Untethered: My Horse Beau and the Dream That Set Me Free

I’m in the saddle on Beau for the very first time. It is Mother’s Day, only a few days after my 39th birthday. The feeling of tacking up my very own horse instantly brings me back to my childhood. It’s an exhilarating feeling of responsibility and anticipation of new adventures to come.

It has been at least 28 years since I said goodbye to Macho and left him behind in frozen Alaska, but my heart is wide open for this new horse and what we will experience together.

Beau is a Missouri Fox Trotter with a long, thick, black mane and tail. He has a kind, soft eye and only wants to please, but he has some serious fears that must be overcome. His trust in people is very limited because he has been mistreated and neglected, even being left to starve.

When my mother rescued him, she had to feed him up to get him healthy. Then she discovered from the ground, with a mouthful of dust, how deep his fears ran. After his duck, spin, and run, she lost trust in him and never rode him again. He had been languishing in the pasture when she gave him to me.

I know he’s a project and it’ll be a challenge, but I’ve fallen in love with this magical being.

The Invitation

I ride Beau around at a walk in a circle in the pasture and decide that’s enough for the first day. Then, as I’m giving him a bath and getting ready to put him back out in the pasture, I see three older men in their 60’s ride into our property on their horses.

This is Arizona, the Wild West, and hitching posts at restaurants, or people riding horses in our neighborhoods between farm fields is everyday life here. All three men are wearing cowboy hats, their horses lathered in sweat.

“Hi, I’m Ron, and this is Steve and Sam. I hear you need help with a gaited horse. We met your mom at cowboy church, and she told us you had a new horse you weren't sure how to ride and get him to gait.”

“Wow! Yes! I rode horses a lot as a kid, but it's been a while. This is Beau. He is spooky and a Fox Trotter, and I have no idea what I’m doing with him. I’d love some help,” I say.

“If you’re free tomorrow morning, we will come back to pick you up and go out there and ride with you in those fields,” Ron says.

I know this is my opportunity to actually make this new horse thing happen for me. I know I need help. I don't know these men or how they ride, but I can't say no. Beau is my project, and now I have become these cowboys’ project.

Riding with Cowboys

The next morning, I’m saddled up and ready to go with them. All three arrive and immediately make fun of my helmet.

“You planning to fall off and land on your head today?” says Sam.

“No, I’m not planning on that. But this is a new horse, and I haven't ridden in years. I want to live through it.”

All three men roll their eyes at me—without rolling their eyes. I can tell I won't be allowed to be scared or make excuses with these men. Beau and I will have to overcome our fears together.

We walk for a few minutes until we get to the dusty farm path next to the cotton field. Beau and I walk beside Ron’s horse Carmella. She is a Paso Fino white flea-bitten mare. She is full of fire, always prancing or gaiting, dramatically flipping her feet out. Carmella is leading a parade everywhere she goes.

Ron looks at me and says, “You ready to fly?”

“Ugh…” is all I get out. Beau and Carmella shoot forward shoulder to shoulder. We’re going as fast as a run, but it feels as smooth as riding a bike. I really am flying.

Beau has his ears darted forward and his chest broad and flared. I hold onto the front of my saddle, terrified but ecstatic. I can hear the rhythmic pounding of hooves as the four of us barrel down the path. I begin to relax and trust that Beau will be fast but steady.

I can tell that he is excited and feels like a horse again gaiting next to this fiery mare. His ancient call to charge forth, brazen and bold, feels empowering and eternal.

After the great ride—maybe even the greatest of my life—I thank the cowboys, holding back tears, and tell them anytime they’re willing to help me and ride with me, I’ll be ready to go.

“You went better than we thought. When we pulled up seeing your pink helmet, I thought we would have to deal with a nervous Nelly. You guys did pretty good,” Ron admits.

“You just need to learn about trail riding and how to spot a low shoulder,” says Sam.

“A low shoulder? What's that?” I ask.

“You ever see a snake with high shoulders?” asks Sam.

“No,” I say, confused.

“Now you know what a low shoulder is,” Sam says as he and the other cowboys gait off.

Okay, a new fear for Beau and me. I didn't even think about rattlesnakes. But I did know they could kill a horse with a bite.

Over the next few months, I ride at least three to four days a week with the cowboys, wearing my pink helmet each time. We ride all over Queen Creek, Arizona, and I begin collecting a list of all the things Beau is afraid of. He gets more predictable, but he still spooks 10-20 times a ride.

As we practice, Beau teaches me to always be ready, but also to relax and imagine the best outcome. When he goes stiff with fear and I feel his energy collect like he’s about to bolt, I can’t hunch up and get tight. I need to relax my whole body and breathe.

