Eden Acres Therapy

01/11/2026

God has a funny way of getting our attention —
sometimes it shows up with whiskers, warm breath, and gentle eyes.

01/09/2026

Rewarding job!💗

01/09/2026

01/08/2026

Give it to Him. 🙌🏼🙏🏼

01/03/2026

Morning motivation
Happy Friday! ❤️

01/02/2026

January the 1st arrives like:
“Good morning. I am exactly the same as yesterday.”

You wake up expecting
✨new energy✨

Instead you get:

tired

mildly dehydrated

and still smelling faintly of horse

Social media says:

“Fresh start.”
“New habits.”
“2026 is your year.”

The horse says:
“Breakfast was late.”
"Where is my hay????"

Nothing feels new. The mud is still muddy. The boots are still wet. The horse has absolutely no awareness that the calendar changed.

You briefly consider:

becoming a morning person

being more organised

having less stuff

You then put the kettle on and accept reality.

January the 1st is not a reset. It’s a continuation. Same care. Same responsibility. Same love. More awareness.

The only thing that has changed? You’re now writing the wrong year on everything for at least a month.

And honestly? That’s enough effort for today. 🐎🤣

12/31/2025

12/30/2025

Favorite place to be

God met me in the barn.

Not in a loud moment.
Not with answers spelled out clearly.
Not when everything finally made sense.

He met me there quietly.

In the early mornings
when the world was still dark
and my heart already felt heavy.
In the evenings
when I had nothing left to give
except showing up.

God met me in the barn
when I didn’t have the words to pray.
When my thoughts were tangled.
When my faith felt tired.

And instead of asking me to explain myself,
He gave me stillness.

He gave me the rhythm of care—
feed buckets,
soft nickers,
steady breathing.

He gave me horses
who didn’t need me to pretend I was okay.
Who felt the weight I carried
and stood quietly beside me anyway.

In the barn,
I didn’t feel rushed to have it all figured out.
I didn’t feel pressure to be strong.
I didn’t feel judged for needing rest.

God met me there
in the moments I slowed down enough
to feel His presence instead of searching for it.

Sometimes it was in the silence.
Sometimes it was in the routine.
Sometimes it was in the simple realization
that I was still standing
after everything I’d been through.

The barn became a place of prayer
without spoken words.
A place where trust was practiced slowly.
Where patience was learned gently.
Where peace arrived
not all at once,
but just enough for that day.

God met me in the barn
when He taught me
that strength doesn’t have to shout.
That faith can be quiet.
That healing doesn’t always come with answers—
sometimes it comes with presence.

He met me there
when I rested my hand on a warm neck
and finally let my shoulders drop.
When my breathing slowed.
When my heart felt safe enough
to stop holding everything so tightly.

I didn’t leave the barn with everything solved.
But I left steadier.
Grounded.
Reminded that I wasn’t walking alone.

God met me in the barn
because He knew
that’s where my heart would listen best.

And every time I walk through those doors,
I still feel it—
not loudly,
not dramatically,
but faithfully.

Right there.
Waiting.

Does God meet you in the barn?

12/29/2025

A horse does not close its eye for comfort.
It closes it for certainty.

The eye stays open through wind.
Through noise.
Through unfamiliar hands.

It watches until everything unnecessary leaves the space.

When you stop trying to guide the moment,
when your body becomes still without effort,
the eye begins to change.

The tension eases.
The gaze softens.

This is not submission.
It is recognition.

The horse has decided your presence does not require vigilance.

When the eyelid lowers beside you—
only partway—
that is enough.

It says:
“I will not watch right now.”

In a world shaped by survival,
choosing not to watch
is the deepest form of trust.