A glimpse into my faith, my dream of writing, and reaching people for Christ through my words.
It’s so easy to forget
When I’m caught up in my loneliness
That You’ve planned out every step
It’s so easy to forget
When I long for my own way
That You know what’s best for me
It’s so easy to forget
When the wind roars and drowns you out
That Your voice can still the sea
It’s so easy to forget
When darkness floods and I can’t find hope
That You make all things possible
It’s so easy to forget
When I feel forgotten and left out
That You make all my dreams attainable
Dr. Madison Johnson was exhausted. She had completed four surgeries in the past twenty-four hours, and the last one had been the most grueling: an emergency appendectomy on a seven-year-old. The girl, Tessa, had been at a sleepover when her pain had started. It had taken a few hours for her friend’s parents to realize how sick she was. Tessa’s appendix had already ruptured, but Madison was able to remove it and get her started on antibiotics to try to prevent any further complications.
“Great job in there, Johnson,” Dr. Gregg Rogers said as he passed her in the scrub room. “Not many fourth-year residents could handle that kind of situation as well as you just did. Inform the family, then go home. You deserve it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Madison replied. Dr. Rogers was the head of the Pediatric Surgery department, a position she hoped to hold herself one day. His compliment meant a lot to her and her future goals.
She fixed her blonde ponytail and headed to the nurses’ station to get Tessa’s chart. She needed to find out if the young girl’s own parents had made it to the hospital yet. She had had to take Tessa in to surgery before they could arrive.
Madison finished writing her notes in the chart. “Are her parents here?” she asked the night nurse, as she clicked her pen.
“Yes, Ethan Carter, her father, is in the waiting room.”
Madison felt her blood drain from her face. Ethan Carter, it couldn’t be. The name was a ghost from her past, a name that she never even let herself remember.
“Dr. Johnson, are you alright?” the nurse asked her. “Do you need to sit down?”
Madison forced herself to smile, and began to back away from the nurse’s station. “No, thank you. I’m fine. I’m going to go find Mr. Carter.”
As she walked, she focused on her breathing, trying to right her unsteady heartbeat. She worked to convince herself that it was just a coincidence, someone with the exact same name as…
Madison froze as she entered the waiting room. There he was. Ethan Carter. Even after ten years of time, distance, and heartache, she would always know him. Always know his deep auburn eyes and his wavy brown hair. The way he moved would always be engraved in her mind.
He hadn’t noticed her yet, which was for the best. She needed a moment to stop the memories that were swirling around her. She tried to breathe, tried to focus on her job. But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t…
______________________________________________________________________________
The snow was falling as quiet and soft as a feather, creating the perfect Christmas. It wasn’t sticking, but no one cared. In Arizona, it was rare enough that it was snowing at all.
Maddie walked through the neighborhood, taking everything in. The streets were lined with white luminary bags, the houses decorated with twinkling lights. The atmosphere brought peace to her tired mind. She was home from college, and needed the break.
“Maddie!” she heard from behind her. She turned to see Ethan Carter, her boyfriend and best friend of six years, running towards her. He had forgotten something at his house, so he had sent her outside and told her he’d catch up. He loved Christmas more than anyone she knew, and he looked as excited as some of the five-year-olds that were around them. He reached her, gasping for air, cheeks red from the chill in the air. He took her hand.
“Isn’t it perfect?” He asked her, his whole face lit up by a smile.
Maddie smiled, loving the way his hand felt in hers, even after so much time. “It is,” she answered. “It’s beautiful.”
“Hmmm. Yeah, it is. But not nearly as beautiful as you,” he said as he squeezed her hand. Maddie felt herself blush. “Come on, I need to show you something.”
Maddie let Ethan lead her through their neighborhood, back towards his house. “Why are we going back?” she asked him.
Ethan looked at her, and she saw that he looked nervous. “You’ll see,” he said just loud enough for her to hear him. Maddie nodded, and they continued around the corner.
When they reached his front yard, Maddie stopped. Ethan had decorated the house for Christmas weeks ago, but somehow in the last half hour, he had changed everything. He had taken small white lights, and created a winding path through the gravel. Along the path were small tables, with several framed pictures of the two of them throughout the years.
