by Kim Meeder
“The storm outside still raged, but the storm inside my life had been laid to rest. I finally decided to surrender. Even though I had spoken of it earlier in my life, I had never really done it. I had never honestly surrendered my life or my control of it.”
I considered her statement. “Your control? Honestly, what do we control? When is the last time you told your heart to beat? Or your eyes to see? How often do we direct the rhythm of our breathing? The only thing we actually do control in this life is the ability to choose our attitude, our beliefs. The truth about our being ‘in control’ is that it is an illusion we want to believe is real.”
Laurie nodded before adding, “I lived a long time convincing myself that my illusion of control was real, believing that I didn’t really need God to lead me. As I said, I hadn’t yet surrendered control of my life, my whole life, to God … not until that night.”
The only thing we actually do control in this life is the ability to choose our attitude, our beliefs.
I stopped skiing and looked at my friend. I wanted her to see my eyes, to see that they were full of tears, tears of joy for the hope she had found. For the hope she chose to receive, for the peaceful freedom that comes in knowing Christ. Laurie had struggled for so long. For years she had battled her internal storms; now my friend had chosen to finally step out of the tempest. She was done fighting. It was time to surrender, to embrace the peace that had always been available to her.
I wiped my eyes. “Wow, Lou, your whole life is about to change. I don’t mean your circumstances. I don’t mean that everything is suddenly going to be all hearts and roses. I mean that you are about to change, your heart, your attitude. Truly finding the peace of Christ is like finding the eye of the storm. The hurricane is still there, but because of what the Lord has done for us, we can abide in his peace through any storm.”
Laurie smiled. I held my palm in front of her, and she responded with a glove-muffled high-five. While we were stopped, I decided to shed a layer.
Laurie used this moment to keep processing her thoughts out loud. “It was kinda like I was wandering in the desert and knew about the oasis; I just chose to never go there. Even though my heart was parched with thirst, when others led me to God, I still chose not to drink. Often I had stayed in the coolness, the beauty, the soothing presence of God, but I had never received the cup he offered me. Knowing about the water, even holding a full cup in my hands, still couldn’t keep me from dying of thirst. I had to choose to receive the water, to drink it in. By the same token, it was not enough for me to simply know about God—I needed to receive him into every part of my life.”
I planted my poles together, folded my hands over the grips, and rested my chin on top.
“When I was in my car surrounded by the storm,” Laurie continued, “I stared at Mia lying beside me still sound asleep. She was at peace, resting in my presence. She was completely unruffled by the raging storm outside. She was with me, and that was enough for her. Without a word, my dog became the perfect example of how I should be with my God—I can choose to rest in him. No matter what storm may rage around me, I can rest in his presence.”
“Oh, Lou. Let this image be the strong cord that binds you to the peace of Christ. You know where your choosing has led … now it’s time for you to choose him to lead.”
Laurie took a long, deep breath. “I know that Mia’s life will still present challenges. So will mine. None of my problems were magically resolved that night, nor did any of my hardships instantly disappear. Something even better happened. I realized for the first time in my life that—like my sweet dog—I can rest peacefully in the presence of my Master.”
Laurie maneuvered her skis close to mine. Her eyes were sparkling now. I was struck by the radiance that beamed out from them. It was the same brilliance I had just seen earlier, shimmering off the ridge top above us. I smiled in recognition. Both wonders came from the same source of beauty, hope, and peace.
“Through all we’ve discovered together, there’s still one difference between my dog and me. Mia is still blind.” Laurie paused as the tears welled up. “But I can see—really see—for the first time.”
You know, because of Mia, I now understand that it’s not possible for God’s light, his truth, to fill the space within my heart that’s already full of me.”
Laurie reached across my kitchen counter and helped me gather up a gigantic bowl of salad, several bottles of dressing, and a large Crock-Pot full of pasta. A late fall breeze had been scattering leaves all afternoon. Now they swirled along my deck in a wordless dance of color.
It was Tuesday evening, and our Ranch Fellowship, a relaxed “cowboy church” in our barn, would be starting within the hour. To brace against the night’s chill, we pulled on our jackets and headed out the door, our arms loaded with all the food we could carry. We chose our steps with caution in the mounting darkness, mindful not to slip. I noticed that Laurie needed to finish her thought, so I slowed my pace even further.
It’s not possible for God’s light, his truth, to fill the space within my heart that’s already full of me.
Laurie seized the opportunity. “I’ve squandered so much time as an adult struggling to become dependable, strong, and stable. You know, all the things you think will make you valuable to others. Yet instead of choosing to take the small, consistent steps to nurture those attributes, I’ve done nearly the opposite.”
“The opposite? What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, please don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I have a grip on any of these things yet. What I am saying is, I now recognize that for much of my life I’ve been an impostor, a temporary look-alike that only gave the appearance of having those admirable qualities. When all along, the truth was I had none of them.”
Laurie juggled the food items over to her left arm and pushed open the gate that leads out of our front yard and down the grassy hill toward the barn.
