Someday

Gracie is running around outside on a plastic horse-head-on-a-stick named Blackie. The past few weeks have been filled with horse talk, out of nowhere- a sudden, insatiable interest in horses. I've tried to figure out what triggered it, if we read a book, or saw a show, but the kid can't help it. It's in her blood.

I was the horse-craziest girl you ever met. My grandfather died before I was born but was still a figure in my life through the stories I heard. He was an avid horseman and the barn at my grandmother's old house was filled with old saddles and halters, pieces of tack hung on the walls, and even some spurs, which were just for show. He loved his horses too much to use spurs. Inside the house was more evidence of his love for horses in photos and artwork. When he married my grandmother, her father, a farmer through the Great Depression, thought it inconceivable that anyone would own an animal that didn't work for them. But his horses were legendary, particularly a beautiful palomino which tragically hung itself by its halter. When my grandfather found him in the stall, he stayed in bed for days.

In addition to my grandfather's horses, my mother had her own ponies. One of my favorites stories was about a little Shetland she had that was so gentle she would ride him with only a halter, using twine for reins. She was riding him all over as young as 4 years old, but nobody worried. She knew how to ride, and he knew the way home. These family stories- combined with summer trips to Chincoteague, Black Beauty, National Velvet, My Friend Flicka, The Man from Snowy River, Wild Hearts Can't be Broken, The Saddle Club series-made growing up on a 50x100 lot in Rio Grande unbearable.

My desires were somewhat gratified in the form of riding lessons. I didn't fit in at the stables. All the rich Cape May girls boarded their horses and wore real breeches and boots and their own helmets. I wore jeans and boots from K-Mart, and I used a stable helmet I had to spray with Lysol when I was finished. But I didn't care.Their snobbery never bothered me, because real boots or no, I belonged there. I excelled in the sport, because it wasn't just fun-it was my life. I didn't just ride. I studied horses. I ate, slept, and breathed horses. I had a passion and a longing for them that I've never felt for anything else.

But the lessons weren't free and after a few years my family just couldn't afford it anymore.We went once in a while, and finally, not at all. I missed it, but somehow it made the longing easier to bear. The more I rode, the more I wanted my own horse, and when I stopped riding I was able to tuck the feelings away. I went to college, then got married, and the feelings became fond memories.

Now Gracie is asking for lessons, so I called around to some stables. $40 an hour. $50. Yikes. So I said what every parent says when they don't want to break a little heart. Someday. I heard that a lot when I was a kid. Now I know how my parents felt, watching me ride and study, knowing they could never give me a horse on our 50x100 lot.

I remember one morning a few years ago when we still lived in Port Republic. Jeremiah and I were talking about our to-do list around the yard, when suddenly, all the horse longing came bubbling up. I started crying. I felt guilty, and ungrateful. But I cried out to God anyway. "Lord I love it here. I'm so thankful I have this house, but please, let me have a farm someday!"

You know what? God cares. I have 10 acres now. So maybe someday Gracie. Maybe both our somedays will come.