Love and Home – Riding on Water

2019 was… long.

It was in many ways both a terrible year and a wonderful year – but one thing stayed the same: for every beat of my heart, for every breath in my lungs, God’s grace was there to carry all of us through.

January-May, I’ll be honest, totally sucked. It was a long, long five months of being so deeply buried under all kinds of work and personal issues that I didn’t get to spend any time at all with my horses. In the beloved’s words, “Firns need horsies and sunlight to thrive”, so I just wasn’t happy. I had just started working at the Arab stud, though, and I rode there every day as well as riding Tilly, so at least I stayed moderately fit and still learned something.

I showed Faith at HOY 2019, where she was really good right up until the part where she bucked me off in the working riding. After that I took the longest break from competing personally that I’ve ever taken. Thunder pretty much hung out in a field for nearly five months. I did the logical thing when one has no time to ride and bought a new horse, too – Lancelot.

In April, the Arabs had their auction. It was really awesome to be a part of that, and it was a great learning curve to be behind the scenes at an event of that magnitude. I rode Lancelot at the auction (as he’s the only progeny of Silvern Lance under saddle in the area) and he blew me away with how chill he was. We even jumped a few fences and he was perfect.

May saw everything change for the better. I sorted out my finances, hired an instructor to teach the beginners at my yard for me, and finally had my schedule open enough that I could work on my own horses again. I left Faith for the end of the year, since she was still growing up anyway, and put Lancelot and Thunder into work.

June, July and August saw me taking more lessons and getting the two guys fitter. Thunder was muscular but ridiculously chunky and unfit; the more inherently athletic Lancelot could go on forever but needed a ton of muscle tone. In fact, I did little other than rebuild fitness and muscle tone for most of the last half of 2019. I showed Tilly several times in both dressage and jumping, but Lancelot and Thunder stayed home except for lessons until October, when I showed Thunder at elementary. He was wonderfully relaxed; so was I.

Arwen, who had been in work with a child all year, went to Standerton Show in September with me and absolutely cleaned up. She won every class she walked into bar the working riding championship, where she was reserve. It was one of my best rides ever on her and I loved it.

In December, I held the biggest pony camp at my yard yet, which was a resounding success. I had worked really hard throughout the year to stabilise the yard as a business, and it’s been turning a little profit ever since, enough to support my own horses. We also ran a really fun and wonderful Christmas show, which I desperately enjoyed.

Overall, when it came to achievements this year, I kind of felt like I’d really underperformed. Looking back, though, I learned a lot and we did well when we did compete. Just turning the yard around financially was a feat in itself and something that might not have earned any ribbons or show photos on Facebook, but will certainly help to support my riding going forward.

In my heart, though, God accomplished so much in the space of twelve short months, especially when it comes to riding. In March/April, I was the closest I had ever been to giving up on my competitive riding career. I never stopped loving horses, but the overwhelming time and expense required just made me feel like it was never going to work out. I had to find a way to be okay with that. I had to figure out where riding fits in my life when it is not the only thing in my life. As a teenager, horses were my entire life – even though I would never have admitted it, they were my identity. There was nothing else out there for me. I lived for it, and it wasn’t healthy. It became an idol, as surely as a golden calf, and the Lord was good to me in making it seem like it was being taken away.

Because I found out that life is so much more than riding and I am so much more than a teenager who rides. I am a child of God, and there’s more to me than just one thing. My success or failure in the saddle no longer defines my worth as a human being. And once I’d learned that lesson, Abba Father was gracious in giving me back my riding, and for the first time since I was a kid I genuinely love it again. I’ve always been committed to it; I’ve always been devoted to it. I’ve always loved horses. But the feeling of sitting on a horse and letting it dance – it was always worship, but now it is joyous worship. It doesn’t just teach me and connect me to my God in ways that nothing else can. It brings me joy, a pure, radical, heavenly joy, one that comes straight from the Hand of the King.

2019 was hard, but it was good to me because God used it. And now I’ve never been happier in my life, nor more determined to take on the challenge of my great equestrian dream. I might achieve it. I might not. It’s in the arms of the Lord, but I know that He has a purpose for me in the trying, and I know that every breath is joy and love and grace to me.

I deserve to die for my sins, but not only did He give me life and Himself, He gave me horses and a beautiful view and a career that I love and a tiny house on a horse farm and a man who loves me like breath – and I am so, so happy. Genuinely, ridiculously happy, thanks only to one thing: the love of the King.

Forever and ever, glory to that King!

I painted the windowframes this weekend. I should be dead.

Darling chose the colour; a metallic grey. He was building the cupboard with that painstaking, methodical way of his. First stripping planks off the old pallets that nobody wanted anymore – nobody except us, anyway. They were beaten up and weathered and cast aside, but they seemed to change in his big, careful hands. I knew that by the end of the day these broken old things would become something new, something useful. Unrecognizable.

A little like me.

Then Jesus went with them to the olive grove called Gethsemane, and he said, “Sit here while I go over there to pray.” He took Peter and Zebedee’s two sons, James and John, and he became anguished and distressed. He told them, “My soul is crushed with grief to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” He went on a little farther and bowed with his face to the ground, praying, “My Father! If it is possible, let this cup of suffering be taken away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.” – Matthew 26:36-39

The windowframes were my job. I put some music on and grabbed a little brush and got to work. The paint smoothed easily over the frames themselves, hiding the weathered surface under a shiny new grey coat.

