Small, yet Beautiful, Things

A year ago, our area was rocked by tragedy when students of the University of Idaho in Moscow, Idaho were murdered. Some of the victims were from this area, (the college is a 2 hour drive away) and it seemed like everyone knew someone directly connected to them. Our local news recognized the year anniversary by interviewing some of the parents of the victims, and this one with Ethan Chapin's mom, Stacy Chapin, stood out to me. In particular, how she said she survived:

Reporter: Something that you posted on social media caught my attention. You said that you were told to look for a victory every day, even if it was the tiniest little victory. You say that was excellent advice.

STACY: It was an excellent advice. I'd give it to anybody who is in any kind of tough situation. You have to get up. You have to find something. It might be the taste of your coffee in the morning. It might be a little flower that's growing in a crack in a sidewalk. You have to find something that you look at that just is like 'okay that's the good that I found today.' And there were days we've done that. There are about five months that I call it the depths of hell, but where you just literally have to wake up every morning and think to yourself, oh, no, what the hell happened to my family, right? I mean, legitimately and so you start looking for those things.

On Tuesday, we took our daughter to Les Mis. Tickets had gone on sale last June, right about the time her divorce started, and I thought it would cheer her up to have it to look forward to. November seemed forever away, but it also arrived sooner than expected

The two things combined--looking for a spiritual victory everyday, and well...Les Mis. 

It gave me this impression about how complicated life is for everyone, and how it's not our responsibility to play judge and jury, or God, because we don't make good gods. In fact, we are horrible ones. We have not been following a person's journey from birth until now. We don't know why they failed, or picked themselves up and excelled. 

It's complicated.

I am reminding myself this week to find that beauty (victory) and to dance again and delight in life. 

(All 9 of our horses today, from my window. Tumbleweed and Epona are close)

So, I have a fun story to tell, one of those beautiful moments, actually two, I witnessed.

Our house is surrounded by pastures, and I can see my horses in one pasture or another all day. Cowboy, as you know, is getting old, and he's having trouble getting up and down. A few days ago, he was down, and I could see it from my windows. I called my husband, who was out at the barn, to go help him up. But before he got there, Epona went to Cowboy and stood over him. She nudged him with her nose, and he moved his body around in a 180. Then, she did this burst of energy past him, and it was as if that energy gave him the energy he needed to get up. They walked off together before my husband had yet arrived.

Fast forward to today, Cowboy laid down in that exact same spot and had trouble getting up again. Tumbleweed went over to him and did the same thing Epona did!

Now, there is a sadness to this, because I know what it means for my dearest friend and heart horse, but there is also such a beauty in their care and compassion for one another. 

(Walking to get the mail, and passing the horses as they graze under the weeping willow in the front pasture.)

Everyday brings so many seemingly small, yet beautiful, moments. I shared a poem many years ago about the small, small things. As you die, it is those things you will remember.  

These
Are the things 

you’ll remember,
Not the big things.

****

Small, small things:
One leaf touched by the sun,
One small smell.
When we are dying,
I promise you,
The memories you will have,
In your last seconds,
Are about these small things
Touching our skin:
One leaf,
One moment with your child.
Not the big things.
We will remember the small things.
These small things are added
To a fulfilled life,
Or not.
Not the big things.

From “The Path of the Horse” Documentary
Klaus Hempfling