Remnant

"...Lord will reach out his hand... to reclaim the surviving remnant of his people..." Isaiah 11:11

Often there are stories that aren’t mine to tell, but I worry that if I don’t tell them, they won’t get told. Stories that are rich and hearty like a bowl of stew on a cold winter evening. Stories that stick to your ribs and stay with you for days, if not years… This is one of those stories. Again, it’s not my story to tell, but I have a feeling that grace will be extended to me in it’s telling… It’s the story of a girl and a horse, but maybe not the story that one would expect…

Most girls love horses. They grow up with fantasies of galloping along rivers, leaping over fallen trees, romping through open meadows and chasing sunsets bareback. Most little girls have porcelain horse figures lining shelves, plastic stallions and mares that live in plastic paddocks with plastic saddles that can be removed and replaced to the child’s delight. Most little girls read books like Black Beauty, The Black Stallion and National Velvet and watch movies like Flicka and Spirit or television shows like My Little Pony. But… not my daughter.

My daughter was not what one would call a horse-girl. It’s not that she had a hatred of horses. It’s just that she had little-to-no interest in them. She preferred her stuffed animals, dolls and Polly Pockets over anything equine.

One year when my daughter was about six-years-old, we were at the local county fair. I thought it would be fun to encourage her to ride the “pony ride”. You know the kind. Four real-live ponies, all attached to a horse-walker, saddled and ready for eager kiddies to climb aboard their swayed, dusty backs. All this for two-minutes of pony-riding-pageantry as the docile creatures lazily trod around and around, obediently in the blazing summer sun. Fun for the whole family, right?

Well… Maybe not for my daughter. To my daughter, this was an exercise in terror. To her, these immense animals were unpredictable, daunting, and formidable. Not to mention, they smelled bad and left unsightly horse-piles in their wake. She was not at all impressed.

Fast forward about 10 years...

When my daughter was a Junior in high school, we made our first visit to Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch, not as clients, but as volunteers. Our high school youth group volunteered to spend a week working on the ranch, helping with tasks and chores around the property. Since there is a healthy population of horses on the ranch, you can understand my daughter’s reluctance around these extremely large, unnerving animals. These were not ponies like the county fair. They were a thousand-pounds of muscle and bone and hooves and hair and to my daughter, whose opinions of horses had only intensified over the years, they were intimidating, to say the least.

Now, to attempt to describe Crystal Peaks to you is like trying to describe a computer to an ant. You just can’t imagine. Crystal peaks Youth Ranch is a little corner of heaven nestled in the high desert of Central Oregon. Its views are palatial. Its facilities are immaculate. Its staff is kind. Its mission is holy and its clientele are broken and discarded. CPYR is a place for at-risk kids to receive therapy in the form of communing with horses. The Ranch's story is long but God’s fingerprints are all over it. Since it isn’t my intention here to tell the story of this amazing ranch, I will refer you to the writings of Kim Meeder, the ranch’s co-founder. But for the purposes of my writing here, you need to know that is a beautiful place of healing, hope and horses.

One day on our journey at the ranch, we had just finished lunch and were waiting for our next set of “orders'' for the afternoon. My daughter, a couple of her friends and I were casually waiting at the back of the barn near an empty paddock. We had been informed earlier in our training that this was the “quarantine paddock” and its intention was for animals who were sick, injured or recovering to have time away from the herd for their convalescence. As we waited, an employee of the ranch came by with a horse, headed toward this paddock. They kindly asked us to step aside so they could access the gate. We did so and my daughter became wracked with panic, too close to the immense animal. After securing the horse in a two-sided lean-to, the ranch employee approached my daughter.

“Are you okay?” She asked, kindly.

Unable to speak through her tears, my daughter’s friend volunteered, “She’s terrified of horses.”

“I can understand that,” the employee replied, “they are really big and scary when you’re not used to being around them. But, to be honest with you, this horse here, the one that I just brought in, is one of the sweetest horses in our herd. Not to mention, he is currently sedated due to having his teeth floated this morning.” (If you are not familiar with what teeth floating is, Google it. It’s fascinating.) “If there was ever a horse that would be completely safe to meet, it would be Remnant.”

