March 2022: I waved goodbye to the other trainees and got into my car. I held it together until I’d made the first right turn and no one could see me burst into tears. That old Army recruiting slogan kept ringing in my ears. ‘It’s the toughest job you’ll ever love.’
As I look back at my first season at Mercy Spring Ranch, I’ve claimed that slogan for myself. Volunteering here is ‘the toughest ministry I’ve ever loved.’
What’s so tough? Oh, not the physical labor. Even though I was away from horses for quite a few years, a few sessions of swinging loaded manure buckets onto the farm UTV and heaving saddles (and small children) up onto horses’ backs buffed up my city-girl muscles nicely. No, the physical stuff’s not the tough part.
And it’s not the commitment of time, the turning over of your calendar to the needs of ranch families, even the downright physical discomfort. (Remember our 110-degree afternoons this summer? I walked miles in heavy footing, leading horses, talking, and coaching children, in that.)
It’s not the mental work that’s so tough, though it is challenging. I’m a session leader which means I’m a one-on-one riding and horsemanship coach working with the child. I’m also the horse’s trusted supervisor (and sometimes I’m their ‘mean mom’ too, delivering a quick ‘mom glare.’) You have to have your head on a swivel and your eyes on stalks to keep the child safe, keep the horse safe, keep the physical facility in one piece, oh and at the same time, teach and model principles of responsible, kind horsemanship.
It’s not even the emotional commitment that’s tough. Though what I wouldn’t give for Ladyhawke’s ears that can swivel and point as I listen for not just what my children want to talk about, but what they need to talk about. I worry I’m not wise enough to give good advice, but I’m learning it’s often the listening, not the response, that’s the most important thing I can offer the child. It’s the ministry of being present.
No, the toughest part about the ministry work here at Mercy Spring Ranch is just that—the ministry. On that day in March I discovered I was stepping onto the front lines of the battle for His kingdom. Maybe that’s why the Lord brought that old Army slogan to mind. That’s why I cried all way home. I realized this work was bigger than me. The responsibility was immense—to represent the love of Jesus to needing, hurting, vulnerable souls. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t qualified. I wasn’t strong enough to do it. Not unless I admitted to myself and to my Lord, truly and finally, that I was too weak to do it—or life—without Him. This ministry work would require me to walk my talk, once and for all.
Fast forward to November 2022. I still sometimes cry on the way home from sessions. But mostly I pray, deeply, warmly, naturally. I’ve been studying—my Bible for strength, horsemanship manuals, children’s ministry resources. I want my session children to see more of Jesus, feel more of His unconditional, accepting, hope-bringing, healing love, and less of me. I’m meeting with other ranch volunteers as we debrief from this year and plan next year.
You better believe I’ll be back for 2023. Because this is the toughest—and most important—ministry I’ve ever loved.
Warmly,
Hillari DeSchane, MSR Session Leader
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