Great Horse Stories (26 page)

I glanced over my shoulder at the man and noticed the torn and dirty rags he wore. I heard in my spirit, “Buy him lunch.” I hesitantly thought,
Okay.
I knew I didn't have enough cash on me and the restaurant wouldn't take a check, so I replied out loud, “God, I need to get cash. If he's still here when I come back from the bank, I will buy him lunch.”

When I drove back from the bank, the man wasn't in sight. That was okay with me. I almost flew on past the restaurant, but from deep in my spirit I heard, “Turn into the parking lot.” I did, and sure enough the homeless man was standing by the Dumpsters adding to the treasures in his trash bag.

I pulled in close and jumped out of the truck. As I walked over, the man cowered, probably thinking I was going to yell at him or chase him away.

I smiled and said, “Excuse me, sir.”

He looked over his shoulder, thinking I might be talking to someone else.

I continued. “Would it be okay if I buy you lunch?”

His dull eyes met mine. Dirty dreadlocks rimmed his sunken cheeks. He looked like he hadn't eaten a decent meal in years—or taken a bath. His layers of tattered clothing hung limply and his body and clothes reeked.

Squinting, the homeless man shrugged.

As I turned to go inside, I gestured for him to come with me.

Suspicious that I might have an ulterior motive, he kept his distance as we walked into the restaurant. When I asked him what he'd like to eat, he said, “One taco.”

I ordered a dinner meal with six tacos, a drink, and potatoes, explaining to him that he could take the extra with him when he left if he wanted to.

From his deeply creased and sunburned face a small grin escaped, exposing broken and rotten teeth. His long, straggly, gray beard was streaked with yellow dribble from chewing tobacco, and his breath nearly gagged me.

I paid for the food and handed him the bag, intending to leave and get a deep breath of fresh air outside. But then I heard it. The instruction given to my spirit was “Sit with him while he eats.”
Really? Ewww
, I thought. But I did as God directed.

We sat down at a table, and the man shoveled his first taco in his mouth. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and leaned forward. His beady eyes stared into mine. Under his breath he asked seriously, “Okay, who do you want me to kill?”

I blinked. “Kill?” I repeated. “I don't want you to kill anyone.”

“Then why did you buy me this meal?”

My heart pounded. “Because Jesus told me to.”

He chewed on his cheek and stared at me.

I shared that Jesus loved him, that Jesus cared for him, and that Jesus died on the cross for him.

The man stared at me and then looked down at the table. He poured out his heart. He was a Vietnam veteran who'd lost his family because of his drug and drinking habits. He'd been living on the street for decades. He wanted more than anything to be reunited with his son.

I shared that Jesus would forgive him of all of his sins and would give him a future. That all he had to do was ask Him.

The man shook his head.

My heart ached for him. I didn't want to leave, but it was time.

As we stood I asked, “Do you mind if I give you a hug?”

Tears rolled down his face, drawing lines through the dirt. His body shook as if he were trying to contain sobs. He swallowed hard and whispered, “Nobody's given me a hug for over 40 years.”

I wrapped my arms around his bony, stinky body and cradled his head on my shoulder as he cried. In 30 minutes God had changed my heart. I'd been transformed from acting out of obedience only to acting out of God's love. And there's a big difference. With the latter, I didn't just give the man food; I gave him true compassion from the depths of my heart.

Why did I stop and help that man? I'd driven past beggars on the streets many times.
What was different this time?
I wondered.
God placed him on my heart,
I decided. This homeless man was a throwaway person according to the mores of today's society. He didn't have anything going for him—no job, a black-plastic trash bag full of junk that should have been left in a Dumpster, and bad choices he'd made and probably continued to make. In spite of all of that, God had compassion on him and wanted to draw him close.

God did the same thing with me…offering me the same compassion. I wasn't where that man was, but I could have been, and my sins were equal to his. A hard thought hit me.
If that man had been a homeless horse, I would have immediately opened my arms and heart wide and lavished it with love just like Sharon did for the castaway horse.