“If I’m brutally honest with myself, until recently I’ve never worked long enough or hard enough to earn any of those worthy characteristics. I applied only enough effort to look like I had them.” Self-directed disdain tinged her voice. “Candidly, I’d have to admit that my greatest accomplishment of late was to maintain the facade of my former ways. I’ve been an actor for so long.”
She shook her head. “I saw this same pretense reflected by my dog during our trip to the coast. Mia was fine as long as she paid attention to my voice and followed my commands. But as soon as she stopped listening to me and started behaving like she knew what to do and already knew the way, her life quickly became very uncomfortable. I’ve done that too. I’ve pretended like I was close to God, following his voice, but my life, my actions, proved otherwise. Even though I said I was close to him, I wasn’t.
“Once again, it’s my precious little blind dog who’s shown me that the real problem with faking you know something is that you actually don’t know it when you need it the most. Knowing I should have a close relationship with God is not the same as pursuing it. Mia has shown me that if you’re going to purpose to know someone, you can’t do it from a distance.
The real problem with faking you know something is that you actually don’t know it when you need it the most.
“A few weeks ago, during one of our fellowships, something happened between Mia and me, something that has moved me to seek change in my own life.”
Laurie walked up the hill with Mia in tow and arrived at the main barn moments before the Ranch Fellowship began. Kids, families, staff, volunteers, and friends of all ages were invited to this twice-monthly event. The seasonal ebb and flow of folks coming typically ranges from around one hundred fifty people in the winter months to over three hundred fifty during the summer. On this night, the crowd looked to be somewhere in between.
Laurie loved this gathering. One of the things she appreciated most was the diversity of the group. Families of all ages and financial brackets, single parents, college students, and widows all mingled to
gether in a congenial time of togetherness. Some folks came to rest and indulge in the alternating catered or potluck meal, some came for the unabashed singing, others came for the encouragement. Many came just for the sense of walking into a giant family and knowing they belonged. No matter what drew people to the Ranch Fellowship, it was clearly one of the most beloved events at Crystal Peaks.
Escaping the nippy night air, Laurie and her dog bumped through the crowded doorway and into the barn. Mia was beset by a horde of little hands that wished to greet her. Laurie scanned the packed room, only to be met by a swarm of grinning, grubby kids. They ignored the evening chill and rushed to grab her hands and lead her outside toward their favorite horse and to show her how they could roll without stopping all the way down the grassy hill.
Once Laurie made her way back to the barn, she was met by five-year-old Kendal, who held her arms high and jumped. Laurie caught and balanced the little girl on her hip. Before she could take another step, the tiny arms of Kendal’s friend also reached up for some love. Laurie knelt and opened her arms to receive them both in a jubilant group hug. Whether she had been working in the ranch office or out in the arena, no long or exhausting day ever dampened her desire to come to the Ranch Fellowship.
During the summer months, this hospitable gathering was always held outside on a grassy hill. But once the temperature began to drop, the Fellowship moved indoors into the relative comfort of the barn. A massive wood stove against the north wall churned out home-style comfort, inviting all to enjoy its hearty embrace. The rustic conditions provided the perfect setting for Mia to come with Laurie and sit in on the fun.
Winter coats lay piled on benches. Bowls and platters competed for space on the serving counters. Soon dirty plates, napkins, and cups, along with food remnants, would lay scattered across a dozen large wooden tables, all giving testimony to a meal well savored.
Laurie watched a group of small boys crowded around the dessert table. They appeared as innocent as cherubs and as subtle as a pack of wolves, and their mischievous grins belied their intentions. They checked the crowd to see if their mothers were watching and then stole glorious finger swipes of frosting off a tray of cupcakes. Each giggling victory made Laurie laugh too.
The crowd of voices lifted in disjoined volume like a grade school band practice. Laurie knew that trying to guide Mia through such loud surroundings with voice commands was going to be impossible. To lead her dog through the din, Laurie hooked Mia’s collar with a single finger.
Once the hearty meal and equally hearty singing concluded, the crowded barn quieted as Troy endeavored to teach about trust. He started by sharing a wild adventure he had experienced while learning how to pilot a plane. Many of the same little boys who were earlier embezzling frosting now sat on the floor at Troy’s feet, completely spellbound. Minutes into Troy’s talk, Kendal tugged on Laurie’s sleeve and whispered, “I have to go to the bathroom!”
Laurie looked for the least disruptive path out of the barn. Bending low, she led Kendal with one hand and Mia with the other. In her urgency, Kendal pulled Laurie so fast that Mia couldn’t step around the obstacles she couldn’t see. Laurie lost her grip on Mia’s collar in the rush to the door and quickly backtracked to retrieve her sightless friend. Not wishing to disturb others more than she already had, Laurie chose not to verbally guide her dog. Instead, she used the only thing she could think of: she snapped her fingers by Mia’s head. When her dog turned toward the sound, Laurie rubbed Mia’s brow. Laurie repeated this process until Mia understood that when she followed the sound of the snaps, she was rewarded with love.
Mia was a quick learner. In just moments, Laurie was leading Kendal with one hand and snapping for her dog with the other. Mia stayed close to her master and followed the sound of Laurie’s snapping fingers all the way to the outhouse. Laurie marveled at how rapidly Mia understood that there were times when she needed to be extra attentive and close to Laurie. It was no longer her master’s voice that Mia followed—it was her actions.
