Not far from my home, there is a wide open field. At first glance, it looks ordinary—green grass swaying in the wind, sunlight stretching across the fence posts, and two horses grazing peacefully. To the casual passerby, the horses seem no different from any others. But if you stop for a moment—if you really pause—you’ll notice something extraordinary.

One of the horses is blind. His eyes, clouded and distant, reveal the truth: he cannot see the field around him. In many places, such a horse might have been put down, considered useless or too great a burden. But not here. His owner chose compassion over convenience, giving him not only life but dignity. A safe home, a chance to exist with purpose, even in darkness. That decision alone is something beautiful.

And yet, the story doesn’t end there.

If you stand quietly near the fence, you’ll hear the faint sound of a bell ringing through the air. Soft, delicate, almost musical. Look closer and you’ll see its source—a small bell fastened to the halter of the second horse, the smaller one. She wears it proudly, not as decoration, but as a lifeline. The bell is her gift to her friend, guiding him across the field, letting him know she is near.

The blind horse listens carefully, tilting his ears toward the sound. Step by step, he follows her lead, trusting that the bell will never lead him into harm. And she—his faithful companion—never forgets her role. She grazes, but always lifts her head to check on him. She walks, but always slows her pace, making sure the bell rings steadily so he can follow. Each evening, when the day comes to an end and they make their way back to the barn, the little horse stops often to glance behind, ensuring her friend is not too far away. She waits. She listens. She leads him home.

Standing there, watching them, it’s impossible not to see the greater truth reflected in their friendship.

God, like the loving owner of these horses, never discards us because of our imperfections. He doesn’t throw us away when we stumble, when our vision fails, when life leaves us broken. Instead, He surrounds us with people—friends, family, even strangers—who become our “bells.” They guide us, steady us, remind us that we are not alone. And sometimes, He calls us to be the ones wearing the bell—to guide others who cannot find their way.

In life, we switch places often. Some days, we are the blind horse, leaning on the faithfulness of those who care for us. Other days, we are the guide, carrying the bell that helps someone else walk through their own darkness. Both roles matter. Both roles are sacred.

And so, the field with two horses becomes more than just a place of grass and fences. It becomes a lesson in love, trust, and friendship. A reminder that true companions don’t abandon you when the way is hard. They ring their bell, look back to check on you, and walk with you all the way home.

Good friends are like that. You may not always see them, but you can feel their presence. You know they are there.

So let me say this: I will listen for your bell, and I ask that you listen for mine. For in the gentle ringing of trust and care, we will always find our way.