Remnant is an absolutely beautiful black and white gelding. He has a distinctive white face and amazing lightning-bolt markings on both front legs. He stands 15 hands tall and is majestic. However, when my daughter entered the paddock with him, it was almost laughable as the sedated horse wobbled on unsure legs, recovering from his procedure.

My daughter timidly stroked Remnant’s forelock and the Ranch employee shared his story…

In August of 2005, Hurricane Katrina ripped through the Gulf Coast of the United States. It was a Category 5 hurricane that left in its wake over 1,800 deaths and $125 billion in damage. It impacted Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and several other surrounding states. After the storm, there was widespread destruction. Animals of all kinds were displaced; cats, dogs, cattle and horses. This included a white faced, black gelding with lightning bolts on his legs. Remnant had been displaced by Katrina. He was in bad shape, surviving by eating the bark off trees. Remnant had been trapped, standing in knee deep water for three weeks, imprisoned by the fallen trees that had become his only sustenance. He had to be rescued with chainsaws and tender hearts. His hooves were soft and his health was poor.

In November of the next year, Remnant was re-homed to Crystal Peaks, where he was lovingly rehabilitated and added to their rotation of “angels in horse hair” that minister to the broken hearts and spirits of its vulnerable clientele.

In the hearing of Remnant’s story, God did a mighty work in my daughter’s heart. That’s not to say that she suddenly lost her fear of horses, jumped on Remnant’s back and joined the local rodeo. No, but God planted a truth through Remnant’s story. The truth was this: If God would care for a horse, essentially lost and alone, a simple creature with relatively little value. Wouldn’t he care for her? Wouldn’t God see her through her challenges? Wouldn’t God see her through her trials? Wouldn’t God love her at least as much as he loved Remnant, alone and forgotten about in the impenetrable woods? My daughter could see the redemptive work of Jesus through a sedated horse in a quarantine paddock. She could see the love of her Savior through the lens of a displaced horse who survived through sheer willpower and God’s providence.

Fast forward another year...

We returned the next summer to Crystal Peaks to continue our service mission. By no means had my daughter’s fear of horses disappeared, but she was definitely feeling more comfortable around the animals that called Crystal Peaks their home. Our days at the ranch were filled with weed pulling, hay-bucking and menagerie of other tasks. Toward the end of our week, my daughter and I were working in the main paddock scooping recycled-hay (poop). We were talking about our experiences at the ranch and comparing our current visit to the one the previous year. “I just wish I had seen Remnant this year,” my daughter said casually, filling her manure fork and tossing it into the bed of the nearby Kubota.

To my surprise, moments later, a lazy but deliberate Remnant sauntered up behind my daughter, manure fork still in her hand. A smile spread across my face. Of course this amazing animal would appear as our journey was coming to a close. “Look who came by to say hello.” I told my daughter, motioning behind her. She turned and tears welled in both our eyes. “Hi Rem.” my daughter said, reaching out to stroke his powerful jaw. “Did you come to say hello to me?” This majestic animal stood with my daughter for several minutes, allowing her to connect with him through words and affection. Then lazily, and just as deliberately, he sauntered away.

Why is this story one that I felt needed sharing? Why did I describe it as a bowl of rich and hearty stew? This story is more than the story of a girl overcoming her fears. It is more than the story of a horse rescued from a storm. This is the story of God showing up. He shows up again and again and again. You can sink down deep in the comforting knowledge that no matter what you are struggling with, no matter what you are feeling or being challenged with, God shows up.

He showed up for Remnant in the woods. He showed up for my daughter on the ranch. God shows up for the broken children who find belonging and acceptance on the back of a retired quarter-horse or to a high-school student in the middle of a blueberry patch pulling weeds on a youth mission. If you’re 17 or 107, God wants to show up for you. God wants to have a relationship with you.

He is waiting like Remnant in the woods, not trapped, but expectant. Or maybe the analogy is better the other way around. You are Remnant, trapped and surviving but God is the one who comes to set you free. He teaches you what it means to thrive. He wants you to come to him and trust him with your burdens, trust him with your brokenness and your needs.

Storms in our lives are a guarantee. We will have storms. We will have fair weather, too. But regardless of the weather, we have a God who shows up, dusts off the saddle and invites you to take a ride alongside him. All you have to do is trust, and you don't even have to buy a ticket to the fair.