If you’re honestly going to follow another, you can’t do it from a distance.
Born out of those quiet interactions, a new season of deeper communication grew between woman and dog. Mia discerned that there were times when following Laurie’s words was not enough. When Laurie moved in silence, Mia would trace her steps by keeping the tip of her nose in contact with the outside of her master’s calf. When Laurie stopped, Mia stopped. When Laurie moved forward, Mia moved forward. When Laurie sat down, Mia would lie at her feet and rest either her chin or her front paw on top of her owner’s foot.
Mia’s sense of her master’s nearness only sharpened with time. Her perceptiveness is what prevented her from ever losing the one she loved. When Mia was in close contact with Laurie, voice commands were no longer necessary. Her dog stayed so close that she followed not only her master’s voice, but also her very movements.
Her dog’s actions made it clear. If you’re honestly going to follow another, you can’t do it from a distance. There is great purpose in proximity.
Inside the barn, we unloaded the food and arranged the dishes on the potluck table.
Laurie continued to voice her reflections. “It was my dog once again who modeled the truth that if I’m going to know and follow someone I love, it makes little sense to try and accomplish that if there’s a huge gap between us. To truly imitate the movements of another, I need to mirror them as closely as possible. My dog has taught me that it is indeed doable to know someone you can’t see with your eyes. Just like when I rise, she rises. When I move my foot, she moves with it. She has shown me how to stop, rest, and move however and wherever her master does. My dog has chosen to mirror me without hesitation, without ever questioning why.”
“Keep going! I love this example.”
In her rising enthusiasm, Laurie gained more steam. “If I’m ever going to become honestly strong, dependable, and stable, I first need to empty the fake junk that previously filled my life and allow myself to become weak and dependent in an effort to build what is real. Do you see what I’m saying?”
“Yup, more than you know.” I moved over to an empty table closer to the wood stove. Patting the bench with my hand, I motioned for Laurie to come and sit with me. “Lou, the fact is, strength doesn’t come from strength—it grows out of our weakness. For us to become dependable, we first have to walk through the process of being truly dependent. Does that make sense?” I asked.
Laurie nodded as she stared at the fire. “I have to go back to the basics. I need to let go of what I once believed was right—my way—and quit pretending to know things I don’t. I want to follow not only my master’s voice, but his actions as well. Like my dog, only I can determine to shift myself closer to the peace that comes when I move silently with my master. It’s within his presence that I find complete rest. In this perfect place of greatest dependence, I need no words at all.”
From atop my trusted horse, Ele, I looked over at Laurie, mounted on Lightfoot, a gray Arabian gelding. Lightfoot is the most balanced combination of what I like to call “gentle fire”—he’d become one of our most beloved horses on the ranch. The ease with which Laurie sat on him divulged that they were dear friends. Laurie’s dark blue helmet drew out and deepened the color of her eyes, already framed by her sweeping eyelashes. The combination was simply lovely.
Many years ago, my precious grandmother taught me that kind thoughts are wasted if they don’t become kind words. “Wow! You look beautiful today.”
Laurie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She laughed and gestured toward her faded, threadbare jeans. “Yeah, I’m pretty stylish, all right.”
“No, I’m not talking about your clothes, I’m talking about you. You look happy, and you seem content.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m learning how to be. Mia keeps teaching me one life lesson after another. My dog has not only become one of my most cherished friends and companions, she’s also a mentor to me. Can you believe it?” She smiled, r
eally smiled.
Happiness is a choice; it’s not something that just happens to people.
I nodded. I could believe it. God has used animals in my own life to heal so much. I let my friend’s words hang in the cool afternoon air. Our horses took us down one of our favorite dusty trails.
“What is Mia teaching you as your mentor?”
“Well, I’m learning through the actions of my dog that happiness is a choice; it’s not something that just happens to people. I’m responsible to choose it—not wait for it to choose me. I heard recently that happiness is based on our outward circumstances, but joy—real joy—comes from the inside, from God.”
Laurie shifted in her saddle and looked at me. She started to laugh at what she was about to say. “Mia’s like a superhero. She models qualities I can only hope to acquire someday.”
I joined Laurie’s laughter at the image of her dog being a superhero. “Hmm, somehow the cape and tights thing just doesn’t seem to suit her. But then again, I don’t know Mia as well as you do.”
Laurie kept laughing. It was a genuine sound that far outweighed my dumb joke.
“So what’s your superdog motivating you to aspire toward?”
Thinking, Laurie rested her hand on Lightfoot’s withers, as if confirming his steadiness. “It wasn’t until Mia arrived in my home that I began to understand just how much I have lived my life guided solely by my emotions.”
“Guided by your emotions? Yikes! Now there’s some mean quicksand waiting to swallow you whole!” I laughed.
“No, really, I was like a dried-up autumn leaf. I allowed myself to be driven by the wind, never really knowing how or why I felt the way I did. Every little gust of life would toss me up or down in a whirlwind of emotional drama.”