Bridge Called Hope

by Kim Meeder

  She chose him. Out of everyone, he was the one that she sought out.

  The tattered, rejected, love-starved horse choosing the tattered, rejected, love-starved boy. At this point, little else on the face of this earth honestly mattered. Love … had risen out of the dross, and like a stream through the desert, it trailed in its magnificent wake … life.

  After the rest of the group moved to another area of the ranch, I retrieved a few brushes for Matt to use. Together, we groomed Phoebe for quite a while. Light conversation flowed easily between us. He, like the other boys, was engaging and polite as our dialogue meandered from one topic to another.

  I glanced at him from time to time and noticed that his eyes never rose to meet mine. Instead, they stayed lowered, seemingly intent on not losing contact with this little horse. His manner revealed that perhaps he believed she was a phantom; just maybe, if he looked away … she would disappear. Not wishing for this moment to pass, his gaze remained locked like a laser on the fuzzy, bay target. With as few words as possible, I returned my brush to the white bucket at his feet and quietly backed up toward the gate. As if retreating from the room of a dozing infant, I didn’t wish to disturb this extraordinary moment.

  Because the boys had done such a wonderful job volunteering, I showed my clear appreciation by using a “secret” key to open the ranch soda machine, and let each of them help themselves to whatever flavor sounded best to them. While walking out of the main barn, I tied the arms of my fleece jacket firmly around my waist, evidence of the increasingly beautiful day.

  It was nearly time for the boys to leave and head back to the facility. All had returned from their individual experiences on the ranch … except Matt. Upon minimal exploration, he was found in exactly the same place he had been left hours before … inside Phoebe’s paddock with a brush in his hand, gently grooming her transitioning coat.

  It took a great deal of persuasion … and nearly a crow bar to convince Matt to leave the small horse’s side. With great hesitation, he joined me as I held the gate open, offering him to walk through it with me. He was not disrespectful in any way, but his body language clearly spoke: To leave this horse is not what he wished for.

  Several days after Matt’s unique visit, his counselor called me. “I have something that I need to share with you concerning Matt,” she began. I could hear that her voice was strained, and immediately felt rising concern gather within my chest. “After his visit out to the ranch, Matt started to behave in a very uncharacteristic manner. I could easily see that his typical laid-back style had suddenly collided into a dam that was invisible to everyone but him. Everything about his demeanor shouted with a silent voice that he was suffering from some great, internal conflict.”

  She continued by recounting many failed attempts to encourage him to open the obviously pressurized flood gates of his soul. With stealthy evasion, he countered back with little more than an indication that she was right.

  “He kept stalling by saying things like, ‘I need to talk to you … but not now.’ Or, ‘I still want to talk to you … but not yet.’ It wasn’t until several days later, when we were finally able to sit down, that I realized he had been waiting for a quiet, semi-private time to talk.”

  A long pause passed between us in near silence. The only sounds I could hear over the phone were her failing attempts to win the battle for her crumbling composure. Finally, after a great sigh, she plunged forward.

  “Kim, I watched as Matt slumped down in the chair before me. He grabbed the front of his shirt with his hand and began to stammer in a near whisper, ‘My heart … my heart … something is happening to my heart!’ ”

  I heard her voice completely break as she emotionally recalled, “His eyes filled with tears as he continued to clutch the part of his shirt in front of his heart. Finally, he looked up at me, and in a voice that I could barely hear, he said, ‘I never knew that I could be loved … I never knew that there was anyone on this earth who would believe in me … If the people and the horses at that ranch on the hill can love me … and believe in me … maybe it’s time … for me to start believing in myself.’ ”

  Tears of redemption began to fall.

  In a single, quiet moment, the direction of Matt’s life changed.

  Love is like that. It soars above the boundaries we absently confine it to. It breaks through what we mistake as unbreakable. It redeems captives once thought unredeemable as it roars over their crumbling dams of uncertainty. No matter what we might observe on the surface, like an arrow that cannot be pulled out, love’s truth pierces the heart with undeniable permanence.

