He's a lot like me in that. I have always felt like I was a step behind, or out of step. When everyone else was watching Downton Abby, I was watching documentaries on the disappearance of the earthworm. When Uggs came in, I couldn't justify spending the money on a pair of boot-like blobs that were, well, ugly. I'd spent all my money on Vetrap, dewormer, fly spray, and tail-and-mane detangler. When other people were discussing Kim somebody-or-another, and Miley Siren, I had to look the names up on Google to find out who they were (and then wished I could not know who they were). When gals my age were getting married and having babies and raising children, I was teaching, and working in Indonesia, and going to seminary. It's been like that since I was a small kid and sat at the side of the schoolyard reading a book instead of playing soccer or skipping double-dutch or any of the other things kids my age were doing. I wasn't bullied. I wasn't ganged up upon. I was just slightly shunned, overlooked, brushed aside. Not one of the "in" crowd. Not one of the cool kids.
But that's where the similarities end. Because Raphi accepts his position in life. When the other horses pin their ears to move him away, he moves off without complaining. When they come to take his succulent patch of grass, he steps aside. When he's drinking water and another horse approaches, he leaves the water and lets them drink first. He's learned that it's safer that way. Pinned ears are followed by flying hooves if he doesn't. The survival of the herd depends on each horse knowing his place. And Raphi knows his place. He doesn't try to fit in. He doesn't try to fight back. He just moves out of the way. It's the price he pays for being part of the herd.
I, on the other hand, learned to rage against the world. I learned to fight. Pin your ears at me and you'll feel my fists. Try to take my succulent patch of grass, and you'll find it occupied by a tiger. Don't mess with me. I decided very early in life that I'd rather fight alone than be at the bottom of the herd pecking order. I do not submit well. I think my way is better than Raphi's. It makes me kind of mad for his sake when I watch him submit to all the other horses. At one level, I love his meekness, but at the same time, it makes me kind of mad.
You see, I've been working really hard at building my relationship with my horse. He's learning to trust me. He's learning that I've got his best interests at heart. He's learning that I bring good gifts -- like hay, and carrots, and apples, and even, on special occasions, a peppermint. (Is anything so lovely as velvety horse noses and pepperminty horse-breath when they nuzzle your hair?) He's learning to follow me without a rope because he'd rather be with me than with the rest of the herd. He knows that when the other horses try to crowd him, I'll send them away. When Abby or Grace or Contigo reach out to nip him on the haunches, I'll keep their teeth away. When Caliber tries to drive him away from the water, I'll let him drink in peace. He knows that when he's with me, I'll protect our little herd of two. Because he is so quick to submit, he is willing to submit to me. And because he is so willing to submit to me, he suddenly finds himself in a more privileged position. The other horses move away from him -- when he is with me. The other horses let him have the good grass -- when he is with me. The other horses let him drink first -- when he is with me. Because he is with me. Because he submits to me, he is lifted up in the eyes of the rest of the herd. And a couple of weeks ago, I watched with amusement as the herd dynamics shifted. Abby tried to take a nip at Raphi while I was there. I sent her away. And I smiled, because Raphi stepped safely behind me, and then, from over my shoulder, pinned his ears at an already-leaving Abby. It was the horse equivalent to blowing a raspberry at the bigger kid from behind mom's legs. Raphi could send Abby away, not by his own strength, but by mine -- by the strength of the one to whom he had submitted. It's nice to be my horse's hero.
It made me wonder what it would be like to have someone in your life who was stronger than the rest of the herd, who could stand up for you so you didn't have to fight for yourself. What if there was someone who would stick up for me the way I was willing to stick up for Raphi? What if there was someone who could be for me what I am for Raphi, someone who loved me, who gave me good gifts, and who had my best interests at heart? Someone who wanted to teach me to be brave and strong and trust him, but who understood my fears and uncertainties and who didn't shame me for them, someone who was willing to fight for me? I wonder, if I had someone like that in my life, would I recognise him? Would I be willing to submit?
Or would I, so used to fighting, so used to standing alone against the world, and so determined not to submit for fear of being pushed around, fight even my hero?
I stand and watch my horse meekly move out of the way.
I watch him submit so willingly. I watch how, when he submits, he is lifted up. I look at my own useless raging, the loneliness, the bumps and bruises on my heart and soul, brought on by a life of scrapping and clawing my way to the top. It seems so counter-intuitive, this submitting to be lifted up. It seems so illogical. And yet, I wonder . . .
I wonder if my horse is wiser than I.
"Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up" (James 4:10).
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