Wednesday, November 24, 2010
A Different Kind of Thanksgiving
There are times when I am in Silk’s stall that I feel some sort of mysterious vibes. As if my horse can read my thoughts, I find answers or insights to things that have been bothering me.
I was brushing Silk tonight and trying to fan the flames of hope. I confess that I was feeling pretty low. It’s been a challenging week, and tomorrow we’re going up to the nursing home to have Thanksgiving dinner there with my mom. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I love to cook all the recipes that have been passed along to me from family and friends. I get very sentimental when I look back at all the good memories. This year, we considered making a second turkey dinner at home the day after, but it felt like that would only remind us more that we missed my mom. In the spirit of living with what is, we’re going to try to make this the most fun Thanksgiving that the nursing home has ever had.
I know that we’re not the only ones who have had our share of difficulties and disappointments this year. There are friends of mine who have lost loved ones or are financially flailing and are really struggling with the holidays. I look for little sparks of hope wherever I can find them.
While I was rubbing Silk’s soft, thick coat, a thought popped into my head, almost like she was having a conversation with me. I suddenly recalled that she had been beaten and abused before I bought her. People really hurt her and treated her like a machine. She spent the first ten years of her life in a box stall, never getting turned out in a pasture. Occasionally, she was allowed to kick up her heels in a round pen, but no one ever let her be anything but a showpiece. Yet, she managed to never lose her spirit, and life got better for her. For the last twelve years, Silk has been loved and pampered and free to run and eat grass and the best hay I can buy for her. Standing next to her in the darkness, I felt like she was reminding me that there are going to be rocky patches, and we just have to get through them. And fortunately, we have each other.
Hold on to what is good,
Even if it's a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe,
Even if it's a tree that stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do,
Even if it's a long way from here.
Hold on to your life,
Even if it's easier to let go.
Hold on to my hand,
Even if someday I'll be gone away from you.
A Pueblo Indian Prayer