  Before God … it never returns void.

  It costs the giver nothing … it gives the receiver everything! It is the most valuable treasure, worth far more than all the combined wealth the world has ever known … yet, it is free to give.

  Whatever shape or presence it inhabits, love matters … perhaps more than we know. Pure love, refined of all the dross the world associates with it … truly changes our very foundations.

  Featured in the book Hope Rising is a truly distressing account of how despondent and grief-stricken this author has recently become. Because of being surrounded by a multitude of speedier paws, she never actually gets to eat any of the “Vitamin M’s” (i.e., M&M’s) that are so graciously donated to the ranch for her consumption. I know! I know! Just the thought of it makes my eyes well up too!

  Apparently there were many more readers than I realized who know the incredible health benefits of “Vitamin M” and how vitally important it is to not fall into deficiency. Everyone knows that the documented and sometimes dangerous symptoms of “Vitamin M” deficiency include: violent mood swings, tantrums, depression, uncontrollable crying, and weight loss! These benevolent folks were obviously plagued … outraged, appalled, even sleepless … with the cruelty and unfairness of my continuing plight.

  The incredible depth of their sympathy—and truly how much they could “feel my pain”—has recently been made known. Because of their mountainous generosity and humanitarian work, many of these blessed, benevolent souls have sought to ease my suffering. Whether it be through the mail, via carrier, or face to face, their relief efforts to stave off a “Vitamin M” deficiency here at the ranch have continued to pour in.

  Morale on the ranch was at an all-time high when this author, after taking a weekend away from the ranch to mentally recover from her own personal deficiency, walked into the tack room only to stagger backward at the colossal splendor that was suspended within.

  There … hanging on several bridle racks, dressed in all of their white-plastic-bagged magnificence … hung the objects of my affection. A true “Earth Angel” had graced my tack room with five grocery bags full of “Vitamin M.” When all was counted, there, floating before me like a mirage … clothed in heavenly white … illuminated with shafted light from above … were thirty-eight pounds of “Vitamin M”! Be still my heart! And yes, I heard the angels singing too!

  My season of drought was over! Rejoicing could be heard throughout the land! Never again would I suffer the torturous, unhealthy experience of going without my beloved “Vitamin M”! Thirty-eight pounds of chocolate bliss would become the very foundation to sustain a virtual oasis within my desert of lack.

  Holy cow! Who am I trying to kid?! In the real world of distinguished chocolate consumers, thirty-eight pounds of chocolate would last … I don’t know … maybe fourteen years? But that’s in the real world … here on the ranch, it lasted exactly two and a half weeks … and that was only because we tried to ration it!

  Doggone! Looks like I’m still out here in the desert of chocolatelessness. So, for all of my deeply compassionate sympathizers … keep on sympathizin’—because, from the looks of things … I’m gonna need it!

  It was only days after Christmas, and holiday warmth continued to envelope me in all that this remarkable time of year embodies. The sun slipped beneath the frozen horizon, embracing all creation with a final, golden, goo
d-night kiss. The temperature dropped with the fading glory of the sky as the sun continued its retreat toward bed.

  After working in my office long enough to feel the outside chill coming in, I decided it was a good time to nuke a mug of peppermint tea and find my favorite fleece blanket to wrap around my legs.

  The familiar chirp from my kitchen proclaimed that my tea was ready. I followed the sound back into the other room while tying my fleece blanket under my arms like a sarong. Not wishing to trip, I was aware of the remainder of the blanket that was dragging across the hardwood floor behind me. Smiling to myself, I knew that it was most certainly dusting a new path, giving evidence of where my broom hadn’t been in a while.

