The Walking Stick Journal

Stepping Stones of Transformation

An Unfolding Manuscript

by

C. D. Baker

Chapter Twelve: A Horse, Little-me, and a Stick

Experiences are encounters with reality, and reality consists of the entire spectrum of things seen and things unseen. Therefore, our experiences ultimately offer encounters with the WHOLE of who we are and of what is. 

Experiential encounters of body, soul, and spirit remind us that God’s Presence is at work realigning the whole of who WE are within the whole of who HE is. Such holistic transformation is what is meant by salvation. 

Salvation happens through what is understood and through what is imagined, through what is felt and through what is touched, through the heart and through the mind, through the body and through the spirit. In the end, salvation is the transformation of the whole of us—our desires, our beliefs and our actions—into the likeness of Jesus Christ.

All we need is to be is awake to the beauty of encounter.

***

January – February, 2021

Cold day outside. I hang my coat, and Bill greets me with a warm smile and a strong handshake. 

It was a wild couple of weeks and I’m feeling anxious. I get right to it: “The other morning I was in a half-dream. I felt like I was standing inside of some old photo of me as a small boy. I had a conversation with that little-me but all I remember is that he said that he forgave me.”

I pause. “Anyway, I told him that I did the best I could to protect him. He said he knew that, and he thanked me.”

I look away from Bill until my chin stops quivering. 

He fills the silence. “There was a time when your heart only produced anxiety. Now it is revealing your inner child…”

Nodding, I turn back to him. “The next day I was meditating and envisioned myself walking up a long slope. When I crested the ridge, I saw a beautiful, walled white city below. A column of uniformed riders on black horses immediately emerged through a gate and rode toward me. They had a saddled horse ready for me to ride but I refused to get on.”

Bill says nothing.

“That night I had a dream about that same black horse. He was dead in the snow under a leafless tree. I hated that dream.”

Bill closes his eyes like he does when he’s listening to his own down-deep. As he opens them he says, “Your dream was powerful; it’s good that you hated it.” He then nods to himself, reflecting. “The horse is God. Think about a God who is willing to let you climb on his back. A God who dies for you.”

***

Tuesday: Lost my walking stick on this morning’s hike and it’s making me nuts. I need to feel that thing in my hand. 

Wednesday: Obsessed with finding my stick. Why?

Thursday: Paying attention to the anxiety building about my stick. This is crazy. 

Friday voice memo transcripts:

1:36. Praying on my meditation rock to find my stick. I need to feel my hand around it. 

2:02. Hiking the cornfield and the stick left my mind. I stopped, and stared. All of the sudden it was like I could see the little-boy-me from the photo riding towards me, bare-back on that same black horse as in my dream. He’s happy, laughing and his hair is blowing back as the horse thunders past me. I was so happy for him that my eyes filled.

2:04. I watched the horse galloping a wide circle. He returns and invites me to climb on. I know this is God asking me to trust him. I can’t. “No, too much baggage,” I said. 

The horse answered, “You don’t have to be perfect. I can handle all of your stuff.”

I resisted, but then climbed on behind smiling little-me. The horse charged across the field until we rose into the air like we were being transported to heaven. It was amazing. It felt wonderful. Felt safe. If this is like death, it’s all going to be okay.

2:37. Vision over and heading home. This was some kind of imaginary encounter but somehow real. I wish I had my stick to tap the ground as I try to sort this out. I mumbled one more prayer to find it. Something then caught my eye and there it was, leaning against a pile of debris. I grabbed it with two hands, dropped to the ground, and leaned my face on it to thank God. He answered with, “Everything is going to be okay.” 

2:43. I doubt anybody will ever believe this stuff. 

***

“Sorry. Having some trouble getting this out.” I can barely speak as I tell Bill about the horse, little-me, and the stick. 

He sets his face and answers with authority. “This is the central moment of our whole journey and was given by God.” 

That sinks in.

“The encounter with God-as-horse was a spiritual encounter within your imagination and it is awakening the whole of you.”

His affirmation lifts me.

“And I love how your stick was found in a pile of debris…and that it was lost for three days! Can you see the meaning in all of this?”

Belly fluttering, I nod. 

“I also love how you were not afraid of the horse this time—that you were not afraid in God’s presence. You actually experienced comfort there, baggage and all.”

I feel Bill’s compassion and his genuine enthusiasm. 

He leans forward. “Your little-boy-self has suffered loss from before he even knew words—and then the trauma of finding your mother covered in blood…and then…”  Bill sits back, exhaling. “But now this: laughing, hair in the wind and safe on that black horse.” 

I smile. This suddenly feels like hope.