Fierce Beauty (15 page)

What the flames didn’t directly take, the intense heat and dense smoke did. Nothing in their home survived.

That is, almost nothing. In the months that followed, out of the ash something beautiful began to emerge.

Family, friends, and neighbors came together to help in a myriad of wonderful ways. With some assistance from their insurance company and the combined efforts of many, before long a brand-new home was up, and Cheree and Jenna were moving in.

It was immediately after their housewarming that I realized I’d brought the wrong gift. Their new home had some lovely items inside but didn’t feel like
their
home. It wasn’t until I was lying in bed that night, contemplating the day, that I realized why it seemed so different. Though their new house was adorned with nice things, none of them carried sentimental value. None were
their
things.

So I showed up on their new doorstep with another gift for their home. With a Cheshire cat grin, I was now the one bringing the old cardboard box into their bright new kitchen.

I set the box on a bar that separated the kitchen from the dining area. Before I even opened the box, Cheree started to cry … She already knew what rare treasure lay inside. Jenna hugged me tight and simply whispered, “Thank you.” As if waiting for the gift’s homecoming, an empty wooden display area lay vacant, ready to be filled.

Jenna’s extraordinary plates and bowls had finally come home.

Shortly after returning Jenna’s cherished dishes to her care, I was again lying in bed at night, reflecting on the day. It was during this quiet time that the voice of my King began to speak:
Child, you were able to give back
to Jenna what she gave you. Had she given you nothing, that is exactly what you would have been able to return. It was with great love that she chose not to give you her leftovers or excess. Instead, she chose to give you her very best. It was precisely because of her selflessness that you were able to keep her treasure safe from the fire and then give it back to her when she needed it most—when the timing was perfect
.

My girl, this is exactly what I wish for you to do with Me
.

Will you trust Me with
your
very best? Afire is coming at the end of your days that nothing in this life can withstand … except what you select to willingly give Me. Understand that the things you choose to entrust to Me, you will have
forever.
But the things that you choose to hold on to will all perish
.

I
am
hope. I never change; I never waver or fade. I abide far beyond any thief, fire, or economic boundary. Life is but a breath, and everything this world toils and clamors to gain will perish with its possessor. The
only
things that will endure the coming inferno will be the things you release to Me. Unlike the impostors of this world, I will keep whatever you place in My care far beyond any decay, destruction, or demolition. If you firmly choose to place your soul in Me
, nothing
in this world—not even death—can steal it away. I will hold you close for all eternity
.

As I’ve considered those holy words since that night, I’ve often asked,
Lord, am I giving You my excess, or am I giving You my very best? On that day when I will stand before You, are You going to give me a crown the size of a Cheerio because all I ever gave You was my junk? Or are You going to return something extraordinary … because that’s what I did my very best to entrust to You?

When we place our hope in Christ, it’s like putting everything we value—our hope, love, joy, peace, faith, and forgiveness—in a box and giving it to Christ. Once He has our hope, it’s secure
—eternally
secure. The enemy cannot steal, destroy, or even touch it. There’s nothing in, on, under, or above this world that can change the security of our hope. Once I have chosen to entrust Christ with my hope, the only one who can change its status is
me
.

I’m the only one who can choose to take my hope out of Christ and
place it in other things—my appearance, boyfriend, new job, relationship, marriage, education, friendships, family, bank account. All these things are subject to change. All these things will eventually perish.

Our nonbelieving society calls the masses to live in a dream world of wealth, beauty, power, and acceptance. However, a dream world exists only in the mind of the dreamer. It’s our choice alone not to let our life’s goals be so dreamy and unreal that we awaken too late and miss the reality of God’s truth.

Real hope is no dream. It cannot be purchased with riches, popularity, or worldly security. Genuine hope comes from an honest, growing relationship with our Lord. It comes from our King alone.

Our King is the hope of all people and all nations: “You faithfully answer our prayers with awesome deeds, O God our savior. You are the hope of everyone on earth” (Psalm 65:5).

Our Lord is able to keep all that we have committed to Him and save it until the day we stand face to face with Him. We can trust ourselves to the God who made us because He will never fail us. Because of His promises to us, how can we not reach for the truth of Hebrews 10:23: “Without wavering, let us hold tightly to the hope we say we have, for God can be trusted to keep his promise”?

We serve a Lord who is the Author of creating and giving gifts. His own Word declares, “Whatever is good and perfect comes to us from God above” (James 1:17). He is never bankrupt. When we place our hope and our value in Him, we too will become rich in all the ways that matter most.

He isn’t keeping plates and bowls … He’s keeping
us
.

Editor’s Note:
Read more about Jenna and Cheree in the stories “Simple Gifts,” found in Kim’s book
Hope Rising
, and “Cleansing Fire,” found in Kim’s book
Bridge Called Hope
.

Over three hundred. That’s how many horses our team at Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch has helped save and introduce to a second chance at life. One of the four pillars of our organization is to “rescue the equine.” I’ve been salvaging horses since 1995 and thought I’d seen it all. Sadly, I was wrong.

Troy and I were driving home through the desolate Oregon outback, traveling over a golden roller coaster of undulating hills. The late October afternoon was framed by low, cloudy, lavender skies, adding to the unique drama and beauty of the high desert. As we crested the top of another grassy knoll, I was startled by the ring of my cell phone. It was my dear friend Sue.

