Friday, May 29, 2020

7 Loaves

Life is a lesson…a continual lesson. A journey, for sure. The following was a “heads-up” to always be alert, because even the most seemingly mundane happenings can be part of a bigger picture…

Our group was large. Bruce, myself, and a few others scouted out the empty picnic benches at the local BBQ joint. I had nothing in hand to save our seats, but we figured there would be plenty of room to sit with the group when we returned with our food.

The busy order-line slowly meandered to the front, and we made our way to the counter.

You know when you meet someone and there’s some kind of connection? You’re not quite sure what it is, but there’s something. Our server looked us right in the eyes with interest, like he knew us. Though he didn’t. Yet a curious connection existed.

He took our order and then asked, “Would you like any bread?”
We thought for a moment.
“I’ll take a couple of slices,” I said.
“How about 7 loaves?” he smiled, waving a whole loaf of Wonder.
7 loaves?
OK, obviously, this guy was a jokester.
“6 1/2,” Bruce quipped back.
We all laughed, and then our server grabbed a stack of about 6 or 7 slices and held it up like he was offering us a prize at the fair. “How about this much?”
“Nah, I don’t want any bread,” Bruce grinned.
“Oh no, no. I just want a couple slices,” I chuckled.
He gave us an odd look.

Why would it be weird to him that we didn’t want a bunch of bread?

The strangeness continued.

We ordered drinks from the fountain machine, and he handed us the cups. He then told us, rather intently, about the water cups over by the fountain machine.

But we didn’t ask for any water. Oh well. Whatever.

We headed toward the outdoor tables with our meal. But every table we’d scouted out earlier was filled to the hilt with our group. There was no place to sit with them. How did all these people get their food and get out here before we did? Probably because we were goofin’ around with the bread-and-water-guy.

We found a table way over in “Siberia” away from everyone, feeling disconnected and disappointed.

We sat down, prayed over our food, and prepared to eat. I glanced up and saw someone else from our group, Larry (for honor, his name has been changed), who just arrived. I waved at him. He wandered over and stood by our table.

“Why aren’t you sitting with everybody?” he asked.
“No room, so we sat over here,” Bruce replied.
My mouth was full of brisket sandwich so I just nodded.
“Maybe we can see if this place has any chairs to pull up to one of the tables?” Larry suggested.
“No, it’s OK,” Bruce said. “We’ll stay here.”
Larry shrugged. We could tell that he really wanted to help us join the rest of the group.

But we soon realized that God had other ideas.

We invited Larry to join us. He hesitated, clearly not wanting to intrude in our space (Larry is kind of a timid guy). But he finally took a seat.

We chatted for a bit, and I noticed he never made a move to go get something to eat. And I started getting the sense that he couldn’t afford it. (Bruce told me later that he noticed the same thing and was going to give him the $20 in his wallet, but the Holy Spirit stopped him. Probably because of honor…God is not into embarrassing people).

I surveyed the brisket left over from my sandwich-making. “You’re more than welcome to these two pieces of brisket, Larry,” I said. “I can’t possibly eat all this.” Even as I said it, the “all this” sounded like a whole lot more than what was there. I again eyed the two measly pieces of meat on the wax sheet, almost embarrassed to offer him so little. I’d already chowed down on my sandwich and figured it would be kind of gross to offer him any of that.

He gratefully accepted the two pieces of brisket. So, I offered him the rest of my onions and pickles, and part of my buttered New Potatoes. I became aware that he was very sensitive of taking all my food, so I held back a couple pieces of potato.

Then Larry started to cough. He’d say a few words and then cough again. The coughing became more intense.
“I think I need some water,” he coughed.
Well, guess what? We knew right where that was!
“I’ll get you some,” I jumped up and headed for the fountain drink machine.
I handed Larry the water and a fork for his brisket.

God had Larry covered.

As we all talked it became clear that by divine intervention, we sat in “Siberia.” We weren’t supposed to sit anywhere but here.

My eyes drifted to Larry’s food piled on the wax sheet.

Whoa…what? I did a double-take.

I tried not to stare at the mound of meat. The mound. He had shredded the brisket with his fork, but there was no way those two puny pieces of meat could have made that pile. He had plenty to eat now!

We finished up lunch, prayed together about some struggles he was dealing with, and headed for “the streets” with the group to pray for people (that’s a story in itself and coming soon!)

On the drive home, Bruce and I discussed the events of the day, including the ‘meat mound.’
“I thought my eyes were playing tricks too when I saw that heap of meat!” he laughed. “And, as you made your brisket sandwich, I wished I’d have taken the bread that guy offered so I could make a sandwich too.”