  Once settled back into my chilly office, I was completely startled when the phone shattered the stillness around me. It was late … too late for a casual call. The tightness in my chest continued to grow as the unfamiliar male voice confirmed who I was. “Your number was relayed to us in case of an emergency. Do you know Cheree and Jenna Smith?” I must have answered him affirmatively because he continued, “Ma’am, there has been a fire at the scene. Cheree and Jenna are unaccounted for. Can you come …?”

  Horrifying thoughts rushed through my head. I was nearly certain Jenna had informed me earlier that she was going out with a group of her friends for a belated Christmas party at one of their homes. Lord … where was Cheree? As a hard-working single mother, Cheree usually enjoyed quiet evenings at home. “Did she go to bed early? What if she wasn’t awakened by the fire? If she made it out of her home, the authorities would know that; she would be there with them. Dear Jesus …” My heart clenched in fear of the sickening picture that was beginning to take shape within my imagination.

  They were a family of two; they needed each other intensely. I couldn’t imagine one surviving without the other … and I didn’t want to. As my mind continued to slip toward the unthinkable, I rationalized that no human being can replace another. But, Lord, if you call me to, I am ready to open my arms, my heart, and my life to make a family … if theirs is no more. The sheer weight of this possible outcome was not a scenario that I wanted to imagine, or even could.

  In what felt like a single motion, I pulled on a pair of boots and a heavy coat while running across our frozen deck and down the fifteen steps into the garage. “Cheree and Jenna’s house is on fire!” I yelled above the blaring radio as I burst in on Troy, who was working on an old car. In fast forward, we quickly navigated the seven miles of snowy road between our homes.

  While my eyes strained to see beyond the truck’s headlights through the darkness that lay before us, I couldn’t help but replay how I first met Jenna and Cheree. Jenna had started coming to the ranch at the age of fourteen. She was the only child of her single and greatly devoted mother. Together they moved to Central Oregon for a new start, one which hopefully would nurture Jenna’s growing passion for horses.

  It was easy to see that horses were her release. In today’s rapidly growing youth culture of super popularity and hyper-attention to appearance, style, and socializing, Jenna’s acute shyness and lack of “conformity” left her with no friends of any duration. In the world of her peers, she was completely alone.

  Horses became the true family of friends that she so earnestly sought. They always accepted her. They never taunted her for being a brilliant, straight-A “nerd.” When she approached, they never ignored her. If she didn’t don the latest style, they never snickered. When she was growing so lanky and tall, they never made fun of her. For Jenna, horses were always steadfast and loyal. They asked no questions; instead they chose to adopt her exactly as she was. They kept all her secrets and didn’t ever tell another soul. They never let her down. In fact, they always bore her up, carrying her to a freedom that was unequalled anywhere else in her life.

  With the horses on the ranch, it was obvious that she loved them … and they loved her. And that … was enough. On more than one occasion, while directing kids to find Jenna, I heard myself say, “Just look for the tallest girl on the ranch. She’s slender with auburn hair, blue eyes … you’ll find her with the horses …”

  As the ranch reached out to her, she reached back. Jenna gave countless hours of volunteer time, summer after summer. When she outgrew her beloved-but-small horse, she donated Robby to the ranch so he could continue to rescue other little ones just as he had rescued her. With this girl, even from the beginning, it was always apparent that she was never about serving herself; she was clearly, visibly, and unmistakably about serving others.

  With incredible determination, planning, and hard work, Jenna and her mother, Cheree, were able to purchase a little house outside of town. It was a “humble beginning,” but it was their beginning. As a team, Cheree worked hard to provide the finances while Jenna was the young, strong back laboring to see all the chores to completion. Together they set about making their tired house … into a home.

  When invited over for their “official” housewarming, the first thing I noticed when I entered through the front door was what appeared to be fragments of Jenna’s life captured in still photographs. One photo featured a preschool-age Jenna with a tiny pony. Another group of photos showed the incremental stages of her grade-school years. Still another picture showed Jenna beaming with shy pride as she stood in front of Robby, her equine soul mate, while holding up what I assumed was the very first ribbon that they had won together.

