Yesterday morning began with a phone call.The caller id showed that it was Lynn. "Good morning!" I happily answered the phone. "No, it's not a good morning," she replied. In that infinitesimal amount of time, many things rushed through my head--none of them good, but none of them even close to the actual unhappy tidings. "Keota's been stolen."
She ran through the details: really foggy, 4:30 am no Keota, a pacing and agitated Odie, gate closed/fence fine, lots of driving around and no dark horse with a blaze shining in the darkness. Then she went into stories of horse thieves who drove in with a trailer, loaded up horses, took them the auction to be slaughtered, and drove off with money without anyone ever knowing what happened to their equine family member.
It made me think of Izzy--if someone had ever stolen her, or I lost her somehow, when would I stop looking for her? How would I be able to ever get my life back on an even keel? It made me think about the family who lost their son last year. When do you stop looking for them without feeling guilty that you gave up? I drive past their house everyday and feel the waves of grief that emanate from it.
Thankfully, I am woman of faith and have always had that strength and power in my life. I went outside and stood on my deck in the rising light and prayed. In times of trouble, that is how I get through it. What do people do who don't have it? How do they survive in this turbulent world?
The phone rang again at 7:30. Spitting toothpaste out and running for the phone, Lynn's cell phone number was in the window. "She found him! He was at the back of the neighbor's fence, visiting his horses. There's a small space in the fence and he got through it somehow. He's fine."
The power of prayer? Luck? Simply the end to the story? Whatever--it was a happy ending and gave us all new hope for the coming day.
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