But this man was filthy and stunk from his own choices,
my mind countered. His situation was his own doing. Of course I wanted to be
obedient to God, but all I wanted to do was swoop in, pay for his meal, and drive off.

When God had me sit down with the man in rags and listen, He helped me connect with the man's heart. I'm reminded of the parable of the Good Samaritan Jesus told. In the story Jesus defines what it takes to fulfill His command, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” A Jewish man is robbed, beaten, and left for dead alongside a road. Many people walked past him, ignoring his plight. Some even moved to the far side of the street. But a Samaritan man (a race the Israelites despised at the time) stopped, dressed his wounds, and took him to an inn. He told the innkeeper to take care of the man and that when he returned he'd settle the bill (Luke 10:25-37). The man who acted from his heart with mercy was the one who fulfilled Jesus' teaching.

What I didn't realize was that God had a bigger plan. That day I fulfilled a divine assignment God had written on His calendar. After I left the restaurant, I couldn't get that homeless man off my mind. I prayed day and night for him. Then I discovered more of God's plan. Once a month my church served dinner at a homeless shelter. As I dished up roast turkey and steaming mashed potatoes, I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard a man's voice say, “Ma'am?” I turned around.

The man's eyes sparkled when he smiled. His parted lips revealed rotten and broken teeth. “You bought me dinner the other day.” He stood a bit taller and was wearing clean clothes. His gray hair was washed, brushed, and tied back in a ponytail. Stroking his neatly trimmed beard he said, “I did what you suggested. I gave my life to the Lord.” Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, “And God's brought my son into my life. Tomorrow I take the bus to go see him.”

We wrapped our arms around each other and cried happy tears.

I'd witnessed a miracle. God's love had transformed a castaway man—one who had nothing going for him—into a follower of Christ. Jesus had also helped me become more compassionate.

Sharon had witnessed a miracle too. As she invested hours of love into her castaway horse, his body and spirit recovered. He became a stunningly beautiful saddle horse she named Sedona.

God's love never fails. He's the perfect solution for all castaways.

Lord, help me share Your love with people as easily as I do with animals. Amen.

•
Thoughts to Ponder
•

Has God asked you to be kind to an outcast? How did you respond? Did you act out of obedience or out of a loving heart? Have you felt like a castaway? God loves you and cares for you even if you've made some really bad mistakes. His arms are
always
open wide, waiting to forgive you and love you. He wants you to be a part of His family.

40

THE BIGGEST BLESSING

A Grateful Heart

T
he scrambling sounds of tiny hooves scraping my wooden kitchen floor jarred me awake. I shook my head and clicked on the light by my bedside. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I donned my slippers and pattered down the stairs. I flipped on the kitchen light. The three-day-old, lanky, brown mule foal stood in the kitchen inside a small area I'd fenced off. With her long ears pointed straight toward me, she squinted and blinked her long, black eyelashes.

I grinned. “Good morning, Little Girl.”

The baby bobbed her head and nickered a greeting back to me.

I stepped through the little gate. Crouching next to her, I stroked her velvety hair. “You get to see your mama today.”

The foal sniffed my nose, and her breath whispered across my cheek. I winced when I looked at her face. The hair along her entire jawline had been shaved for the surgery. The ragged edges of the stitches made her look like a Frankenstein creation.

The day before, when the foal had been playing on the rolling hills of the grassy pasture, she'd been accidentally kicked in the head by another horse. The impact had shattered her jaw. Her mother, Amy, had been sure her baby was dead and had abandoned her. At feeding time, the mare came in without the foal so a search followed. The foal was discovered a half mile away lying in a heap under a clump of sagebrush. The side of her face was bashed in from the impact. She was bleeding out of her ears, nose, and mouth. I scooped her up, put her in the car, and hauled her to the veterinarian clinic. I assisted the doctor in cleaning her up, putting a pin in her jaw, and then wiring her
jaw shut. It was well after dark when I pulled the car into the driveway and carried the foal into the kitchen. I quickly set up a little enclosed area to keep her warm and safe until I could reunite her with her mom.

