The Payoff

My brother does not understand my love for horses. We own 4 at our farm and sees me spending hours in the stall, up to my knees in unmentionable filth. He sees the bruises where these large animals inadvertently step on me and bump me. He sees me sweat as I haul water, move hay, stack bedding , unload feed and do the countless other tasks it takes to care for them. He knows it is hard for me to get to the farm at times to do chores amid my work hours and the time I must spend with my children and family. He knows the financial obligation they take and he chides me about not being able to ride them much. He sees the riding as the pay off for the work. Since we were young we have not seen eye to eye on this issue.

In the same regard, I do not understand his desire to hunt. I can't see spending thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours sitting precariously perched in a tree in the freezing cold weather to murder a helpless, beautiful animal. I don't understand why he showers in 'earth scent' and camouflages himself in the silliest of attire to be able to hang a boiled, bleached head on his wall at the end of the season. He claims the trophy buck is an ample payoff for all of the time and effort.

What he doesn't see about the horses, and I refuse to see about the hunting, is that its not about the activity itself. Its about everything that goes with it. With my horses, it is a way to bond with my daughter. It stirs up memories of times with my Dad in the horse barn when I was young. It is about teaching responsibility and putting another's needs before our own. It is about commitment and respect. It is about the laughter we share as we haul manure and ride the old John Deere. It is about the anticipation of the birth of new foals in the spring.

This past spring, the horses became a lesson in life and death. We had an orphan foal that we tried to save. Bob ( I know- silly name for a horse- but it really worked for us!) taught my children compassion. In the wee hours of the night, as I lay in the straw with him, gently inserting a feeding tube into his little nostril, he taught me to cry again after an emotional drought. His weak greeting as I entered his pen gave me hope. His perseverance showed me strength. The loss of him made us all experience grief and opened doors of conversation we might otherwise not have had.

My brother tries to explain his love of hunting is about communing with nature. It is about seeing life in its most basic elements. It is about quiet time to reflect. It is his solace in a dark time. It is his celebration in the good times. The stillness of the woods calms him in the chaos of his life. There, more than anywhere, he can feel close to God. Slaying the animal is secondary to the experience.

I feel this way about my church. So often, I put in a lot of long, hard hours doing 'Godly' duties. I spend a lot of time connecting with my congregation and trying to be a productive member of that family. All of that work is secondary to the things I take away from the experience of being a part of that community. My children learn invaluable lessons. I am supported and encouraged in my life and my endeavors. I am helped along a path where my rewards are not tangible, but ethereal.

I will continue to tease my brother about his hunting, and I'm pretty sure he will never let up on me about my 'stupid horses', but I'm also pretty sure we understand each other much better than we will ever let each other know. Maybe someday, he will make the connection and realize that with church, its all about the ultimate payoff.....heaven!