Maybe She's Born With It

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.

Patterns

Sometimes God just blows me away. And sometimes he uses a horse to do it.

Two days ago, I looked back on a year gone by and felt like I had failed 2014. I had no idea how to move into 2015 other than to simply keep going.

Today, nothing in my circumstances has changed. But today, out at the barn, standing in the bitter wind, God helped me to see that the uncertain road DOES lead back to him, and he used a horse to show me.

Horses, like people, are dominant on one side. Raphi is left-handed. Moving in a counter-clockwise circle is much easier for him and he prefers it when I work on his left side. (I prefer that, too, because I'm right-handed, and when I work on his left side, we're both working on our strong side.) But to be well-balanced and able to carry a rider easily, he needs to be strong on both sides, not just his left side. So today, we practised working to the right. We did clock-wise circles.

Now, I can do clockwise circles with Raphi on a rope, and he does just fine. The rope guides him into the circle. But today I was working without a rope. He understands the concept. Walk in a circle to the right. But while his left circles are neat and tidy, his right circles loop and wander off. He gets to a point where rather than circling right, he tries to turn around and go left. Time and again, we worked at completing a circle to the right. I could see him thinking so hard about what I was asking him to do. It took a lot of effort to do this simple thing: make a circle to the right.

Then I upped the ante. I asked him to trot the circle. He was stiff and sore. The trot was choppy and rough. Muscles that were used to bending and moving to the left fought and resisted the circle to the right. And when I asked for a few steps of the canter, his poor legs didn't know what to do. At one point, he managed to turn around quickly before I could stop him, and head to the left. Immediately, everything smoothed out, and he quickly and easily glided into a beautiful canter. But I didn't want a left-traveling canter. I know he can do that. I wanted him to go right.

He did it, my beautiful boy. He persevered, and he got just a few steps of canter to the right. I was so proud of him.

So what does that have to do with anything? Just this. What I was asking my horse to do was, cognitively, an easy concept. Make a circle around me to the right. Canter to the right. There is absolutely nothing hard to understand about that. Loads of horses do it with ease every day. But for my horse, every step was a struggle. Every muscle is trained to go left. My horse has a pattern. The pattern to canter on the left lead is strong and deep. It is so easy for him to depend on the rope that when the rope is gone and he has to create the circle on his own, he struggles. It is so, so easy for him to follow the old pattern. It feels so right and natural. And it is so difficult, and feels so wrong for him to learn a new pattern, a pattern to make a circle to the right. When he struggles to go right, he's not being stupid. He's not being rebellious. He's just learning a new pattern, and learning a new pattern is hard work when the old patterns are so ingrained.

And out there, in the cold and wind, watching my horse willingly struggle to learn a new pattern simply because I was asking him and he loves me and wants to please me, (and he likes carrots and peppermints a lot) I saw a picture of me and God in 2014.  Maybe it wasn't such a failure after all. Maybe it was a year that the ropes came off. Maybe it was a year of learning new patterns. Maybe it didn't matter so much that the patterns were ugly and choppy and clumsy at best; maybe what mattered was that I was trying. The patterns I am seeking to change are deeply ingrained. It's not surprising it felt like more failure than anything else. I am trying to stretch faith muscles in ways they've never been stretched before.

Which means that the way forward in 2015 is to keep going. Eventually my feet will straighten themselves out, and I'll get a step or two of canter. And then three or four. And someday, the muscles will be strengthened enough that they will have learned a new pattern.

"Give me eyes to see when my heart is blind,
That when I ask You'll give, that when I seek I'll find,
Give me ears to hear when my way's confused,
Let the uncertain road, still lead me back to You."

I think it's a prayer he's already answered.

Head of the Year

Much as I want to pretend that December 31 and January 1 are ordinary days, just like any other days, I can't. The Jews have it right; there is great significance and holiness to the "head of the year", and though December 31 and January 1 are not the Jewish holy days of Rosh Ha'Shanah, they never fail to inspire in me a sense of reflection, repentence, and awe.

But I do want to pretend this year, because 2014 is a year I'd like to forget. It's been one of the toughest years I've gone through in a long time, marked by loss and regret. And part of what has made it so difficult is that I had anticipated something different. I had begun 2014 with hope and expectancy. I'm not sure what I was hoping for or expecting, but it certainly wasn't a year filled with unexpected challenges or profound losses.

I was hoping for greater confidence in my relationship with God. I was hoping to be able to trust him more easily, to run to him more quickly. Instead, I found myself struggling to hold on to the fact that he loves me at all as I faced one sigificant issue after another, with a whole number of minor issues thrown in between.

I was hoping for a more vibrant prayer life. I don't really know what that was going to look like. I wanted to see more of him. Instead, I found myself struggling to hold on to the fact that he even hears me, as prayers coming from a broken heart seemed to go unheeded. Rather than seeing more of him, I had to hold on with white knuckles to the fact that he would show up at all. 

I was hoping that it would be easier to believe. Shouldn't it, at some point, become easier to believe? Shouldn't it, at some point, stop being such a struggle to have to fight the constant lies? It's not that I doubt. I know to the bottom of the soles of my feet that I am his and he is mine. I always, always come back to the truth, and I have no fear whatosoever that one day I might not. But still, when trouble comes, and it came so very often this year, the lies raise their ugly heads. "Does he really love you? Do you really think he is going to listen to you? Do you really think he even cares what you think? If you ask him for help, he's going to roll his eyes. He's going to tell you how stupid you are. He's going to tell you that it's not worth fixing anyway." I was hoping it would be easier to just believe. Instead, I found myself doing battle with the same old lies.

I was hoping that it would be easier to submit. Why, why, why do I feel the almost overwhelming urge to make everything a fight? Why, when I really do know that he is sovereign and good and has my best interests at heart, do I test and argue and talk back? I know in the end I will submit; I always do. But why, after years and years of walking with my Lord, do I still make it so difficult? I was hoping it would be easier to submit. Instead, I discovered once again that the old nature is not easily put to death.

So I stand at the cusp of a new year this time grieving, confused, bewildered, and weary. I want still to hope for the things I was hoping for last year: to see more of the Lord, to walk in confidence, to look forward with hope and expectation. I want to still hope. They are right and good things to hope for, aren't they? Does God not want me to see more of him? And then I fear that he did show me more of him, but I was too stupid and willlful to see him, too blinded by fears and hurt and sadness to see what should have been obvious. I don't know what the answers are, but I can't give up. I can't, I cannot, I will not settle for the fact that this is just the way it's going to be. I WILL see more of Jesus. I WILL learn to trust him more. I WILL learn to pray with greater fervency, greater awareness that he hears and answers. The truth will rise up sooner and the lies will lose their power faster. And one day, one day I WILL lay down my arms and stop fighting and learn to be at peace with my Lord.

I thought it would happen in 2014. Maybe it did . . . just a little. Maybe I am a step closer. I pray it is so. Will it happen in 2015? I don't dare to imagine what it could look like. I will move ahead, one step at a time. And I will pray that he gives me eyes to see and ears to hear:

"Give me eyes to see when my heart is blind,

That when I ask You'll give, that when I seek I'll find,
Give me ears to hear when my way's confused,
Let the uncertain road, still lead me back to You.

All I ask, all I seek
Is You, is You
All I want, all I need
Is You

Give me melodies in the silence, Lord,
And let the fire be where every song is forged.
Give me faith to trust in Your promises
That You are truly good, that You are all You said You are."

(Meredith Andrews - All I Ask)