Since watching my horse struggle to canter, I've been doing a lot of reading about cantering. Fascinating stuff, the way animals run. I've learned a lot. And, once again, the lessons have gone far beyond the mechanics of animal movement.
Moving on four legs is complicated. When the animal speeds up, the pattern of the way the legs move changes. At the walk, the feet land one at a time: left hind (LH), left front (LF), right hind (RH), and right front (RF). One, two, three, four. Not too complicated. It's the horse equivalent of left, right, left, right, but they have an extra left and an extra right to throw in. Dogs are the same.
With people, when we start moving faster, nothing changes. We don't start all of a sudden hopping on one foot before switching to the other foot or something weird like that. But with horses, their feet begin to move differently. Most horses, when they begin to move faster, start to trot. Now, instead of their feet moving one at a time, they begin to move in diagonal pairs. So the left hind and right front land together. One. Then the right hind and the left front move together. Two. One, two, one, two. Dogs do the same.
Let's say we humans are really fast. Like, Olympic speed fast. Our feet still move the same way. Left, right, left, right. How boring, eh? But things four-footed, ah, they are so much more interesting! Kick up the speed on these critters, and they begin to canter. And in the canter, their feet get really crazy. If you're a normal horse, you start with the left hind, say. It lands first. One. Then the right hind and the left front land together in a diagonal pair. Two. Finally, the right front lands by itself. Three. It's called a transverse canter. If you're a dog, though, you canter a little differently. You start with the left hind. But then your whole right side moves together in a pair, hind and front together. Finally, you land on your left front. It's called a rotary canter.
Now, I know that's all a lot of technical leg talk, but bear with me. Because here's where things get interesting.
You see, Raphi isn't "most horses". He's of a breed that moves his feet differently. (Which also accounts for his stunning good looks. My horse has better hair than any woman I know. Women would pay hundreds of dollars for hair like his. Anyway, back to his feet.) Raphi can trot, if I push him too, but mostly, what he wants to do is pace. Instead of moving his feet in diagonal pairs, he wants to move his feet in lateral pairs. He wants to move both his left feet, and then both his right feet. He has been hardwired by his genetics to move his feet in lateral pairs.
But the transverse canter (which is what a horse is supposed to canter in order to be balanced and comfortable) has a diagonal pair right in the middle. That diagonal pair in the middle of his canter goes against every fibre of his being. What he is born with is inclined to do is to run the way a dog runs, with a lateral pair right in the middle. The only problem is that the rotary canter throws him so off balance he risks tripping over his own feet, falling and hurting himself. The thing that is right to do goes against his nature. The thing that aligns with his nature has the potential to harm him. So he is at war within himself when I ask him to canter.
That sounds almost biblical. How like me my horse is as I struggle to live contrary to what I was born with. What I am born with is a sinful nature; what I am hardwired to do is to rebel against God, to take control of my own life, to do things my own way, to think I know better. I am hardwired to do anything but trust and submit and obey. But the very thing that I am hardwired to do is that which causes me the most harm. God knows that, so as I correct and correct and correct my horse when he tries to cross-canter, so my heavenly Father does the same. He knows that if he allows me to go as my human nature decrees, I will fall flat on my face. He loves me far too much to allow me to cross-canter unchecked. He knows that the only way I will truly live the abundant life is to live the life of the Spirit. And so my sinful nature is at war with the Spirit within me when my Father asks me to follow him.
But here's the wondrous end: my beautiful, brave horse is learning. He is learning to trust me enough to go against what he was born with, to follow my lead, and to learn to canter. And when he gets it right, it is a vision to behold. He is majestic. His canter is huge and smooth. He runs with all his flags flying. He is stunning.
If my horse can learn, surely I am learning, too. I am learning to trust my Father enough to go against what I was born with, to follow his lead, and to learn to run in faith.
I can only hope that when I get it right, I will be half as beautiful as my horse is.
I certainly don't have his great hair.
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