Well, had we accepted the extra bread, there would have been plenty for everyone…with leftovers.

The next day when Bruce was reading his Bible, he was led to Mark 8:5…about the 7 loaves and two fish. Jesus took what was offered and multiplied it to provide what was needed. It also occurred to me later that I gave Larry two pieces of meat. I also pondered this: We had a “connection” with the counter-guy. Did the Lord prompt him to offer us that bread? Was that the reason he gave us a “funny” look when we refused it?

I’m sure whoever reads this will glean their own lesson. But for us? Our lesson was to graciously accept what someone wants to give. It may not necessarily be for our own need, but it could very well be for someone else God will put in our path who needs that “gift.”

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8)

Book: Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God's Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled

Tuesday, May 26, 2020

You'll Have What You Need When You Need It

So, crazy times, huh? Us younger folk never lived through the Great Depression. And the only shortage I remember was the gas shortage back in the ‘70s. But nothing like this.
Honestly, our little town was pretty sheltered, at first, in regard to the shortages experienced in the bigger towns and cities.

But as the big city people panicked and raided their own shelves, hoarding most everything they could, the fear spread. Especially when photos of empty shelves appeared in the social media outlets.

The shortages finally filtered down to us. Of course, it appeared that most of the reason our shelves were empty was because those from the bigger cities started raiding our shelves. But that’s another story.

But whatever the reason, it was hard not to join in the stampede for Charmin, Emergen-C, and chicken. I could feel my heart beat a bit faster when items I could buy easily on any given day were sold out...continually.

Deep breaths. Don’t follow the herd. Don’t panic, stay calm...pray. “Thank You, Lord, that we will have what we need when we need it,” became my prayer-motto, as I reminded myself of the countless times God had taken care of us in the worst of situations. And He’s never let us down...ever.

I voiced my thoughts to Bruce, and he agreed: “Yep, He’ll give us what we need when we need it.”

And this thought crossed my mind that really put me in check: “For God did not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind—2 Timothy 1:7). Huh…Fear=Don’t panic; love=don’t hoard (forcing others into need); sound mind=DON’T PANIC!

It’s been several weeks now since the initial intrusion of ole Covey-19. And everything we’ve needed, we’ve been able to find—even the elusive Angel Soft toilet paper that’s seemed to all but disappear from existence at our local Walmart (The last time I glanced down that aisle, even the dreaded one-ply was hoarded). But early on, my mother-in-law found some of the good stuff and bought it for us. So no worries there!

The last item that’s always been important to us has remained MIA for weeks—Apple Cider Vinegar for the health of our horses. Every store…nothing. Even online. I went as far as asking Walmart if they even manufactured the kind we use anymore. (I mean, who hoards the 5 percent diluted Apple Cider Vinegar anyway?) My mother-in-law was even scouting for it. And since my days were filled with homeschooling my 3rd grade cousins, I couldn’t hover like a hawk over the pickle aisle until the truck came. So I was left to scrounge when I could.

I blew out a healthy sigh as I looked at our dwindled supply of the ACV. One more dose and the bottle was empty. “Well, Lord, I know we’ll have what we need when we need it. And if for some reason this hasn’t been the “supplement” we thought it was, then there’s no reason to find it and pack it around when we finally hit the road.”

Off to town we rolled. While I perused the allergy aisle at Walmart, Bruce disappeared down another aisle.

I glanced up as he navigated toward me, through empty product displays, with a big grin on his face. And a gallon jug of apple cider vinegar in his hand.

Apparently the jug was sitting right on the edge of the bottom shelf where he could easily see it. Believe me, on those bottom shelves, it’s easy to miss items that are shoved back in their dark cave.

Now, maybe the need for a jug of apple cider vinegar might seem rather small in comparison to a Charmin shortage or other, more concerning fears, but nevertheless, it was a very comforting reminder to us in these crazy times: When we look to Him, God is able…and willing…to supply every need we have. No matter what it is.

“But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you”—Matthew 6:33.

Book: Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God's Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled

Friday, January 31, 2020

Life Lessons from a Field of Flowers


During the spring, a wide range of wildflowers love to congregate in the family pasture. It’s my favorite time of year in Texas.

It was a bit breezy on this particular day, but I decided to venture out and snap shots of every flower I could before they bowed to the approaching summer.

As I strolled through the grass, taking my time on my little project, I felt the weight of the world start to melt away. I find that during these times, when my mind clears from distractions, I can hear the Holy Spirit’s gentle voice as He teaches me stuff.

The wildflowers provided the perfect metaphor for what He had to say this day.

