, he just didn’t like to move. The only race he ever “won” was due to my little brother James’s skill at tying the baby goat after Gyp plodded out to the goat in record slow time.

Cocoa wasn’t that great, either. He was a Shetland pony, faithful to their reputation as ill-tempered beasts. He bit us and chased our visitors. He wasn’t much to ride, either. Our teen-aged feet dragged the ground if we actually sat on him.

We had more hopes for Zip, brother to Gyp. He was fast, with a comfortable gait. Unfortunately, he worked against us at every opportunity. The only time I was injured on a horse, Zip had a hoof in it. Later the same day, he tried to dislodge my brother John from the saddle by running at jousting speed through the barn door – the small one. John might have been killed if he hadn’t been quicker than the horse.

Usually at the Fun Shows, we didn’t win, place, or show. We just had fun. But Fun Shows changed when Dad brought home Beauty, a tall, lovely quarterhorse. If our feet were on the ground, we had a sweet and gentle friend. If our feet were in the stirrups, we were astride dynamite in horsehair. Beauty outran the wind. If we thought about turning right, we were already turning. If we thought about going faster, we were. The only thing Beauty didn’t like to do was stop. But if we thought about stopping, we had better be ready, because we were stopped. Right here. Right now. I never did understand how she knew what I wanted before I signaled her. John and I have stacks of ribbons, all earned by Beauty’s instant response to our will.

My memories of our horses used to be cheerful ones. Now they are convicting. God’s Word tells us not to be weary in doing well. (Gal 6:9 and II Thess. 3:13) How many times do I respond to God as Gyp responded to us – just don’t want to move? Or like Zip – always an argument or a contrary choice, hurting people in the process. Or worse – maybe just plain mean, like Cocoa. What if I always responded to God’s leading as did Beauty – instantly, joyously? What could I win for my Savior?

--Lynda Shenefield