I’m allergic to horses. And hay. And to the cats that roam the barns and the ragweed that blooms in green pastures, and even the dust kicked up by oh-so-handsome Wrangler-wearing cowboys. But, my goodness, horses are gorgeous creatures.

We in the Roaring Fork Valley are privileged to see the new foals each spring as we trudge up and down Highway 82 near Snowmass Canyon, and the herd at Owl Creek Ranch, and the gentle ponies ready for young riders at Cozy Point.  But one of the most memorable might well be watching the herd run home after a Wednesday night rodeo in Snowmass.

Recently I was out with friends and at the suggestion of one we spontaneously stood at the side of the road just in time to watch this weekly procession. It was dusk, the smell of fresh rain hung in the air, and the rodeo announcer could be heard on the loudspeaker bidding good night to the cowboy-clad visitors. We were perched on some rocks midway between the rodeo grounds and the pasture where the horses grace us with their presence all summer. Within minutes the herd barreled toward us, making their way from the roundabout up Brush Creek Road, past the Visitors Center and Town Park, and into the meadow at Horse Ranch.  The galloping thunder was not unlike the thunder earlier in the evening — a slow rumble that grew in intensity and power as it passed us by, then dissipated into the night.

Life offers us such moments. Moments that rumble through our lives leaving us entirely overwhelmed — sometimes with joy, sometimes with sadness — but which in the big picture are fleeting and eventually past. Like the horses, life’s events can absolutely shake the ground we stand on. And if we are truly present to the moment, on whatever side of the emotional spectrum it lies, we can acknowledge the Divine power and beauty of “even this.” There is something healing about standing in the eye of the storm. Perhaps this is what it means when God promises us peace that surpasses all understanding.

The seasons of life are ephemeral. Consider the joys of watching a newborn turn toddler; the celebration of weddings, graduations, successes; the butterflies of first love.  These beautiful moments are, sadly, short-lived, as are the agonizing and angst-filled times: the uncertainty of career or job security; the pain of loss and the deep grief of death; the hope for a future fading from view. Standing in the moment — in the eye of the storm — and being present to the very miracle of life unfolding, is where we meet God.

Last week God happened to look like a gorgeous herd of galloping thunder. I stand in awe.