Little did I know that, sparked by one phone call, I would soon start walking through the fire of several of these lessons before I even left the pasture.

Even when it feels like you're used up, with nothing left to give, it's never too late to tap into the strength that only Jesus can offer.
(Philippians 4:13)

When one season ends, there is a new, better season waiting.
(Philippians 3:13-14; 2 Corinthians 3:18)

Sometimes life is rough, but we’re never alone. There are others are going through stuff too.
(1 Peter 5:9)


There is beauty in unity. Encourage one another daily.
(Psalm 133:1; Hebrews 3:13)



When we're haggard, it's the little things that can lift us up.
(Matthew 11:28)

Are your "friends" weighing you down? Find new friends.
(1 Corinthians 15:33)


Be courageous and face the wind!
(Joshua 1:9)

You can still bloom in a manure pile.
(Romans 5:3-4; James 1:2-4)

To support another in their need is an honor indeed.
(Galatians 6:2)


And sometimes we just need to throw our arms out in praise to the God who simply adores us unconditionally.
(John 3:16) 

When we hit bare patches in life, sometimes that’s a clue to rest. Wait. Reflect.
 (Isaiah 40:31)

Why do we feel the need to compare ourselves with others? God has given each of us special gifts and unique talents. They may look the same as others’ gifts and talents, but only we can fill our unique space in this life with what we’ve been given.
(1 Corinthians 12:4-6)




Romans 1:20
For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse,

Book: Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God's Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled

Friday, February 22, 2019

"Kill 'er with Kindness"

I came across the following story in my files that I’d posted on Facebook a few years back. As I read it again, I decided to post it on my blog :) ...

It wasn’t the opportunity I expected, nor honestly wanted.

As I sipped my coffee one morning enjoying the mountain views, I prayed, “Lord, I pray for opportunities today. And help me to see them when they come.” Satisfied with my request, I picked up my Bible and read for a bit.

Later, Bruce and I peacefully moved through our morning with horse chores, breakfast, and what-not. Suddenly the sound of a truck roared across the gravel road next to us. That’s a little close, we thought. 

We watched in disbelief as a woman and her young friend blazed through our campsite, made a U-turn, and nearly took out our trailer slideout. The woman promptly drove over our electrical cord to our horse fencing and stopped … about three feet from our trailer.

We were parked on wide-open public lands. Better parking spots, complete with water hookups, dotted themselves across the prairie. “Are you kidding me?” we said in disbelief as it was clear this woman had no regard for … well, anything.

Something rose inside me and I realized I had to confront her. I prayed for grace and headed out the door. I’m not ashamed to say I was shaking a bit—I hate confrontation.

“You’re parked right in the middle of our campsite,” I said as I looked up into the icy blue eyes of a 5’ 9” woman in her 60’s. “And you’re parked over our electrical cord,” I chided.
“We wanted to park here so we would be near the bathrooms and water,” she retorted. “And don’t worry about the cord, my truck didn’t hurt anything. We’re experienced,” she added with a slight tilt of her chin. 
Experienced at what? I thought.

But I held my tongue, watching the face of her thirteen-year-old friend. I knew that look: sheer anticipation and excitement of riding a horse. I could have said and done a lot more than I did—I had the right. But I decided there was no way, no matter what, I would pursue a reprimand for her guardian’s actions and ruin the day for this little girl. However, I confronted ole Miss-Icy-Blue-Eyes just enough to allow the girl to see this kind of behavior was unacceptable.

As they saddled up, I cleaned our horses’ pen. I tried to ignore the fact that the woman’s pony tromped precariously close to our electrical cord. The little girl actually made an effort to keep him off of it, but she hadn’t been taught the correct way to handle a horse.

As I raked manure, I prayed. “Lord, help me deal with this. You know I have an issue with bullies, and I can see this is no coincidence. This woman did not need to park here, and for whatever reason, she’s targeted us.” I raked some more (albeit digging into the ground a little harder than I needed to).

“Kill ‘er with kindness,” came the answer. That’s not particularly what I wanted to hear. I also heard, ‘“Vengeance is mine,” saith the Lord’—I liked that one better. 

Our “Boys” taken care of I walked back toward our rig, glancing at the woman and girl as they prepared to mount their horses. “Have a nice ride,” I called. 
“Oh, you too! You too!” the woman said, her words tripping over themselves as they spilled out. “I hope it’s not windy like it was yesterday,” she added. 
“Yeah, I know. It was crankin’,” I replied. End of round one.

