The alarm buzzed obnoxiously at 3:45 AM. Despite my best efforts to rest, anticipation for the day’s adventure kept me half-awake through the night. With steaming coffee in hand and snacks packed, the three of us stepped into the dark morning where the truck and trailer waited patiently. Today, we set out on a cross-country trip.

As the hours passed and the sun peeked over the horizon, the sky exploded in reds, yellows, and glowing orange hues..its own song of redemption. Dawn always reminds me of new mercies and God’s faithfulness.  “He turns our mourning into dancing… His mercies are new every morning; great is His faithfulness.”  (Psalm 30:11, Lamentations 3:22–23) 

Our mission: to find God’s provision for a companion for Amaris and a second equine mentor for this upcoming summer season. But nothing could have prepared me for what we were about to see.

Horses from across the country, surrendered for countless reasons, some noble, some not, found themselves crowded into stock trailers, frightened and weak. With no food or water, they arrived at holding pens, where they’d be paraded before livestock dealers and kill buyers. Most would cross the border for slaughter. A few would be chosen for one last chance.

After hours of driving, we arrived at a ranch near the Texas border. Flies swarmed as we stepped from the truck. Pens stretched across the flat land, each filled with draft horses, donkeys, mares, and yearlings devouring mounds of straw ravenous with hunger. We prayed, “Lord, who have You chosen for 8th Mountain Ranch?”

Then we saw him, an older Paint. His coat was a handsome patchwork of white, black, and brown. Though frail and covered in wounds, he quietly offered his muzzle for the bit and his boney back for the young wrangler. “This one’s special,” the ranch hand said softly. “We want him to go to a good home.”

Like Joseph, this seasoned horse had found favor, spared from the kill buyers. Despite the occasional privilege of grazing with the working herd, he was losing the battle against malnourishment and exhaustion. 

But grace found him again. Decisively, we paid his ransom and led him toward the trailer. “It’s time to go home,” Robert whispered. Without hesitation, he stepped inside the steel chariot. 

Eight hours later, we crossed back into Colorado, and collectively agreed to name him Asher: meaning favored, happy, blessed.

He’s worked hard his whole life, and though the world saw an aging, discarded horse, we see a seasoned veteran—strong, wise, and full of quiet courage. God is already reversing the scars of abandonment and rejection, giving Asher a place of belonging and honor.

We invite you to partner with us as we nurse him back to health and walk him into a new season of joy, because truly, “He turns our mourning into dancing.”

🐴 Read Asher’s bio here.

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