Borrowed Bravery

This is Caliber (l) and Raphi (r). They are paddock-mates, and they hang out together a lot. Caliber is the boss, and Raphi does what he's told. You can see that from this picture. Caliber has his ears pinned, and his head swung toward Raphi. That's horse-talk for "Get out of my way." And Raphi has his ears pointed toward Caliber, and his nose pointed away from Caliber. That's horse-talk for, "On it, boss."

Being boss means that Caliber gets to tell Raphi what to do, and Raphi gets to listen. Caliber goes through the gate first. Caliber gets to eat first. Caliber gets to the water first. And Raphi gets to wait. If Raphi didn't listen, those pinned ears would be followed with a warning nip or a hoof strike, and warning nips with horse teeth and hoof strikes can draw blood. Raphi has had his share of bites and welts over the years.

Now, Caliber is generally a pretty fair boss. When both horses know their place, there isn't a whole lot of jostling. It is rare that Caliber gets to the nipping or striking stage because Raphi sees those pinned ears and obeys. Caliber lets Raphi eat and drink and have his being without undue nagging, and Raphi chills pretty happily under Caliber's leadership.  They get along well.

But every once in a while, something will come up to disrupt the balance.

Like me.

You see, when I show up in the paddock, I become the boss. I get to tell Caliber and Raphi what to do, and both of them have to listen. And I tend to favour Raphi. Because, well, I love that boy. So let's say I have an apple. Under normal circumstances, Caliber would get that apple. He is, after all, boss horse, and there is only one apple. But because I am disrupting the balance, I pin my ears and swing my head toward Caliber, and say, in horse talk, "Get out of my way," and he, in horse-talk, says, "On it, boss." Then, in horse talk, I say to Raphi, "Come get the apple," and he, in horse-talk, says, "On it, boss, happily." My presence momentarily elevates Raphi in the herd to a position higher than Caliber's.

This past week, I was working with Raphi and the trailer. There was hay on the trailer, really good hay. All the horses wanted to get onto the trailer to eat that hay. All of them were loose, without ropes. Left to their own devices, Caliber would have been on the trailer, eating the hay, while the others stood outside and drooled. But I was disrupting the balance, so Raphi was on the trailer, and Caliber stood outside drooling. And then I watched as Raphi stepped off the trailer, pinned his ears, and swung his head toward Caliber. Boss-talk. Brave words from the low horse.

He did it only because I was standing there to back him up. He did it only because he knew I was the boss, and he was with me, and that gave him strength he didn't have of his own accord. He did it not because he had confidence in his own strength, but because he trusted me. He trusted my strength, and he trusted his relationship with me. He knew I wouldn't let him down. If I had walked away, it would have taken about two seconds for Caliber to move Raphi and get on the trailer.

Borrowed bravery.

Like David and Goliath and God.

You come at me with weapons of mass destruction, but I come in the name of the LORD.

Like me and the evil one and God.

You come at me with your lies and your shame and your haunting, horrible words that could leave me bruised and bleeding, but I come in the name of the LORD.

And the best part is that, while I cannot stay with Raphi all day, every day, God does stay with me.

Borrowed bravery.

On my own, I am weak. But with God?

I am brave.