A few years ago, one of my friends was looking to buy a pony for the riding program at her farm. She found an ad for something that might fit in with her program online. When she arrived at the farm to check out the pony, she saw something that changed everything.
There was a retired thoroughbred racehorse named Gallant there that was being kept in a small area that could best be described as a large dog pen. He was skin and bones.
In tears, she called my husband’s veterinary clinic to see if he could work-in an appointment for this fellow. He would never spend another night in that situation.
Her riding facility is a community of horse-loving folks and so as word spread that she was bringing him to the clinic, a large contingent equestrians began to show up even before he arrived.
It is difficult to see neglect or abuse. It’s physical manifestation is the first and most obvious sign. But, the wounds go much deeper.
Most horses come into the clinic a little nervous. They survey their new surroundings, ears twitch back and fourth. Head is up and alert. This guy’s head was down. Whether his emaciated body lacked the energy reserves necessary to help him protect himself or he’d just learned to accept whatever came, I do not know. But it was heartbreaking.
As my husband began to examine him, those in the room carefully watched, looking for a sign that he could be helped. Not being a horse person myself, I did what I could do–walked to the large glass jar filled with peppermints to see if he would take one.
As I walked over towards Gallant, I began to open the cellophane wrapper and with that first crinkle he raised his head and a small quiet whinny could be heard.
The room erupted. He had been loved. And, he remembered. We cried and hugged each other because this small sign suggested that there was hope. I think that is all we really need sometimes.
Last week I was at my regular twelve step meeting and we had a number of newcomers (first meeting ever). First meetings can be frightening and confusing. Old-timers like myself, understand what it feels like to walk in the door for the first time and so we try to be exceptionally gentle with them.
We remind them that they have choices in the rooms. They can share as much or as little as they want or they can simply pass. Our newcomers all elected to listen.
Two of them came in solemn. They were tentative in their actions. They listened and passed when it came time for their turn. Slowly, over the course of the meeting, I noticed that their heads began to raise. Soon a smile could be seen and before they left, they were laughing.
Seeing such a change in a person always makes me feel a flood of gratitude for this program. Oftentimes these rooms see a lot of heartbreak and tears but the hope that is restored is intoxicating. That is one of the reasons that I keep coming back.
My meeting last week reminded me of that day in the clinic with Gallant and his new community of loved ones. We need each other. When our reserves of love and hope get low, we lean in to those in our community and recharge.
If you have been affected by the addictions of others, know that there is a community waiting to offer you the help that you need. They have been where you are. Someone offered them hope. Now they wait to share it with you.