about fragility, bravery, a girl and a horse.

I want to tell you a story

about

perhaps the most frightening parenting moment of my life

and

the bravest kid I know.

We went to a horse farm for a field trip last week.

The farm was tidy and organized and smelled of hay and dirt and horse manure and sky and life and my childhood.

The kids admired the miniature horses, the black ram and the albino horse that is not allowed to soak up the sunshine for fear of his skin burning.

We had been at the farm for maybe fifteen minutes.

The instructor asked us to stand in the breezeway while she prepared our handsome steed, “Sweetie”, for us for our horse lesson.

That was one minute.

And then

in the next minute

Sweetie was barreling toward us at a frantic pace

and Piper Finn was somehow underneath the horse’s legs.

It was,

as moments like that are,

impossible to describe accurately.

Otto was strapped to my back in his carrier.  London, Mosely and Bergen were lined up beside me.

But Piper had stepped to the center of the hallway.

The horse had broken loose from its master.

And my sweet little Willow was in his path.

It was over in a matter of seconds.

I was frozen, watching horse hooves step up and down and on and over and around my three year old’s tiny body, crumpled in the dirt.

I leaped to pick her up from the ground.

I held her, soothed her and began searching her body for signs of distress and injury.

She was screaming,but not inconsolable, which I took as a very good sign.

It seems that somehow the horse managed to avoid putting its full weight on Piper.

And I think that is a miracle.

Piper’s nose was bruised and swollen.

Her knees were cut and scraped on both sides.  Her left knee seemed to have caught most of the damage and was swollen and sore.

I held my fear in, pushed my anxiety down, and talked to my petite cowgirl.

She wanted comfort for a while, but then she wanted back in the action.

She brushed Sweetie’s hair.

She rubbed Sweetie’s nose.

And then,

the bravest kid I have ever known,

asked if she could still ride the giant horse who had knocked her over and run her down.

When we returned home and Kevin asked her how her day had been, she didn’t even tell the story about the horse who had run over her.

She said, “Daddy, I rode a horse three times!”

My heart has been heavy all weekend for what could have happened.

I have kissed her sleeping head dozens of extra times.

I have placed my hand on her small back and thanked God for her safety.

And I have been reminded

of what a

fragile

gift it all is.

Just to be is a blessing.

Just to live is holy. (Abraham J. Heschel)