“Ethan…what is all this?” Maddie asked, tears in her voice. Ethan turned to face her, and took both of her hands.
“This is our story,” he whispered as he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
They began walking down the path, stopping to look at each of the pictures he had chosen. The first one showed them sitting together on the bleachers at a football game their freshmen year of high school. She was wearing a cheerleading uniform, something her parents had forced her to do, even though she hated it. Ethan had helped her find the strength to quit. When quitting changed her relationship with her parents, he never left her side. His family became her family.
There were pictures from dinner and movie dates, roller blading, school dances, high school graduation, college orientation, and everything in between. They laughed at the silly moments, and smiled at the more serious memories. They reached the last table, where all the frames were empty.
“Why are they empty?” Maddie asked.
Ethan cleared his throat, and locked his eyes onto hers. “They’re empty because these pictures haven’t been taken yet. They’re our future.” He paused for a second and swallowed. “Maddie, I know we’re barely even twenty, but I know I love you. I’ve loved you since the ninth grade, and I know you love me. I know we still have school, and you’ll have medical school. But Maddie, I want to be there for all of it. We need to be together through all of it.”
Maddie had started crying long before Ethan dropped to one knee and pulled the ring out of his pocket. She wiped her cheeks, sniffed, and took a deep breath. Ethan did the same.
“Madison Joy Johnson, will you marry me?” he looked into her eyes, waiting for her answer.
Maddie didn’t have to think about her answer. She knew it better than she knew her own name. She tried to control her tears, but she couldn’t. She nodded, “Yes, Ethan, yes I will marry you.”
Ethan slid the ring onto her finger and stood up, taking Maddie into his arms. They stood like that, holding each other as the snow continued to fall around them.
______________________________________________________________________________
“Maddie…” The sound of his voice pulled her back into the present. Madison blinked, and attempted to pull herself back together.
“Ethan…” She paused, trying to figure out what to say. She looked into his eyes, almost losing herself, and knew she only had one option. She sighed. “Tessa’s appendix ruptured. I was able to remove it, and we checked her thoroughly. She’s on antibiotics, and we’ll need to watch her. If all goes well, there won’t be any complications.
Ethan hesitated, as if he, too, was caught up in the past. He looked down and nodded. When he looked back at her, there were tears in his eyes as well. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, Maddie…” His hand reached for hers, and she had to quickly back away.
“I’ll get a nurse and she’ll take you to her,” Madison turned and moved out of the waiting room.
“Maddie, Maddie, wait!” Ethan called after her as she left.
But she didn’t stop, she couldn’t stop. The tears were coming fast and hard, and her heart was breaking faster than her steps. She reached an on-call room and slipped inside, locking the door behind her. She succumbed to her sobs, crying for the love she had lost, but also for the girl she had once been. No one had called her Maddie in ten years; hearing his voice say that name opened up the chasm in her heart that she had sewn shut a long time ago. As she sobbed into the worn hospital pillow, she wondered if she would ever be able to close it again.
She lies there, draping the couch or the bed, just waiting.
Waiting for the next cold soul who will seek her warmth.
Until then, she is useless. A piece of fabric with no purpose.
Wasted material.
She has been thrown away, forgotten by the ones she loves most.
Like a thoroughbred who can’t gallop,
or a pen with dried up ink,
there is no point for her existence.
Unless the weather changes, the snow begins to blow,
or the trees begin to tremble from the force of life’s gusts,
no one will notice or remember her.
She is their storm shelter—a necessity. But only a few times a year.
That is when they’ll pick her up, hold her close,
and expect her to fulfill their deepest desires.
She’ll be torn, edges fraying down the front.
She’ll want to please them,
but she’ll want to scream,
and curse them, all the same.
Where were they when she needed a shelter?
Where were their arms when she needed to be held close?
Where were their hands when she was in the hurricane?
No explanation given, no reasons or excuses even attempted,
to vindicate their evaporation.
She’ll want to run, to leave them lonely, as they always leave her.
But she won’t. She has no one else.
Staying, though torture, is easier than leaving.
So she’ll stay put. She’ll stay still. She’ll stay silent.
Because she is simply a sheet of silk, a blanket—
she will only keep them warm.
To scream for air, to just be heard…
I heard the crack.
The impact of metal on wood—
The wood not withstanding his punch.