Our conversation had hardly started before my reception was cut off. Establishing connection was like trying to catch a rock skipping off the top of waves, as we had only a few seconds of reception on the high points of the road. Through her broken messages I was able to piece together that Sue was calling about a horse in need. He’d been found in the wilderness and was severely injured. Would we take him?

I was able to respond in the affirmative before our sporadic communication was lost completely. We would have to drive the remaining five hours home to hear the rest of the story.

Upon arriving at the ranch, Troy and I learned that our new sight-unseen horse was a small six-year-old gelding that had staggered into a
hunters’ camp during the night. The horse’s wounds were so serious that the outdoorsmen called the U.S. Forest Service to send a ranger to hike in and euthanize him. The woman assigned this task evaluated him and saw he was still fighting for his life. Encouraged by his will to live, she led him down the mountainside under the brilliant light of a full moon and into a waiting horse trailer.

The region where the horse was located was high in the wilderness of the Cascade Range, yet his halter and dragging lead rope showed the dark bay Arab gelding was certainly not wild. Instead, the rescued horse was kind and gentle, quietly submitting to everyone who sought to care for him. While being led out of the wilderness and transported for emergency treatment, he behaved like a wounded gentleman. Those who assisted him estimated he’d been wandering for weeks. He looked to be about two hundred pounds underweight, an enormous amount for a small horse, and was incredibly dehydrated.

At the hospital it was confirmed—his wounds were severe.

I pulled my truck to a stop in front of the Bend Equine Medical Center. Rarely have I parked in their yard and not felt deeply grateful that the one equine surgery center serving the entire eastern half of our state is just three miles from my ranch. After working many difficult cases with them, I’d learned to trust this remarkable group of veterinarians and their assistants. This team’s combined dedication and compassion move me to love them not merely as friends but more like family.

I had barely pushed through the hospital doors when I was besieged by a landslide of information. When the small horse was admitted and led into the trauma center, his condition was immediately assessed. Remnants of a green elasticized bandage had grown into the gelding’s left front leg and effectively become a tourniquet. As the tattered bandage was carefully cut away, nearly all the flesh beneath it sloughed off as well. Adding further to the suffering of the abandoned bay was a horrific open gash on the back of his left front cannon. The infected wound had festered so much that its rotten stench filled the room. Once the layers of
caked blood, pus, and biomatter were removed, the working tendons of his leg were clearly visible.

While my friends washed their new patient’s leg, they noticed a heavy trail of crusted blood that traveled up his leg, shoulder, and neck. This hideous path provided further evidence of the severity of his injuries. Blood tests showed that the small gelding’s plight was even more precarious than initially thought. Through the trauma of his injuries, he had lost fully
half
of his total blood volume—for a horse his size, nearly four gallons! In their combined careers the attending vets had never seen a horse lose so much blood—and live.

Next came the obvious question: where had the blood loss come from?

The team followed the dried-blood trail to the horse’s left eye. It was completely destroyed and hanging out of the socket. So putrid was its bloody surface that much of his long black forelock had adhered to it and needed to be cut off. The damaged eye would have to be removed once his blood volume was restored to a normal level. Behind his horrifying eye, they found a small, ominous depression.

As bad as his eye injury was, his head injury was much worse.

The x-rays revealed the unthinkable. This gentle little horse with the kind spirit had been shot in the head … 
twice
.

Looking at his x-rays, I was aghast at the meaning. Someone had shot this placid soul through his left eye with a solid bullet and then again, three inches behind his left eye, with a hollow point. The trajectory of the second bullet traveled through the top of his lower jaw, shattering it. The bullet continued to penetrate his skull as it exploded into dozens of jagged—and inoperable—fragments of shrapnel.

I looked at him for the first time and couldn’t believe he’d endured so much.

The little Arabian had survived for weeks with a horrifically infected leg wound, a broken jaw, a destroyed eye, and lethal blood loss. He managed this feat with the remains of two bullets scattered throughout his
head. If all this weren’t bad enough, he was also left to wander in a high-altitude forest while dragging a lead rope. Any one of these afflictions could have easily killed him. Inexplicably, he’d survived them all.

Now, here he was standing before me in an intensive care room. From under a turban of bandages, he blinked inquisitively at me with his one remaining eye. It was a miracle he was standing at all! I noticed that his hind legs were splayed out in a weakened effort to maintain his feeble balance.

I shoved back the heavy door and quietly entered his white cement room. Though the gelding’s head was bandaged, one leg was tightly wrapped from hoof to knee, and he had catheters embedded in both sides of his neck, he reached out to me. Despite his fragile state, he wanted to give me what he had, the gift of equine encouragement. Though the small gelding was so diminished from dehydration, malnutrition, and infection that he could hardly stand, he expended the extra effort to greet me. As I extended the palm of my hand to his offered muzzle, incredulous wonder filled my heart.

Unfortunately, this simple gesture was more than he could bear. While leaning toward me, he suddenly lost his balance and began to fall. In the process he knocked me against the cinder-block wall, and we fell to the floor together.

Thankfully, we were both unhurt by the tumble, and I was able to help roll him back up to his feet. With his head hung low and his hind legs looking like Bambi’s on ice, his remaining eye expressed equine embarrassment—I assumed for knocking me to the floor. Even in his mortal state, his only concern appeared to be for me. After surviving the ultimate human betrayal, this little horse still had hope that there were good people in the world, and he dared to believe that I was one of them. Though he had no reason to, he still chose to forgive and trust.