He teaches me to not be reactive, but to be proactive towards peace and tranquility. I imagine the alfalfa fields I took him to with the purple flower blossoms, or visualize the barn and his pasture; his place of sanctuary. Through our connection, he can settle a bit and sink into the peace I’m projecting.

I learn from riding Beau that visualizing what I want, without wavering or giving in to fear, is powerful—and not just with horseback riding, but in all things. Beau teaches me that fear is faith in reverse. Fear is having faith in the worst outcome. It is always directed toward an unknown future and not reality.

A Blossoming Bond

I make a lot of progress with Beau, and his trust in me grows, but we plateau and progress stagnates. He still spooks on every ride, but less now. He still hates anything white, like an egg carton when we collect chicken eggs or a white hat or white shirt. I theorize that a cowboy with a white hat used to smack him in the head with his hat.

Beau has deep scars on his lower legs from being hobbled in ropes all day, cutting into him. Hobbling is a practice done by cowboys who don't have fencing to keep a horse from wandering off. Beau has trauma-induced triggers, and as much as I try, I can't get past them.

One night I dream that Beau is standing in his pasture with his head hung low in submission and humility, like the original image I saw in my head to paint a few years back. This was the image that I began to paint that started the whole process of opening my spirit to receive Beau.

In my dream, I see thousands of tiny threadlike strands attached to him, like soul ties that connect to all of his past experiences and owners. I can see, like a marionette, he is still subjected to them. I think in my dream, “I own him. He is all mine. I have dominion over him. His soul cannot tether fully to me, because it is connected to the others, but they no longer own him.”

I have in my hands a giant pair of scissors, and I walk around Beau cutting the strings. Beau’s entire countenance changes. He shifts from oppressed and downtrodden to being a horse with a sound mind and, although humble, confident and able to trust.

The Ties That Bind Us

The next morning, as I recount the dream, I am amazed. I feel like God is showing me so many profound things about Beau, about myself, and about that initial image of the horse I saw in my mind to paint. A fuller meaning takes shape.

The revelation I received about Christ entering Jerusalem on a colt that had never been ridden becomes profoundly clear. A colt never ridden is tethered to no one. This colt has no idols or traumas or pain oppressing it with lies about who it is and what it is meant to be. The colt is fully free and unencumbered to carry the very presence of God.

As Jesus sat on this colt, I sat upon Beau, but my connection with Beau was jumbled with the other connections. He was unable to carry my presence, and therefore no matter what visions for direction I gave him, he misunderstood or didn't fully hear me. He couldn't clearly see the visions of the best outcome. He saw what I showed him through a prism of fear.

I realize that God was showing me in the dream that, like Beau, I have strings. I am tethered to trauma, pain, and betrayal. These strings tug and pull and hold me back. They cloud my ability to see God’s vision for me. They confuse the directives he gives me. I see through the glass darkly. Even my life’s vision becomes contorted.

Stepping Into Freedom

I decide to make a prophetic act by holding my invisible giant scissors and cutting off the strings from Beau. I walk around him and declare to the heavens above that he is mine and God gave me the authority to cut off those ties and bonds. I declare that Beau is free. I ask God to bind Beau to me and allow him to see my visions for him, to know who he truly is and walk in confidence and safety.

In the weeks that follow, I notice a significant difference in Beau. He begins to sense my intentions and move left when I think about turning. He slows when I slow my breathing. When I imagine cantering from a trot, he seamlessly moves into this gait. It is exhilarating to have this bond. I feel honored and trusted. My love and appreciation for Beau grows, and I beam with pride.

As this transformation is happening, I get the profound sense that this is how God feels about us when we walk in obedience and trust, when we relinquish our will to him. He beams with pride. His love and generosity abound toward us. There is an exhilarating triumph, like a glorious procession entering a holy city that bursts forth from the living God.

As I ride Beau and each hoof touches the ground, I release one string after another. I let go of every insult. I give up every act of treachery. Every hurt, trauma, and offense held onto in the name of justice, I cut off of me and give to God. God is my justice. God will deal with my offenders, controllers, and violators.

As I race through the fields with Beau, the flowing wind between his ears carrying the essence of a freedom I have not yet known, I sink into a deep gratitude that brings my head low. My golden crown receives another jewel, and I feel myself gracefully hold that tension between humility and royalty.

I believe, maybe for the first time, that I can paint the clear vision God gave me, and my paintings can carry his presence. I realize that letting go gives me the capacity to receive. When the strings fall away, I am no longer pulled backward. I am free to move forward, freely and without fear.

When you face something uncertain, do you tend to lean into faith or brace for what might go wrong?

Share your thoughts in the comments below!