You Are The Treasure

For as long as I can remember—almost as soon as I could write—I was writing stories about horses.

When I was little, my Grandpa Kenny promised me a horse if I accomplished something that was really difficult for me. I did, and he kept his promise. He bought me a beautiful wild Mustang I named Sparkle.

I never got to ride Sparkle the way I had imagined. Near the end of ninth grade, I lost Grandpa to cancer, and because he was the one paying for Sparkle's trainer and keeping her there, I lost Sparkle almost immediately afterward too.

I never got to say goodbye.

Long before I understood how much loss would become part of my story, though, some incredible seeds were already being planted in my life.

One of them came from Rachel.

Rachel was my sister Stephanie's friend, and I absolutely loved her. She had learned so much from her grandfather, Stephen Covey, and I remember watching her demonstrate one of those lessons by showing us how she could tear an entire phone book in half.

It didn't happen instantly.

For what I remember being at least thirty minutes, she worked at it little by little, page by page, making tiny tears. Some people eventually lost interest and walked away.

Stephanie and I stayed.

We watched Rachel keep going until she finally tore that phone book in half.

As a little girl, I thought it was amazing. I didn't realize until much later what she had actually shown me:

Something that looks impossible doesn't have to happen all at once. You just have to keep going.

When Rachel died, I was pregnant with my oldest daughter. At her funeral, I remember seeing green bracelets that said BRIDLE UP HOPE.

Even in tremendous grief, there was already a vision.

I watched the Covey family take something devastating and begin building something that could help other girls. It started small—including those bracelets and eventually a rented barn—and they kept building.

I've carried Rachel with me through the years too. I've taken my children to her grave many times. We spend time there, and when it needs some love, we clean it up.

So what is happening in my life now feels almost surreal.

The daughter I was pregnant with at Rachel's funeral now rides horses at the foundation created in Rachel's memory.

She's also around the same age I was when some of the hardest parts of my own story began.

At her age, my life was beginning to move down a very different path. Now I get to watch my daughter spend these years around horses, confidence, healthy principles, encouragement, and women helping her recognize her own worth.

I can't rewrite what happened to the girl I was.

But I can help write something different for the girl I'm raising.

To me, that's part of breaking a generational cycle—and somehow, an old friend from my childhood is still helping me do it.

The years between that little girl and the woman who eventually found her way back to a barn brought more loss than I ever could have imagined—including my brother-in-law on the day of my first baby shower, my best friend from high school to cancer, and eventually both of my sisters.

Those stories, and much of the healing that followed, are part of the book I'm now finishing. But somewhere along the way, I became so used to being the strong one that I forgot I was allowed to grieve too.

That's one of the greatest gifts I've found at Bridle Up Hope.

I feel incredibly blessed by the trainer I've been paired with. Sometimes I don't need someone to fix what I'm feeling or make my tears stop. I need someone to listen and give me a safe place to let them fall.

And then I get to ride.

I get to talk. I get to cry. I get to release.

And then I get back on the horse.

My trainer has even helped me look at Sparkle differently.

Maybe Grandpa saw something beautiful in that wild Mustang—and something similar in me.

Maybe I was never supposed to lose every wild part of myself.

Maybe I needed to learn how to bridle it up—to give my strength direction without losing my spirit.

For years, I've been writing a book about what I've lived through and what I've learned through trauma, grief, faith, forgiveness, and healing. About a year ago, I put that particular manuscript down because revisiting some of those memories became too painful.

Through my time at Bridle Up Hope, I've picked it back up.

I'm almost finished.

And during this same season, I also finished writing an entire children's book inspired by many of the lessons I've been learning.

I've created my own vision board too, filled with the things I'm praying for, working toward, and daring myself to believe are possible.

And lately I keep thinking about Rachel and that phone book.

Because now I understand that she wasn't only showing us how to tear through pages.

She was showing us how a vision becomes real.

I've watched her family live that same lesson.

Bridle Up Hope didn't have to become everything it is today overnight. There was first a vision, then a bracelet, a rented barn, and another step after that.

Little by little.

Just like the phone book.

Now, all these years later, I'm standing inside part of that vision.

My daughter is growing inside it.

I'm healing inside it.

And I'm learning principles that were being planted around me before I was old enough to understand how much I would someday need them.

So if there's one thing I would give to another girl or woman reading this, it's this:

Dare to have the vision.

Dream it boldly.

Write it down.

Pray over it.

Thank God for it.

Take the next small step.

And don't mistake not yet for never.

Some people may not understand what you see. Some may even walk away before they see what you're building.

Keep going.

Gold is refined through fire. Steel is forged through fire and force. Diamonds are formed under tremendous pressure.

Maybe you've spent so much time looking at the fire and pressure you've survived that you've forgotten the most important part:

You are the treasure.

Grief can have its tears. It can have its place in our stories. But it doesn't get to take the vision.

There are still pages left to write.

There are still dreams worth building.

Trust God's timing. Keep walking by faith.

And dare to dream again.

With so much gratitude,

Love,

Bridle Up Hope Alpine, Women's Participant 

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