Whispers of His Movement

There is something so majestic about horses. Their warm breath billows out of their noses on a cold morning. I see them through the mist and wonder how their spindly legs hold all their weight. The post and rail fences, that forms a rustic perimeter for them to graze in, beg to be broken through. How can such a delicate fence contain that much power? I love to watch the horses get as close to the fence as they can with their heads reaching out into the road, yet never leaving the confines of their pasture.

When I was a small girl, I rode horses. Being young and inexperienced, my horse would be led by a stable hand. I was told where I could safely ride, how I could steer my horse with the right maneuvering of the reigns, and how I could gently coax him to move forward when he would stop to graze.

There was one rule I must strictly follow, don’t let the horse see the barn! I always thought it odd that we had to turn our back on that red building. One crisp, autumn day, I set out to ride a young horse. The instructions were given in the same rote fashion that seat belt instructions are given on airplanes. The urgent, don’t let the horse see the barn, always ended the discourse.

I was led next to a gravel path and my guide stopped to converse with someone. My young horse lifted his head, smelled the air, and with one fluid movement turned himself toward the barn. In an instant, he took off down the path with me on his back. He sped past familiar groves of trees, over a small brook, with one purpose in mind. I remember people running, screaming frantic directions at me, all to no avail. There was no stopping this horse until he reached his destination. HOME.

The barn loomed ahead of me, and since I did not know how to stop such a determined animal, I submitted. As if sensing my submission, he soon came to a peaceful stop and began grazing in the familiar pastures of his home. It took me years to get on a horse again. I have pondered this incident from my childhood. I can relate to the drive of that horse, in fact, I think I even understand it.

We are told that God has also set eternity in the hearts of men (Ecclesiastes 3:11). We have an inner longing, an inner compass that points us toward our true home, HEAVEN. We, like that horse, have the fenced in pastures of this world to graze in. Much like him, if we lift our head and sniff the air, we long for home. Often, we get as close to the fence as we can, and stick our heads out looking for greener pastures. The world’s post and rail fence tempts us to break through, but we have God's loving hand to contain us.

I fondly remember that horse as I replay the adventure in my mind. How can we learn from Him? He journeyed with one purpose, one goal. He ignored the screaming directions of onlookers and bypassed the familiar scenery that beckoned for the sake of Home. We don’t belong here. This is not our permanent home. You are a foreigner, an exile from your homeland. (2 Samuel 15:19) That is what we are, far from home, exiled in this worldly wilderness for a time. At that time I will gather you; at that time I will bring you home. (Zephaniah 3:20)

Let us never lose sight of our heavenly Home. The world will mechanically mandate, don’t let the horse see the barn! Don’t listen. Look for it. Turn ever toward it. Sniff the air and smell it. Long for it. Journey with one purpose. There is no place like HOME.