When you need to choose joy

I'm linking up at Holley Gerth's place today for Coffee for Your Heart. She has the prompt, "what brings you joy?" I'm also linking up at Three Word Wednesday. 

Here is my story.




When I was ten I got my first horse. His name was Prince and he was tall, dark and handsome. 

At ten years old, I thought he was majestic and I remember being a little terrified of getting on him. I was so short I couldn't reach the stirrup to climb up to the saddle, so my dad had to give me a boost.

Prince was a gentleman with his new cowgirl. When I nudged his ribs with my heels, he'd go forward. When I'd press the reins on the left side of his neck, he'd turn right. When I'd pull back on them, he'd slow or stop.

Oh, the joy and freedom I felt perched up on Prince's saddle!

But, I only had Prince a very short time.

I went to stay with my mom in Iowa, and when I returned the next season, Prince was gone. 

My dad told me that Prince had gotten out of his fence and gotten into a field of alfalfa, and had gotten deathly ill from eating that grain.

My ten year old heart was crushed. Even now, I feel the pang of disappointment.

Exhilarating joy, to crushing disappointment. Oh, what extremes our hearts endure in a lifetime! 

This current of highs and lows in my young life had already begun before this tragedy, and would continue from this moment on.

Highs and lows.
Joys and sorrows.

What do I choose to dwell on? 

If I choose to dwell on the sorrow of losing Prince, it overshadows the joy I experienced in having him. 

Healthy grief is necessary, yes. There is a definite place for that and I don't minimize that. 

But then, with time, my heart has to turn toward the light. 

Toward the memories that bring joy.

Joy should not be sequestered to the back corner of my heart and hidden away just because I've had disappointments and sorrow.

It is only in sifting through my disappointments and sorrows that I can learn to dwell more on the joy.

The joy that adds strength to my mind, soul and body.

When I remember my beautiful horse, Prince, I choose to remember the good.

I remember the surprise when my dad presented him to me as a gift.
I remember the love I felt from a father to a daughter.

I remember how I felt riding him, with my hair blowing in the wind.

I remember how gentle he was with me.

I choose joy.

Blessings friends,

When you just want to be like them

I so wanted to be like them. I looked up to them.

They were older. 

They were pretty.

My cousins Angie and Lori.

We played together in their toy room

 and I took many a reluctant nap in their house. 

We had overnights.

We sang in Christmas Programs at church.

I'm sure we played Barbies.

They had bunny rabbits in a cage on the back of their garage.

They also had long stocking caps with pompoms on the tip.

I wanted one like theirs, I remember.

Why is it that we always want what we don't have?

I was so young, 3 and a half, and I coveted their stocking caps with pom poms!

Then, I finally got one of my own.

I don't remember begging my mom and dad for one.

But, maybe I did.

Somehow, this long stocking cap with fringe made me feel like them.

It made me feel older.

It made me feel pretty.

Having a long stocking cap with fringe made the cold Nebraska wintertime a lot more fun.

*************************************

How about you? Do you have a story of something you really wanted as a child, and then received?

A farmer finds warmth in winter

The winter ground in Nebraska farm country sits frozen and fallow, but my dad did not. Winter was the time to fix broken machine parts, supervise cornstalks covered in cattle and have a few more cups of coffee. And, sometimes move mountains of snow.

When the big snow storms would come, Dad would have to break away from whatever else he was doing to push the huge bus-sized mounds of snow away from our cars and out-buildings. 

Our driveway was all gravel, so regular snow shoveling wasn't going to do the trick. Only the front load tractor would do.We were absolutely paralyzed by big snow storms without Dad and his front loader tractor. 

The front loader was ancient, but it still did the job. It had no fancy cab. No radio. However, it had a big bucket on the front end that Dad could scoop snow up into and move it wherever he wanted it. 

Dad on his Front Loader

After moving snow, he would usually go into town for his "therapy".

In Nebraska, farmers have this secret support group. You can tell it when they meet each other on the gravel road. When their pick-ups get close enough so they can see each other, they lift one finger off the steering wheel and point a hello at the other farmer with a concurrent nod.  

This is like their secret handshake.

For this support group, they meet up in cafe's around town, and even neighboring towns and talk "farm", "corn", "the Dow Jones market" and what is currently going on at The Sale Barn. 

I'm not sure which one was his favorite. The Cozy Inn, The Frontier, The Zephyr Cafe and the local Sale Barn were all in my hometown. Did he have different farmer friends in each place? I don't remember.

No matter which cafe he entered, Dad seemed to have an uncanny way of knowing the names of all the other men wearing seed corn caps. Jack, Bill, Hurry-Up and Loren were all in the secret support group.

Winter in Nebraska farm country may have been frigid and there may have been mountains of snow. 

My dog Sammy on a drift of snow

But, in the cabs of pick ups and the booths of cafe's all over town, the warmth of friendship and common ground abounded.


How about you? Do you have a story of how the warmth of friendship thawed out the winter cold just a little?


Blessings,
Anne