To Find You, They Must See You

With wire wrapped around her legs and fear wrapped around her heart, the fleeing brown and white goat fell hard.

Thud.

Then came the pain. The excruciating pain. The more she struggled, the tighter the wire pulled, until finally, exhausted and defeated, she surrendered.

Waiting for fate to find her.

The footsteps came.

At first, they crunched slowly over the dry ground, then quickened. “A goat!” a voice cried.
She had been seen.

Praying it would be swift, Candy Cane tensed. Her body ached. Her head throbbed from its brutal meeting with the earth. She closed her eyes.

But then—
Soft hands.
A soothing voice.
A touch that spoke of rescue, not ruin.

She breathed.

She was found. And for the first time in a long time, she was safe.

When Candy Cane arrived at sanctuary, she was thin. Her coat matted, her eyes dulled by hardship. Her teeth, loosened by her ordeal, wobbled in her fragile and aged mouth. Several would later be lost because of this. Yet, even through her pain, a quiet flicker stirred within her.

We saw it. She felt it. A tiny ember of hope.

Tentative at first, Candy Cane is slowly settling in. Small in stature and gentle in spirit, she carries a curiosity waiting to unfold.

But trust, she knows, is a risky business. For a prey animal like Candy Cane, misplaced trust can cost a life.

And so she hesitates. She watches. She wonders.

Who do you trust? Who do you see?

Candy Cane is learning what we all must learn—the answer doesn’t come from the loudest voice or the grandest gesture. It comes from within. From a whisper in the heart that says: “Here. Here you are seen. Here you are safe.”

Because to find your place in the world, someone must first truly see you. And when they do—when you see yourself reflected in their kindness—healing begins.

Welcome home, sweet Candy Cane.

We see you. And we always will.