FOLLOWING BLINDLY

As I admired these two palominos, I was shocked by the words from their owner’s mouth. “The big one is yours if you want him. He deserves to be ridden more, and I don’t have the time. The little one is completely blind, so he acts as her eyes.”   I was stunned because I had driven past these horses every day for years, never suspecting anything was wrong. Although now that I think about it, it did seem odd that they were always standing right next to each other.    

My truck had broken down, and the horse’s owner was driving me home. He is a true good Samaritan who rescued me like he has many others in town. Suddenly he stopped in front of the two horses, which I hadn’t realized were his. After a long pause looking at them, he made his offer with one condition. I must call before taking him so he could come at the same time to take the blind horse, just four years old, to be with his other herd across town.

That night, I took grain to my new horse to get a better look at him. He was gorgeous, with a powerful chest developed from years in the rodeo arena as a roping horse. However, it was the sight of his blind companion that is seared into my memory. She seemed connected to his hip, unable to see anything, but able to follow him trustingly around the pasture.

We often don’t appreciate the heavy burdens others may be carrying. Last week I co-facilitated a Zoom session with a consultant who had been called home to care for and eventually bury her mother. She is so buttoned up and professional that I don’t think the others in the meeting were aware of her tremendous load and loss. I had admired the power and beauty of the big horse for years without realizing his great responsibility. Watching the blind horse was a poignant reminder that when we can’t see where we are going or the path ahead, following a trusted leader can make all the difference.       

Postscript: A few days after writing this, the owner and I decided that the big horse was doing more good in his field than he ever could in mine… our children helped us come to this realization.

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MY COACHING ROLE MODEL HAS DIED