I begged the hose to trickle faster.
Or for the bucket to suddenly be smaller.
Just so I could get to him.
He had kicked, a hole in the wall.
I peered in. Looking for answers.
Looking for the future.
But all I saw were spiders.
All splintered by the shadows.
All screaming for air.
He gave me the once over.
Eyes glaring, daring me to speak.
To challenge his actions.
But I couldn’t. Rather, I wouldn’t.
Because all I wanted
Was to do the same.
To tear down the whole shed.
To punch a hole that deep.
To scream for air, to just be heard…
Even if I hated the spiders.
Unanswered questions, unexplained hurt.
Dark, humble beginning—
Buried beneath cold, damp soil.
Questioning the point, the purpose,
The meaning, behind the toil.
Finally, a breakthrough—
A small shoot of green.
Stretching, reaching, looking for sky,
A yellow burst erupts on the scene.
A flower, petals smooth as silk—
Growing to the height of a man.
But all too soon, seasons change,
The end, before it truly began.
Wilted by the weight of the seeds—
Drooping, tilting back to the dirt.
Drops of rain slide down like tears,
Unanswered questions, unexplained hurt.
It was when I had my third young thoroughbred on the lunge line at the Coconino Spring Horse Trials that I came up with my new job title: Baby Dragon Tamer. At two, four, and five years of age they all looked like dragons with their heads straight up, manes standing on end in the breeze, and their tails draped over their backs as they enjoyed the cool pine air. It was then that I began to question my sanity.
I know it’s unusual for an adult amateur to have three baby horses. Believe me, it was never my plan. It just worked out that way. The first one, Goldee (registered name Goldee and Me), was a gift from my parents. She was my project horse in the University of Arizona Equine Sciences Program. In the program, students are assigned a baby to work with until they are sold as long yearlings, and my parents bought her for me. The second one found me. Zacharee (Be Still and Know) showed up at the barn I was working at. He also went through the U of A program. And the third… well Fran (Lady Lokee) happened to follow me home when she didn’t sell at an auction. Not only do I have three baby thoroughbreds, I have three baby thoroughbreds who are all related. They are all by the same sire, Chelokee.
My actual plan for this year was to ride my “grown-up” horse, Cidney, at Training Level. Cidney was the Senior Novice Horse of the Year for Area X in 2016, and I was excited to move up. However, a suspensory injury that required surgery changed those plans completely. Cidney earned himself a well-deserved year of vacation and rehab, giving me plenty of time to focus on the baby dragons.
The Coconino Spring Horse Trials was our first outing of the year. Goldee and Zacharee both competed in the Open Intro division and Fran went along for the ride as a non-compete. We arrived on Thursday afternoon, which is when I titled myself the Baby Dragon Tamer. After being in the trailer for almost six hours and with temperatures about twenty degrees cooler than what we had been having at home, all three of them were eager to stretch their legs a little. My only hope was that they would settle in and have their thinking caps on for when the show started. I only had two goals in mind for them for the weekend: to finish with a number not a letter and to finish on our dressage scores.
Friday dawned cool, breezy, and early. It is always run as a schooling day, with the opportunity for stadiums rounds and judged dressage tests. For the Intro horses this year, the show management ran an unofficial one day, allowing us to do both the dressage and stadium rounds, and a shortened cross-country course. The order was a little different, as we did stadium first, then cross-country, and finished with dressage. Both Goldee and Zach were great in both jumping phases. Dressage was a little bit of a different story.
As I trotted around the outside of the dressage arena on Zach, one of the horses in the stadium area laid down with its rider. Zach had a full view of the situation and it took a lot of convincing to get him to leave the spot he had nailed his shoes into. As we went down the other side, he decided that trash cans were horse eating monsters.
Nonetheless, we made it down the centerline and completed the test. I knew it wasn’t great, but it was schooling day and the whole point was to get him in the arena. Goldee didn’t see any monsters that were going to eat her, but was quite fussy in the bridle. I knew she was mentally worn out from everything she had experienced in the first two days, so I gave her a pat and was thankful she tried her best. Again, I knew the test wasn’t great.
