I waded through the tall grass, careful not to scuff my shiny new imitation-leather cowboy boots with the fancy gold embroidery. The boots I’d seen on the department store shelf but never imagined I would get to own. And, although I could barely believe it, there I was in my brand-new boots, about to realize the dream I’d had for practically all my nine years.
Like many girls my age, I was horse-obsessed. My bedroom walls were covered with posters of majestic horses with flowing manes. I read Black Beauty and Misty of Chincoteague. I trotted well-loved horse figurines around makeshift cardboard corrals. But the closest I’d ever been to a real horse was a pony at the county fair petting zoo. That was, until a few weeks earlier when my mom gave me a certificate for honest-to-goodness, actual horseback riding lessons for my birthday.
“Really and truly?” I’d asked as I threw my arms around her. I felt as if I were floating high, high up with the pretty pink party balloons. Never before had I received such an amazing gift. But my parents were going through a divorce, and Mom must have wanted to give me something special. I knew that she sensed how anxious I’d been feeling, how I’d been spending hours alone in my room, worrying about how our lives would change.
She tried to talk to me. “It seems scary now. But everything will be fine. You just have to trust.” How could I trust what I didn’t know? I believed in God. But how was he going to help a matter like this? My dad had already moved out. Soon we were going to move too. Everything would be different.
But now, making my way up to a small, fenced ring in the middle of open pasture, I could forget about all that for a while. I was finally going to get up close to a horse, to experience the thrill of riding horseback! I wiggled my toes in my new boots. They felt stiff and strange.
I joined the other boys and girls gathered by the gate. Several horses of every size and color were tied up to the fence. A young man in jeans took the reins of the most enormous white horse I’d ever seen. I took a step back. While I loved horses from a distance, up close they were a lot more intimidating than I’d imagined. Those long, hooved legs. The brawny flanks. All together it was the most beautiful, and most frightening, animal I’d ever been near.
The instructor presented the horse to a boy, who eagerly scrambled up the wooden mounting block and into the saddle. One by one the instructors matched the horses with eager riders. My knees shook. I shied to the back of the group until I was the last one left. By now I was scared silly, staring at the ground, my stomach twisting in knots.
One of the instructors took my hand and smiled. “I think I have just the horse for you.” She untied the reins of a jet-black horse with a shaggy black mane and big, soft eyes. “This is Tiny Tim,” she said.
I nodded. He was smaller, for sure, than any of the other horses. I inched closer to him and hesitantly put my hand on his neck. Could I trust him? He bobbed his head and snorted. I laughed and followed him into the riding ring. Tiny Tim stood perfectly still as the instructor taught me how to put my foot in the stirrup and swing my other leg over. Tiny Tim shifted as I landed in the saddle, as if he was getting a sense of me on his back, figuring out how we fit together. I stroked his mane. “I’ll be your friend,” I said.
The woman instructor told us to place our feet firmly in the stirrups. I slid my dusty cowboy boots where they belonged. “Keep the reins slightly loose,” she said. “Now give your horse a gentle squeeze with your legs.”
I wanted to go, but not very fast, so I didn’t push hard. Tiny Tim didn’t move. I tried again, a little harder. He stepped sideways. “It’s okay,” I said softly, and to my surprise he moved forward. He followed the other horses around the circle. With each lap I sat taller, no longer afraid of being so high up. Things may have been a mess in real life, but at that moment everything was perfect. Here this huge (to me!) animal allowed me on his back, and we were comfortably moving together. He must have trusted me. And I finally felt that I could trust Tiny Tim too.
I looked out at the grassy fields ahead. They were beautiful. It was the most calm and happy I’d felt in months. That is, until the horse ahead of me, the big white horse, alarmingly reared up. In one swift motion it jumped over the fence. The boy atop clung to the horn of the saddle. I caught my breath. Every muscle in my body wanted to get down and run away, but I didn’t even know how to dismount.
In an instant, an instructor had things under control and returned the horse and boy, unharmed, to the arena. If she explained what had happened to cause such behavior, I didn’t know. I was solely focused on getting out of there. I didn’t enjoy the rest of my lesson. Instead, I prayed I’d get through it alive, until at last I was allowed to climb off.
The next week I didn’t want to return. “I don’t feel well,” I said, which was true. I was a mess. I could barely breathe. What if the same thing happened to me?
“Just try,” my mother urged. Well, maybe she could get me there, but she couldn’t force me up on a horse. The very thing I’d dreamed of for years was nothing I wanted anymore. I pulled on my cowboy boots and sulked to the car.
The other kids gathered by the fence for the lesson didn’t seem worried at all. Even the boy himself looked eager. The instructors helped everyone onto their horses. I wasn’t going to get on. Not me. Too scary. The horses were led into the riding arena. All but Tiny Tim. He stood, all alone, waiting for me. He lowered his head and munched some grass. I felt sorry for him. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t been anxious or nervous like me. He hadn’t followed when the horse in front of him bolted. Maybe I could give him another chance.
I walked over slowly and touched his neck. He didn’t move away. “What do you think, Tim?” I asked. “Should we try again?” I looked into his eyes, eyes that seemed to say, “Trust me.” He stood very still, as if he knew even the slightest move might send me running.
“Ready?” the instructor asked. She led Tiny Tim into the ring with the others and reminded me how to get up into the saddle. I stepped on the block, pushed my cowboy boot into the stirrup. After mounting, I swallowed hard and squeezed my legs. Tiny Tim stepped slowly and carefully. That feeling, that special feeling, of riding a horse began to come back to me. “We’re doing it,” I said. And as I rode, I thought, if I could do this, maybe I could also do something as difficult as navigating life after my parents’ divorce.
There were many reasons I wanted to take riding lessons that year. But I never knew that among them was to have the opportunity to prove that I was brave, that I could do something difficult and frightening. Who’d have thought that a tiny black horse would give me that chance?
And best of all, Tiny Tim and I became friends. At the next lesson I brought him an apple, and he nuzzled my arm. We learned to trot. It would be my only formal experience riding horses, but it came at a time when I so desperately needed a friend to show me that something scary could turn out well. Now, whenever I need a reminder of that, I think of Tiny Tim, and I know that fears and uncertainties can gallop away on the shiny black hooves of the smallest little horse in the riding ring.