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August 8, 2003 - "The Gift of a Dream"
Welcome to 2TheHeart!
No man or woman of the humblest sort can really be strong, gentle and good, without the world being better for it, without somebody being helped and comforted by the very existence of that goodness. ~ Phillips Brooks (1835-1893)
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I wrote today's story originally for "Chicken Soup for the Horse Lover's Soul" (link below the story), and wanted to share it with my online family too. Have a blessed weekend!
"The Gift of a Dream"
by Susan Farr Fahncke
There was probably no greater horse-lover on the planet. I subscribed to three horse magazines and I had my bedroom literally wallpapered with photos, calendars, cut-out pictures, paint-by-number pictures...if it had a horse on it, I put it on my walls. A young teen, I lived, breathed and dreamed horses. I saved for weeks to buy a huge wall-sized poster of wild horses running through a river, manes flowing, hooves flying - it was beautiful. I found it on the back of my dad's "Enquirer" and carried the ad around with me for ages until I had enough saved to send away for it. And I actually kept sugar cubes in my jacket pocket on the miraculous chance that I would somehow run into a horse and be able to ride it.
You see, I had never actually ridden a horse.
My parents had friends with horses, and although I was never allowed to ride them, we visited often and I always brought my sugar cubes and felt immense pride at my knowledge of the proper way to feed them. Hand up, palm flat, try not to squeal when their velvety, slobbery lips whisked it off my hand. It was the highlight of my week, visiting them. I longed to throw my leg up over the black one's back, sliding John-Wayne style onto it, wind my hands through its mane and ride off into the sunset. Not that I even knew how to do it, but that didn't stop me from daydreaming.
My best friend, Stacey, was also a horse lover. Since the sixth grade, we had spent hours and days cutting out horse pictures for our walls, fantasizing of being grown, married and owning horse ranches side by side and doing nothing but riding to our hearts' content. No one but Stacey understood how much I longed to ride a real horse. (A black one.) Stacey had been riding several times and I was eaten up with envy as she described her days of riding with her family. I would have given anything to go with her even just one time. But we were poor and couldn't afford the rental fees, so I had to wait and dream.
The summer we were thirteen, Stacey and I made plans to go to Lake Comanche in Northern California, an hour from where we lived. We were thrilled to the core to be spending our first day on an outing without parents. We packed our bathing suits, lunches and hiking shoes and chattered every night about what we would do with the whole day to ourselves. The day finally came and Stacey's mother drove us to Lake Comanche. Stacey and her mother were both strangely quiet on the drive up and I caught them several times exchanging mysterious smiles and even giggling, as though there was some secret joke between them.
We finally arrived at the lake and Stacey's mother gave me a big hug and said, "Have fun!" with twinkling eyes, and drove off, leaving us on the hot, dusty road that I knew didn't go to the swimming area.
"Where are we?" I looked at Stacey.
She just smiled and said "C'mon." She walked down the dusty path and disappeared over a hill, leaving me wondering where on earth we were.
I ran to catch up to her and saw her standing next to a horse corral, her arms through the fence, happily petting a brown mare.
"Wow!" I scrambled down the hill and hopped onto the fence rail, surveying the crowd of horses milling about in the shade of the great tree overhead. It was an incredible scene for me. I had never seen so many horses in the "flesh" and I felt as if I was dreaming.
Stacey looked at me and just grinned. "Pick one." She told me.
"What?"
"Pick one. We're going to ride. I saved up so we could rent two horses all day!" She fairly exploded with finally getting the secret out.
I just stared. I couldn't believe she did this for me. What kind of a thirteen-year old does this for a friend? It was an incredible gift. I couldn't believe I was actually going to ride a horse. A real horse. Me. On a horse. All day. Wow.
I finally absorbed it all and threw my arms around her. We laughed and giggled and danced around. It was a golden moment that still brings tears to my eyes, twenty-five years later.
I looked carefully at the horses and spotted him. He was the horse of my dreams...black with gentle eyes and a flowing mane. I couldn't have wished for a more perfect horse. He was beautiful.
We told the man who ran the stable which horses we wanted and with a spinning head I listened to the rules and watched him saddle my dream horse. When he asked me if I knew how to ride, I nodded, but hoped that what I'd read in magazines and books could be applied in real life. I was shaking.
The man gave me a leg up and told us where the horses could rest in the shade and drink at the river. I felt like I was in a movie. John Wayne, move over. The saddle creaked and I loved the sound. I loved it all - the horse-smell, the dust we kicked up, the feel of the reins in my hands, even how sore my legs were getting. I was in heaven.
The day was a dreamy, sunny, perfect day. My horse was patient as I learned how to handle him and we got along from the start. I learned to canter and Stacey and I even raced through the hills, laughing blissfully and living out our dream. The day drew to an end and the sun lent a brilliant wash over a golden day I've never forgotten. In the years that have passed since that magical summer day, I've ridden many more times. But never has any gift meant more to me than that of a thirteen year-old girl to her best friend. It was the gift of heart, of soul. The gift of a dream.
Susan Farr Fahncke copyright 2003
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The Letter Box:
Dear Barbara,
Your first story on 2theHeart, Waiting for the Dawn, was so well written and so moving. The great faith represented by your concern, your songs, and the lovely dark to light sunrise story must have been a great comfort for the family. I am looking forward to reading more stories from you! Blessings, Mary-Ellen Grisham "meg" meginrose@empowering.com
Barbara;
What a beautiful story " Waiting for the Dawn" is. It can bring comfort to many a grieving soul, and those that fear their final destination. Thanks for sharing it. Annettee Budzban
2theheart,
What a beautiful story from Barbara ... lifting the grief of the loss of a loved one to a "healing plane." Touched me, for sure! ginger
Dear 2TheHeart,
What an awesome story Barbara -- thanks. My granddaughter Laura is facing heart surgery for a new pacemaker this coming Weds and I covet any prayers any would like to send up for her. She will soon be 16 and this is just one of many surgerys she has gone through but each is scary. Your story reminds me again how short life can be and I plan to e-mail Laura and give her a hug by way of a computer for now. God bless Mary Carol
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www.2theheart.com
Making a difference, one story at a time!
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