Her name was Flicka. Of course it was, because every 12-year-old girl when she gets a filly colt names her…Flicka. She was sorrel with a white blaze; her markings perfect. She was mine through my teen years, until I sold her at 18 to go on a missions trip.
Growing up on the farm, we were fortunate to experience a variety of animals – dogs, sheep, pigs, cattle, chickens, and horses of our own. And if you counted the stray skunks, coyotes, porcupines, and cats in heat that came through at any given time, it was a real variety farm! I’m truly grateful we got to experience all those pets – and it’s something I hope to give to my kids someday.
My brother, sister and I all got to choose a colt from our uncle’s farm. Our job was to halter train, walk and feed them. My brother chose Buck, and my sister’s was Poncho. One following summer when Flicka was about two years old, she had a run-in with a barbed wire fence; a dual lost. The gouge it took out of her right chest was massive; much more than a cut, it was down to the flesh. I was certain she was going to die a slow equine death – something dramatic and painful. Because a horse named Flicka was worthy of that kind of ending. (*note the sarcastic tones. If you stick around here long enough, you’ll probably see more of that 😉 ) Regardless, I was certain she was done.
My Mom, forever a horse enthusiast, had us bring her out of the corral (her comfort zone), and wash out the wound regularly. I’m sure I talked to Flicka in soothing tones as I washed out her wound and doused it with disinfectant.
And you know what happened? Over time, it began to heal; slowly, throughout the summer. She didn’t need stitches, she just needed some cleansing, some continuous love and care, and she naturally healed. Though her brown hair grew over the wound, I knew where the wound had been. I could see the scar, but it just didn’t affect her anymore.
And to me, that is a picture of what God does for our hurts, our wounds, our scars. He sees it, even if no one else does. It may take time. It may seem like it’s the end of something. And perhaps it is, in some small way.
The more I read the gospels, the more I see that Jesus never turned ANYONE away that came to Him. Those who returned to Him over and over, He always met them. Continuously. And how could you not be healed after that?
Whatever your life looks like today – healing or in the midst of a new season – give it time. Keep going back to Jesus. He’ll do what needs to be done with it. In time.