Other day.

If it wasn't so wet out, I'd walk to the cattle. Nothing seems more appealing than watching them grazing, cloven hooves sunk in the mud, rooted to the earth in ways I will never know.

It is too wet to see the cattle today. It's a pretty good walk, through fields that I couldn't pull off at the moment. It's funny that I was unaware of their presence for so long, but now that I know they're there the walk seems to be a pleasing idea.

It is too wet. Instead I am watching puddles in concrete, symphonies of ripples from every insignificant invading force. Rainy days don't always strike me as depressing; I think of them as rather optimistic. There are some people--and I am one of them at the moment--whose eyes are always fixated on the ground. They don't really see the sun, only signs of it from the shadows cast. On rainy days, once can see the sun and dappled sky on the ground. Puddles are pleasant little reminders of what shoegazers miss on dry days.

This rain isn't for me. It isn't to remind me to see the sun and it isn't commiserating. Nature isn't doing this for me, she does her own thing. We're taught to be considerate, but many talk about their greatest moment of liberation as being when they finally stopped worrying about others and acted for themselves. I have things to learn, and even in this mood I am feeling a comfort I haven't allowed myself to feel in weeks. It is the quiet presence of God in the flash of crows wings and the rhythm of raindrops.

Note to self:

http://al.turtlecounseling.com/blog/Relationships/MapofRelationships/_archives/2006/1/31/1738306.html

I'll start writing again someday. I've been meaning to. Things have changed, but the most important things have stayed the same.

Again

I'm struggling.

Prayer

I've had a lot to say to God lately, and I have a tendency to ignore it all until I feel I'm a safe place, a place where I can pray. I've been meaning to thank Him, I've been meaning to ask him for more opportunities to test my fledgling faith, I've been meaning to ask him for hints about how I need to go about things, I've been meaning to ask him to bless and guide those around me.

That said, I have issues with prayer.

When I pray, I pray just as my dad did, just as the little old ladies at church do, just as they do in movies. I kneel down and fold my hands together and talk to God, often aloud, occasionally getting a little emotional.

I've noticed that as soon as I kneel, I feel uneasy. I feel nervous.

I feel nervous talking to God that knows everything already.

I prayed today. And after I stood up, I felt I had more to say. I kept talking, but when I said these things standing, I wasn't nervous and it didn't feel as contrived. It was easier. The words came quickly and fluidly.

I'd always knelt because I felt it was "the thing to do." But God knows everything already. I don't even have to say things aloud for Him to hear them. As I stood up, and found more words to say to Him, I realized that I don't stop praying. I don't think anyone really stops praying.

Said it better than I could.

What my 3,000-pound steer has taught me about faith, by Jon Katz at Slate.com.

It's funny, I don't get the feeling with the cats. They seem just as self aware as we do sometimes. The horses, though, are a different story. They're a lot closer to the divine than I will ever be.

Been a while.

I don't feel I've been out at the barn consistently.

On Monday, I rode Lexi. The entire time, I thought she was going to explode. I shied away from cantering her because she seems to have taken a step back, in my opinion. I figure this is only natural; she's allowed to get worse before she gets better. To the right, her balance is lovely. To the left, we're working on it.

Tuesday, her young owner rode her in a lesson. The girl is six or seven, and she watched me lunge Lexi as I tried to explain leads to her. Once Lexi had her leads right, the girl got on and we walked around. At first, I had Lexi on the line still, walking close to her. Eventually I unclipped them and just walked beside them. Finally, I had the girl go off on her own, doing little circles and going over polls. They did really well; I just have to keep reminding the girl to be quiet and make her movements slow. The girl was disappointed with just walking (she really likes speed), but I explained to her that she was now part of the Lexi Training Team, and Lex needed work on her walk. Her next lesson is on the second, and I'm thinking I'll let them do a little trot on the line.

I've been getting kind of worn out on the horses. I don't see them in my future and I feel like there are other things I need to be thinking about lately. I had a really nice ride on Bloom on Thursday that kind of sparked things again. We fought, like usual, but I'm quickly learning how to handle her. We're still in the round pen, she's in a snaffle with a de gogue, but we may try her in a western style curb. I don't know if that's necessary; the ride on Thursday was excellent. I hope to be comfortably controlling her at walk, trot, and canter before going back to the big arena. I feel like one wrong ride in the big arena could shatter the confidence I've been fighting for.

My trainer's gone this week so I'll be looking after some horses myself. Xeta and Kirby are my responsibility, along with my little projects, Bloom and Lexi. I'm hoping to get some riding time in, as riding with my instructor always turns into a lesson, and lessons can stress me out. Lexi definitely needs more time under saddle, and this week would be an excellent time to get reacquianted with her.

Still.

Although it feels like a descent, I refuse to think of it that way. I have mentioned that things that were important six months ago now seem trivial, and what would have been outrageous six months ago now feels very real.

I know what's important now. A few months ago, I would have laughed if I had ever thought I would someday experience this massive shift.

God has become important.

And, to me, that presents a whole new set of problems.