Since the day I read my first Thoroughbred series book in fifth grade, I imagined crouching over the withers of a racehorse, feeling its muscles bunch together and release with each stride. But I wanted more than an image in my mind-I wanted it in real life.

It was my junior year of college when I left home to chase that dream, and for a minute I had it between my fingers. Gideon rode in the horse trailer and Sandi was curled into a ball in the backseat when I moved to Louisville. Within two weeks I was pounding down the track on young Thoroughbreds, impressing trainers with my bravery and skill. But soon, piece by piece, it began to crumble. Holding onto the dream, and my faith, was like grabbing water by the fistful and watching it slip between my fingers.

How could I keep going in this land of strangers and broken dreams? How could I trust the God who gives when He's also the God who takes away? But how could I quit when the dream still stirred in my bones and Gideon was out there somewhere?