Gentle Strength
One of my favorite sayings is, “There is nothing as strong as gentleness, and nothing as gentle as true strength.” Though I came across that saying for the first time later in my life, I discovered its meaning long ago, during the first year after I was mustered out of the military. I learned it, not from a prophet or teacher, but from a horse, a particularly anxious, mistrusting and ready-to-fight little mare named Baby Doll.
As many veterans do upon discharge, I started classes immediately at a community college near Camp Pendleton. I was also hired to be the Program Director at a ranch-themed children’s camp on weekends, supervising the staff of college and high school students who worked directly with the 100 or so 8-11 year-olds who arrived by bus from the city each Friday evening. The staff ran the activities, monitored safety and “playing nice”, and intervened to solve problems. I told stories and led songs, kept the schedule running smoothly, and functioned as the camp nurse for the occasional scraped knee or bee sting. During the week I lived in a house on the ranch, my quiet roommate a construction carpenter who also was wrangler for the horses the children got to ride.
Most of the horses had been donated, were older and easy going, and were very safe to be around. Not Baby Doll. She had been given to the ranch by a family who had been unable to train her to ride. She was small for a quarter horse, and quick to kick or bite. Her previous owners had used a harsh bit in their efforts to control her, so she would never allow a bit in her mouth. She had scars from a whip or rope near her withers and seemed to be afraid of everything. Because she could not be ridden, feeding her and paying for veterinary services was untenable, so the camp leaders thought to send her on to a last home, probably a glue factory or to become dog food. However, I offered to pay for all her expenses if I could have the school year to try to save her, and thus my lessons started.
I placed Baby Doll in a smaller corral where she would not fight the other horses, and put Big Red in with her. Red was an ambling-along-peacefully big old plow horse, gentle as a lamb. I took care of their food and water every morning and night. I always had an apple or a carrot or sugar cube when I climbed up on the corral fence to talk with Baby Doll. It took several days before she would come near me, but the treats helped. Over time she learned the sound of my ’67 Chevelle Malibu rumbling down the road coming in and would trot over to the fence to wait for me.
Eventually I could ride ol’ Red in their corral as she learned that I was safe to be around. I never did try to put a saddle on her or a bit in her mouth, but within a matter of weeks I could slip a wide loop over her head and walk her around the corral. Then I took to having her walk along with me as I rode another horse across the hills in the evening. By springtime she followed me around the corral like a puppy dog. I could brush her, check her hooves (which did take some gradual getting used to!), and even look into her ears.
I took time letting her get used to a blanket, which I wore around my shoulders for a few days to give it a familiar scent. In time she let me put the blanket on her, and I led her by a simple leather halter. By late spring I could ride her, with only a blanket and moccasins and that halter……never a saddle, a bridle and bit, or spurs. She got in line behind Big Red on the trail rides and never once bucked. When I left the ranch to transfer to a university, she had become a favorite of the staff and was no longer wild and untouchable. Even a child could ride her as she walked along with the other horses, though she always wanted to be with Big Red.
It seemed to me at the time that I was rescuing that battered little mare, but years later I have come to understand how much she did to save me. The lingering effects of combat meant that I was skiddish, too, and thought everyone and everything was prone to hurt me. Like Baby Doll, I wouldn’t let anyone get close. I realized over time that the children’s camp had been the perfect place to begin to stand down. It was beautiful, I could be alone in the woods or down by the stream, I could ride out over the hills at sunset, and I had a safe place to live. My meals were provided at the cookhouse where the ranch hands ate. I was 23, and they were a lot older, many of them veterans themselves or merchant mariners. Learning that I was a Marine Corps Doc who had just returned from Vietnam caused them to treat me with tremendous kindness while giving me the distance I needed. I went to school during the week, lived surrounded by nature in a peaceful valley, and was adored by children all weekend. Looking back, it seems as if Someone had written a prescription for healing that perfectly suited me.
So, while Baby Doll had me to nurture her back to peacefulness, I had a year marked by the strength and kindness of those around me at the ranch. As I later studied psychology in college, I read about trauma and the techniques that help with healing. I discovered that I had already been helping that little mare simply by being kind, and consistent, and patient—the strength that comes from being gentle. Decades later I reflected on that hard, first year back in the civilian world. I realized that the healing events of that first year came from the kindness, understanding and protection of strong people who were gentle when I was hurt and feeling lost.
I hope you take this to heart, especially if you pride yourself on being “tough.” Endurance, faithfulness, commitment…..these are all good things that can enable us to be genuinely tough at times. In contrast, being harsh, critical, and abusive of others is weakness at its core, because it can only destroy. Being kind, and patient, and encouraging are far more powerful because they make things better. Try bringing to others the gentleness that is born of true strength, and learn to rely on the strength that emerges from being gentle. And, you’ll discover that you are on a good path if you let the kindness of others welcome you home.
Things to Wonder About:
What characteristics or attitudes make a person “strong”? or, What does it mean to be a “strong” person?
Tell about a time when you experienced unexpected kindness from another person. Families, best friends, and sweethearts excluded, please. (We can reasonably expect kindness from them.)
Looking out for and helping others can bring healing to people who have experienced difficult times themselves. Why do you think this is so?