I had to have her. She became an obsession with me. She was all I thought about. Her long red hair. Her gentle ways. From the moment I awakened until I laid down at night, she was in my thoughts. An unexpected smell on the wind, a picture in a book, a casual conversation with someone–a thousand things made me think of her.
But I could not have her. Who was I? I could not take care of her. I could not be who she needed me to be. I was destitute. I had nothing. Even the clothes on my back were a gift from someone else. The very food I put in my mouth was was out of obligation, I suppose. Maybe God would help–but prayers seemed to go unanswered. Still, I could not get her out of my mind.
And then, one December, I found myself in a shopping mall somewhere. I ask Santa if I could have her, and that Christmas morning, there she was, tied to a fence in our backyard. Her name was Polly. She was a pony. And she made the best Christmas I ever had.