At its finest, rider and horse are joined not by tack, but by trust. Each is totally reliant upon the other. Each is the selfless guardian of the other’s well-being. – Author Unknown
I’ve ridden horses since middle school. (The above photo is my heart horse, Rose, whom we had the honor of training.) I’ve been run away with, dealt with horses who’ve spooked and startled. I currently ride a sassy old Arabian who loves to make me chase her through the pasture. In our last lesson, she nearly got kicked by a green mare, and legs and reins came in handy to get her sorted and keep me on her back.
I had to hold my horse.
My friend, Lauren, recently went horseback riding in Costa Rica, where she learned a valuable lesson about holding one’s horse. As she was sharing about her experience, she gave the familiar phrase new meaning.
“Hold your horses.”
We know it’s a reminder to be patient. To wait. To slow down. To steady.
The times I’ve had to hold a horse have mostly been about the steadying.
Horses are prey animals, and thus they are always on the lookout for danger and ready to flee it. They can spook at the smallest things, running first and asking questions later. In the wild, waiting can be deadly.
It feels that way for us sometimes, too. Patience can feel dangerous.
I’m not talking about waiting in line at the grocery store or being stuck in traffic…not the kind that has to do with mere inconvenience. I’m talking about when we are waiting for God to act or move or do or lead through the wilderness and beyond the valley of the shadow of death. When I am in that desert place, I understand why horses spook at rabbits and rustling branches.
Holding my horses in those moments isn’t about just slowing down; it’s about being steadied.
Horses build trust with their riders. That sassy old Arabian hates trees and trail rides. She’d much rather be in the arena than meander a forest pathway. When on the trail, her ears are up, and her head is on a swivel, unless I’m talking to her, soothing her, reminding her we are okay. Then her ears are turned in my direction. She slows down (but just a little, because did I mention she’s sassy?).
We’ve had moments where I’ve asked her to go through puddles she didn’t trust, and to stand still when she didn’t want to. She acted a lot like I do with God, snorting and pawing and complaining, but she trusted me enough to obey.
Do I trust God enough to obey when I don’t trust my eyes and ears?
Do I let Him lead when the way looks dark?
Do I allow Him to steady me when my resolve is shaking?
Do I incline my ear to His voice instead of the noise around me?
Right now, I’m in a bit of a wilderness. God is leading my family and me into new territory. It’s a little frightening. There have been moments when I’ve wanted to run. Then, I remind myself of His faithfulness. Of His protection. Of His provision. Of His peace that surpasses understanding. And I am steadied.
“He alone is my rock and my salvation, my refuge; I will not be shaken.”
Psalm 62:6, NASB
Loved this article. Just yesterday I wrote a little note on my profile about the more romanticized view of horseback riding in England vs America, at least when it comes to being ON the saddle vs IN. It goes along with your message here so well! Great work!