Even though I knew the tests were far from perfect, the comments from the judge were surprising and discouraging. Zach’s 50 and Goldee’s 48 made my jaw drop. There were no positive or encouraging comments. One test even said, “better luck next time.” I was also told that without a $50,000 horse that my only hope for a decent score was to have better circles and to ride more into my corners. Now, don’t get me wrong, I know my geometry is far from flawless and that there is always something to improve on, especially with babies, but the tone of these comments seemed harsh to me. I’m sure I took them a little personally, having brought up these babies and being nothing but proud of them. But it still didn’t seem quite right. I am used to advice or encouraging feedback from judges, even when scoring a four or below on a movement.
It was a confidence shaker. I was ready to load up and head home, to withdraw from the actual competition. I sat in front of their stalls fighting tears, convincing myself I wasn’t good enough to bring these babies to their full potential. How could I have the skills to produce young horses when I haven’t even ridden above Novice? I had myself persuaded that it wasn’t fair to Goldee and Zach, or Fran in the future, to keep riding them myself. They would be better off with someone else. As I sat there, calculating what time I could get home if I left right then, I felt two little sets of eyes on me. I looked up and saw my sweet babies looking at me. It was then I realized there’s so much more to this than dressage scores, comments from judges, and being “good enough.”
I have worked for many long months to earn the trust of these young horses. They have made me laugh and brought me so much joy, but they have also frustrated me to the point of exhaustion. This weekend, I learned that all of these moments are part of this beautiful journey they are taking me on. They can’t read, so they have no idea what the judge wrote about us. They are just doing their best to do as I ask. All they want is to be taken care of in return.
I had to change my mental state completely before climbing in the saddle for dressage on Saturday. I have been taught that my young, green horses get their confidence from me. They don’t know what to expect at horse shows. If I have nothing but doubt in my mind, they are going to be confused and nervous, even more so than they might inherently be. Changing my thinking was difficult, and the comments from the schooling judge kept echoing through my head. I decided to focus only on Goldee and Zach. If I expect them to give me their all, I have to be able to give them mine.
I’m happy to say I think it worked. I had much better dressage tests. Zach scored a 42.1 and Goldee earned a 37.4. These scores are still far from faultless, but much improved from just twenty-four hours prior. Both of my babies were relaxed and took everything in stride. That’s all I can ask. They both did well in stadium, with Zach adding a rail and Goldee going clean. Both had time penalties because I took wider turns than intended, but I was trying to set them both up for success. Cross country was fantastic. Zach went double clean and I could tell that he was loving every minute just as much as I did. Goldee went around like a superstar as well, besides a hesitation at the water. She did step back, making it a refusal, but she then jumped in and landed in the middle of the water. She didn’t spook, but trotted out like she owned the place. I was very proud of both of them.
Zacharee ended the show in fifth place and Goldee in eighth. We didn’t accomplish the goal of finishing on our dressage scores, but they both finished with a score instead of a letter. The lessons I learned this weekend are much more valuable than any color ribbon we could’ve received. It would have been so easy to crumble under the comments from the judge, to pack up and give up. But that wouldn’t have been fair to Goldee and Zach. They have put just as much time in to this as I have. They love their jobs and they aren’t affected by negative comments or feedback, so why should I be?
I have learned that I have two choices when it comes to criticism, and I hope that maybe this will be an encouragement to someone else as well. The first option is the easiest: to crumble and give up. The second is harder, but it is the one I will be taking from now on. The feedback caused me to doubt myself, yes. But once I got over that, I find it has motivated me more than anything else ever has. I can look at the comments and do everything in my power to do better, to be better, to make me and my horses better. Instead of upsetting me, these comments will inspire me.
I’m sure a lot of people think I’m in over my head with three young thoroughbreds, but I want to see what I can do. I want to see what they can do. I have a daily front row seat to their personalities, and I get to see the heart and talent that they possess. I also have a passion for this sport that won’t be extinguished. I aspire to be more than an adult amateur one day, but that day is a long way off. For now, I have to take it day by day. One ride, one lesson, one fence at a time. I’m sure there will be days I doubt myself again, when confidence is hard to find. But I won’t give up. I won’t give in. I’ll just focus on my current job title and be proud of myself for taming baby dragons.
One simple moment to shift everything back into perspective, to make you ready for the future, to fight for your dreams.
One Word at a Time 