My parents’ friends, the Wilsons, had a fairytale farm I used to visit, complete with a milk cow, pigs, chickens and a gentle horse named Duchess. Time spent there was magical—waking up to the rooster, milking the cow, gathering eggs for a huge country breakfast—but nothing compared to riding on Duchess.
When I was around seven or eight, I convinced them to let me ride her down the dirt road by myself. I had watched plenty of cowboy movies, and boy howdy, I was excited! The next morning they helped me saddle her up, and I climbed up on the tall horse and took off on my great adventure, riding past the apple trees and on past Grandma Wilson’s homeplace, singing songs and daydreaming of the Wild West. Whenever I would say “Whoa,” she would stop on a dime. Duchess and I were one.
After what seemed like a long ride, I thought I should turn her around and start heading back to the house. As I slowly turned her round, something happened. She took off like someone had shot her with a pellet gun. No one warned me this could happen. I pulled on the reins to no avail, hollering “Whoa,” but she was too busy trying to break Sea Biscuit’s trial time! The saddle started slipping, and I hung on sideways for dear life. She flew into the barn and I jumped off, with knees shaking and a strong respect for that huge animal. Duchess's one goal was to go home.
All of us are on a grand adventure in this journey of life, and heaven is our ultimate goal. In the meantime, let’s enjoy the ride and know without a doubt we will arrive safely to our eternal home.

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