What happened the next day shocked me so much I've never forgotten it. On that blustery May morning I went out to the pasture and haltered Little Girl's mom, a gray Percheron mare. While walking Amy to the barn, her steps seemed unsure. She barely lifted her hooves, grating them against the gravel on the road. Her eyes were glazed over, her head hung low, and her lips drooped. She was mourning her baby. I couldn't wait to show her that her baby was alive. I walked her into the yard and tied her to a tree outside the kitchen door.

I skipped up the steps, walked into the kitchen, and gathered the baby into my arms. I heaved her off the ground. Little Girl's heart pounded as she struggled before she relaxed and rested in my arms. Waddling from the awkward weight, I carried her outside.

“Amy, look! It's your baby!” I called softly.

The mare ignored me; her eyes blank.

I raised my voice as I neared her. “Amy! Hey, Amy—look! It's your baby!”

But the mare never even flicked an ear. She stared at the bark of the tree she was tied to.

Using my knee I pushed up on the weight of the sagging baby to get a better grip. I shuffled next to the mare. Grunting, I lifted the 85-pound foal toward the mare's nose so she could smell her, hoping the scent would register in her brain.

Amy recoiled violently. She reared, and the muscles in her powerful body rippled. Pop! The halter broke. She pivoted on her hind legs and raced down the road back to the pasture.

I stood with my jaw dropped.
What is she thinking?
I wondered. In shock, I lugged the foal back into the kitchen.
The biggest blessing of Amy's life was right in front of her, and she didn't even see it!
My heart was crushed. I never expected the big gray mare to not recognize her own baby!

Later that day I confined the tall, dapple-gray mare inside a small lean-to shed that was built into a hill behind the house. I scooted the
foal down the grassy slope and through the narrow wooden doorway. Amy had her head buried in the manger full of hay. When we entered, she raised her head and glanced at us. Gently I pushed the foal toward her. Amy stopped chewing. Strands of hay stuck out of her mouth as she reached out to sniff the little one. Her nostrils flared.

The foal recognized her mom and whickered.

Amy's eyes grew wide, almost like she'd seen a ghost. She buried her nose in the baby's coat and drew in a long breath. Hesitantly she whispered in a low voice.

Little Girl answered with a little squeal as if saying, “Yes, Mom! It really is me.”

For the next half hour Amy licked her foal from her head to her hooves and chortled to her. The mare finally recognized her great blessing was alive and standing by her side!

When I remember Amy's inability to see the blessing I held in front of her, I'm reminded that oftentimes I'm as blind as she was. I forget the good things that surround me—even the simple things. Having a roof overhead and heat in my home. Having food to cook and put on the table. Having the ability to turn on a faucet and get fresh water. Many people in the world will never experience those things. My treasure chest of blessings also contains wonderful family and friends.

How can I forget that I'm so blessed? It happens slowly. When I focus on the disappointments in life, my vision gets cloudy. Just like Amy not being able to see through her grief of losing her baby, a dark veil of oppression envelops me until it feels like nothing else exists.

When that happens I feel akin to how the Israelites must have felt when God delivered them from slavery in the land of Egypt. Blessings surrounded them. Exodus 13:21-22 records, “By day the L
ORD
went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide them on their way and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light, so that they could travel by day or night. Neither the pillar of cloud by day nor the pillar of fire by night left its place in front of the people.”

These miracles were evident 24/7. Instead of focusing on God and the land He'd promised, the Israelites chose to whine and be grieved by what they'd left behind. Even if they'd been only shortsighted, they
could have concentrated on God's presence that billowed before them. But because they only saw the difficulties. They lost their grateful hearts. The long-term consequence was that they forfeited their blessing of entering into the Promised Land (Numbers 14:20-23). The people chose to grumble about the inconveniences instead of having faith in the blessings promised by God and fostering grateful hearts.