The traitor, Judas, had given them a prearranged signal: “You will know which one to arrest when I greet him with a kiss.” So Judas came straight to Jesus. “Greetings, Rabbi!” he exclaimed and gave him the kiss. Jesus said, “My friend, go ahead and do what you have come for.” Then the others grabbed Jesus and arrested him. – Matthew 26:48-50

The burglar bars were a little more difficult. They’d been painted white before and the grey paint didn’t want to stick. I almost asked Darling for help, but decided that I was a strong and independent woman and that I was going to figure it out myself. Surrounded came up next on my playlist and I turned it up a few notches, dancing in place as I sang along. “It may look like I’m surrounded but I’m surrounded by You.”

But Jesus remained silent. Then the high priest said to him, “I demand in the name of the living God—tell us if you are the Messiah, the Son of God.” Jesus replied, “You have said it. And in the future you will see the Son of Man seated in the place of power at God’s right hand and coming on the clouds of heaven.” Then the high priest tore his clothing to show his horror and said, “Blasphemy! Why do we need other witnesses? You have all heard his blasphemy. What is your verdict?” “Guilty!” they shouted. “He deserves to die!” – Matthew 26:63-66

The first windowframe took all my concentration, but by the time I moved on to the bathroom window – Darling propped it open for me with a piece of plank – I’d hit my rhythm. I almost spilt some of the paint on the windowpane, but managed to catch it just in time.

Pilate responded, “Then what should I do with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” They shouted back, “Crucify him!” “Why?” Pilate demanded. “What crime has he committed?” But the mob roared even louder, “Crucify him!” – Matthew 27:22-23

By lunchtime, the windowframes were done. I rinsed out the brush and walked into our little house. Darling was stepping back to look at his cupboard with a critical eye, but smiled as I came in. He was fragrantly covered in sawdust and sweat, and when he draped an arm over my shoulders, the perfect smell of him embraced me.

“All done,” I told him.

He pressed his lips to the top of my head, a tiny and tender gesture, but as big and strong as the hands that built our house. “Well done, liefie.”

And they went out to a place called Golgotha (which means “Place of the Skull”). The soldiers gave Jesus wine mixed with bitter gall, but when he had tasted it, he refused to drink it. After they had nailed him to the cross, the soldiers gambled for his clothes by throwing dice. The people passing by shouted abuse, shaking their heads in mockery.“Look at you now!” they yelled at him. “You said you were going to destroy the Temple and rebuild it in three days. Well then, if you are the Son of God, save yourself and come down from the cross!” – Matthew 27:33-35,39-40

“Ready for lunch?” I asked. “There’s tuna, if you like.”

His smile was the sun in my world. “Sounds good.”

We walked back towards the farmhouse hand in hand. We always do, even if it’s too hot to hold hands, just interlacing our pinky fingers together – a connection.

At noon, darkness fell across the whole land until three o’clock. At about three o’clock, Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” which means “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” Then Jesus shouted out again, and he released his spirit. At that moment the curtain in the sanctuary of the Temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, rocks split apart… – Matthew 27:45-46, 50-51

I pause and look back. Our tiny house basks in the autumn sunshine, almost done. The grey windowframes look new and cosy, and it’s starting to look like a home instead of a construction zone. I lean against darling and let out a sigh of contentment.

“I can’t wait,” I say.

“Me neither.” He pulls me a little closer. “I love you.”

As evening approached, Joseph, a rich man from Arimathea who had become a follower of Jesus, went to Pilate and asked for Jesus’ body. And Pilate issued an order to release it to him. Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a long sheet of clean linen cloth. He placed it in his own new tomb, which had been carved out of the rock. Then he rolled a great stone across the entrance and left. – Matthew 27:57-60

I lean against the man who loves me and I gaze out at the little house and I know that I should be dead. I know that I should have been the one to kneel in Gethsemane horrible anguish. I know that I should have been the one to stand trial in front of mocking hordes. I know that I would have been found guilty. I know that I should have been nailed to a cross and that I should have died a slow, agonising death.

It should have been me. But it wasn’t. It was the King of all kings, the Creator of the world, the Alpha and Omega. I was the one who deserved it, but He was the One who died.

Then the angel spoke to the women. “Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I know you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He isn’t here! He is risen from the dead, just as he said would happen. Come, see where his body was lying. And now, go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and he is going ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there. Remember what I have told you.” – Matthew 28:5-7

I should be dead. Instead, the Son of God, Who knew no sin, died in my place. He paid all of my debts and set me free two thousand years before I was born. Then He rose again, and I rise up with him, a new creature, living a new life.

I should be dead. Instead, I painted my windowframes. I painted them grey, and I sang His praise. I hugged my man and I made tuna sandwiches for lunch. And I know, with every breath, that I don’t deserve even the air in my lungs. I don’t deserve to be starting a life together with the most incredible human being on this earth. I don’t deserve to ride horses or enjoy a meal with my family or sing in the sunshine or even my pretty new grey windowframes. I certainly don’t deserve eternal life or unity with the God that is all goodness.

He died for me. I don’t deserve to call Him Abba.

But it’s not something I earned. It’s a gift. So I paint my windowframes. I hold my man close. I anticipate the glory that is to come. And I sing the praises of the God Whose love never gives up and never finds a limit.

This is grace. Happy Easter. Glory to the King.

Riding on Water

Category: Love and Home

Reflection

Windowframes