Dear Protector of Horses and Fools
When that intelligent, hardworking, honest judge finally sees what I see
in this horse I've worked so hard and long with, help me to accept my win
with grace and dignity. And, when that blind, clueless idiot -- I mean judge
-- somehow fails to see what a fine job we've done, (well, at least better
than the so-and-so he placed ahead of us!) help me to accept my defeat with
some of that same grace and dignity.
Lord, you alone know how I've sweated blood over this horse, the hours
I've spent getting her ready (and Lord, are any of them ever ready?) ;O) You
(and probably only you!) understand why I've spent good money on this animal
-- money I could've spent on lots of other things -- things that just might
have afforded me a little more pleasure and a lot less frustration. Lord,
tolerate my disappointment when I lose, and help me keep it all in
perspective. Help me remember that when some horse show judge gives me the
gate, it's not as if St. Peter just gave me that pearly one.
Lord, clear my eyes and help me see, before I open my big mouth, that the
so-and-so with the cow-hocked, pony gaited dink walking out of the pen ahead
of me is actually a fellow exhibitor who has also worked hard, maybe even
sweated blood over his horse too, and probably deserves to enjoy this moment
to its fullest while it lasts.
Lord, you know there are sometimes - - but not nearly as often as I tend
to suppose when I lose -- such ugly things as Politics, Prejudice, and
Unethical Practices, which may cause my horse to get beaten unfairly --
sometimes. Help me, then, to remember that several wrongs won't ever make a
right, and that none of the wrongs gives me an excuse to act like an idiot.
You know I'm a competitor, Lord; I make no bones about that. I love to
win and I hate to get beat. There are few things more abhorrent to me, Lord,
than placing sixth out of six. If I didn't love to compete, I'd stay home
and knit afghans. But then, there are probably afghan shows, and people who
hire professional knitters with high-tech knitting machines, and most likely
there are afghan show judges who raise sheep whose wool goes into some of
the winningest afghans, and there I'd be -- still frustrated, still getting
beat, and without a horse to share half the blame.
This year, Lord, help me to have a little more faith in my fellow horse
folks, and for Heaven's sake, help me win, or lose, with a little class.
Amen.
