In August of last year we lost our much loved appaloosa, Sun. He was a singular presence around our home. He preferred not to be touched but didn’t mind being close. He often had a grumpy demeanor, but showed great affection for our other appaloosa, Moon. During the day he would wander far afield, preferring time alone with Moon to being around goats or people. But, in the mornings and evenings he was vocal about timely meals, even to the point of walking up to the front door and huffing to let us know he was ready to eat.

We hadn’t had Sun for very long, about six months. We bought him for one dollar from a closing cattle ranch where he chased the cows and was a trail horse, going on rides through the stark beauty of the high New Mexican desert. This was his retirement, and as such we gave him some leeway to laze about on his own. Last summer he came down with colic, a common and sometimes fatal condition. Horses colic for a wide variety of reasons, and we aren’t sure why Sun did. When he died we were all heartbroken, but none more so than Moon. Horses are herd animals and need the company of other horses. She spent several days pacing the fence near the road waiting for him to return.

We wanted to find another horse for Moon, but our budget didn’t have extra money for buying horses. So we waited. In January of this year, my wife Stella found a listing for a pinto colt who was bound for a kill pen. Stella was able to get generous support from her community and we brought home Sky a few days later.

The mood around the barn changed immediately. Where Moon was visibly down before, she now had piqued curiosity and excitement. Sky had to be quarantined from Moon for a while as he acclimated to our home and as a precaution against any illness he might have. But when Sky and Moon were able to finally be together, both horses were elated. Sky ran laps around Moon, who soaked it all in.

When we’ve had a loss, when we’ve moved, when things change, it can be jolting. Endings can leave us deflated, adrift, and with a sense that how things are now is how they will always be. Those feelings are understandable and valid. Not knowing what’s next is unsettling.

The hope of Easter isn’t that we won’t ever feel alone, adrift, or unsettled. It’s that in Christ we are new creations and “everything has become new!” (2 Corinthians 5:17). Christ is with us in our despair and loss, not glossing over those but joining us in our sorrows, healing us, and making us new. We will carry the scars of our loss like Jesus carries the scars of the cross. As we move from one place to another, we can have hope in the newness of Christ.

About the Painting

The Appaloosa, Baby Pinto, and the Bluebird
Earth and mineral pigments and oil on cotton canvas
Stella Maria Baer

Learn more about Seth & Stella.