  In front of a worn, floral couch rested a lovingly crafted gift that I learned was made by Cheree’s father. In what must have certainly taken a great deal of time, he had fashioned a coffee table made completely out of used horseshoes. Already it proudly displayed many keepsakes and artifacts of Jenna’s early youth.

  Nearly every wall presented an era of Jenna’s burgeoning artistic adventures in a multitude of mediums. I couldn’t help but notice and appreciate that in all their efforts to make this simple structure a home … they had truly succeeded.

  Few could have been more proud of them both than Troy and I. It was with utmost admiration and respect that we invited Jenna to “officially” become a part of our ranch staff. She had worked so hard for so long, and within this process had changed so much. The once silent girl, who had known vicious rejection and even verbal and physical threats from her high school contemporaries, against great difficulties continued to “stay the course” and graduate with honors.

  Each season seemed to herald a new venue for her personal growth. Step by step, I watched in complete awe as she methodically found her voice, her purpose … her self. Truly my life was made more rich by watching her purposeful transformation from a shy, lonely girl into an engaging, active, beautiful young woman.

  When it was time for her to enter college, true to her nature, she researched every detail. Because she worked hard to attain perfect grades and had applied for many scholarships, Jenna was able to find most of the funding for her first year. With the generous help of several organizations, her living expenses were also covered. Jenna … was going to college.

  Unfortunately, the onset of her second year of college brought some bad news with it. The financial aid she had secured her first year was not going to be renewed. With great sadness, she came to me and expressed that she was going to land far short of the monetary help that she needed to reach for her dreams of attending college for another year.

  What first appeared as a crushing blow, after much prayer, transformed into something remarkable—just as Jenna had. Her lack became the perfect place for the Lord to demonstrate His amazing love by pouring out help—just for her—from what some might consider impossible circumstances. Her goal, her hope, her dream crashed through what appeared to everyone as impenetrable odds … and became a reality. Her second year of college was provided through remarkable means … an envelope arrived at the ranch with nothing more than her name on the outside … and everything that she needed on the inside.

  Troy’s abrupt turn onto the dirt road that led to their home yanked my attention
back to the present. We bounced through the winter-inspired maze of potholes and washboards as we climbed up the low hillside upon which their house rested. As we approached, we could see countless emergency vehicles all with their lights rotating ominously though the smoky darkness. Even from my distant vantage, it was obvious … their simple home was destroyed. The roof that had once sheltered their living room, dining room, and kitchen had been reduced to a yawning hole that encircled a glowing tower of menacing orange flames.

  It was a chaotic scene. Firemen were streaming in and out of the front door. Some were struggling to drag in a water hose while others appeared to be dragging out completely destroyed “fuel items.” These looked like bits and pieces of what used to be their furniture. The only fragment I could still recognize was the completely charred and partially denuded floral couch.

  Troy jammed the truck into first gear and snapped off the key. I jumped out of the truck before it had completely stopped. A crowd had gathered and everyone seemed to be talking at once. I pushed my way through the milling group to a fireman and nearly shouted above the clamor, “Have you found the owners?” He cupped his ear in an attempt to better hear my question. I repeated it with more volume. He motioned toward another fireman and pointed, clearly indicating that he was the man in charge.

  Panic began to rise in my throat as I scanned the gathering crowd for Cheree and Jenna. They were no where to be found.

  I ran to the fireman who had been indicated to me. I assumed he was the incident commander, and from a short distance I identified myself: “You just called me. My name is Kim Meeder. Do you have any word on Cheree and Jenna?”

  As he strode toward me, I could see that he was talking on a cell phone in his right hand while giving various commands on the radio gripped in his left. I felt like I was shouting above the bellowing fire hoses and radios just to be heard. Wordlessly, by simply holding up one index finger, he asked me to stop.