You Hold Him Too Closely

The Clyde and EPM saga marches on. This week, I've been forced to chew on and swallow some hard to digest truths. A year ago, this horse that I raised from a foal was diagnosed with a degenerative, neurological disease.  At that time, with an unpromising prognosis, I mourned what Clyde could have been and what he may never be. I mourned for his short life, and for what I would no longer gain from him.

Treatment apparently didn't work because the symptoms have resurfaced. And so, my tears and cries of injustice have resurfaced as well. I cried for all of the hours that I have put into that horse that would be wasted. I cried because of the income that would be lost due to not being able to use him for lessons. I cried for how painful it will be for me to see the disease progress through Clyde's body.

But when the kleenex ran out, and I found myself alone in my house when I should've been at work, a small, unwelcome thought entered my mind that I knew was of divine origin.

"You hold him too closely."

This horse that I claim as mine and justify that claim by declaring that I've raised him and I've trained him, isn't really mine. He has been my rock steady through the challenges and changes of high school, college, and becoming an adult. He's been my sounding board and my ambition.

He is a gift that has brought me joy, purpose, frustration, and excitement. But he is a gift that is on loan to me from my Heavenly Father. He is not mine, just as none of my possessions are truly mine. When I am confronted with the hard truth that Clyde may be taken from me, my world has just come crumbling down. I am consumed with what I will no longer gain from him. I hold him so closely that the thought of that separation tears me all up.

And so I offer Clyde back to God in repentance and fear.

It doesn't mean that I don't cry anymore. It doesn't mean that I am suddenly free of emotion. But I trust and I know that there is purpose and there is peace in letting go.

I had a reputable vet come out today and give us a third opinion. He observed Clyde shaking his head seemingly uncontrollably, his primary symptom. He asked me a few questions about Clyde's gait and the treatment we did.

He turned to me and asked if I wanted to know what his opinion was. Um, yes.

He said that Clyde has developed a habit of shaking his head to get the flies off.

I laughed at first, and then I realized the vet wasn't joking.

A few "are you kidding me" thoughts entered my head and came out my mouth. But the more the vet gave his reasoning, the more it started to make sense. So instead of spending large amounts of money to treat him or watch him deteriorate, I am going to buy a different kind of fly mask and maybe a fan to help keep the flies away.

Just when I let go of him, he is given back to me.

I'm on a constant journey toward a life of peace. One that is not tossed about by the ebb and flow of a world that I cannot control. There is a trust that leads to tranquility, and one dip into that lake leaves me begging for more.