Later on when they returned, I observed further disregard: Without asking, they used the camp host’s hose that watered a fledgling tree. The horses tramped on the hose while they endured a cold water bath in the frigid wind. The hose was then left without replacing it on the tree; A manure pile graced our electrical cord next to their trailer; And a rotten apple littered the ground. It was quite obvious the range of this woman’s knowledge or give-a-hoot was just this side of nothin’.

When they left, Bruce surmised that they parked close to us to hide—they didn’t want to pay the $5.00 to use the water and figured they’d mooch off our spigot. And they never did use the bathroom.

I’d like to say as soon as they drove off, so did my issue with the whole situation.  But I still had to deal with myself and the fleshly side of me that wanted to throw down. However, the contrary thoughts I entertained would not have landed a good outcome.

There was no doubt I had done the right thing, backing off in respect for the little girl, but I needed help. I felt the old rage rekindle deep within me—a rage against the bullying spirit. And I couldn’t shake it. The Lord knew it and confirmed the word He impressed on me in the horse pen: I felt led to read a story in my email from Chicken Soup for the Soul called the “Kindness Cure.” The girl in the story was being bullied. In tears she went to her mom for help. “Kill ‘er with kindness,” her mom advised. The girl did, and the bully backed off.

“Thank You, Lord,” I laughed.

Even so, I still needed a tad more help. Granted, I could think of worse scenarios of bullying. But apparently I needed to start small, at square one, with the elementary version of “How To Handle A Bully God’s Way 101.”

I stood behind our rig gazing up at the gazillion stars like I did every night. I was reminded, yet again, how big God is and how much He cares about every detail of my life. So I humbly asked Him for help. He reminded me that to truly let it go, I had to forgive. And, after I’d “killed ‘er with kindness,” forgiveness would further get me off the hook and also allow Him to fully do what He needed in her life.  After all, she and the girl needed Him too. “Remember, you’re not fighting against flesh and blood,” He impressed. “You’re fighting against the principalities and evil forces that drive people to do ignorant stuff.” (Ephesians 6:12)

The way He instructed me to handle this encouraged me that I had permission to stand up to a bully and not flatline like a doormat. I could look a bully in the eye, but on His terms, in His way.

That night I slept like a rock. I woke up to birds singing (seriously, I did), enjoying the peace I needed. Of course Satan tried to bombard my thoughts again with the previous day’s events, but I just told him to shut up. I was diggin’ this peace and determined to hang on to it.

This opportunity was indeed not what I wanted, but it’s exactly what I needed.  Thank you, Jesus.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. Against such there is no law. And those who are Christ’s have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit—Galatians 5:22-25.

Book: Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God's Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled

Thursday, January 31, 2019

Of Cows and Chaos

“My grandson just had to walk away,” our friend, Roy, shook his head as he snapped his flip-phone shut. “If he quits me, I know we’re in trouble.” This should have been our first clue that moving these cows might not be as easy as we expected.

Our friends, Roy and Virginia, invited Bruce and I to hole up at their ranch in southern Colorado for most of the Spring and Summer. When we weren’t singing at various venues around the valley and beyond, we helped out on their ranch as well as other places in the area.

This particular day, Roy had asked us to help out by moving the lessee’s cows to a water tank located on his land. Somewhere around 30 miles away, 30+ head of these cows and calves, and a bull, were being loaded into a potbelly cattle trailer. They were to be at the corrals by 9:30am, but they had yet to show. That’s when the phone call had come in.

We patiently sat on our horses and pondered the situation. Even though that proverbial ‘red flag’ waved in the wind, we were still game to drive these cows to the tank. Besides, it was about a long-arrow-shot from the corrals. How big of a deal could it be?

We scanned the distant highway for any sign of the cattle rig. Nothing. Well, at least the weather is nice, and we had an excellent view of the surrounding Sangre de Cristo Mountains, I thought. 

Finally we heard the rattle and banging of the potbelly bumping along the washboard, dirt road. Roy’s grandson, apparently rejoining the lessee’s crew, slowly backed the semi-truck and trailer to the loading ramp. The door crashed open and hooves clattered down the ramp as the cattle trotted into the old wooden corral. Dust swirled and bovines bellowed as calves mothered-up with their mamas and matching ear tags were snapped on the calves ears.

They began to settle, and it appeared that they’d be a quiet bunch. Except maybe for a bald faced cow that watched us like a hawk. I reckoned that might be the lead cow.

Roy returned from checking the water tank and Bruce and I got in position. Roy swung the gate open.

The herd meandered out, sniffing the ground and eyeing us. They moved a little further and three of them stopped and stared at Nocona and me. I inched towards them, and they turned, walking in the direction of the tank. I reined Nocona in so not to pressure them too much. We wanted them to move along nice and slow.

Everything looked good…for about 5 seconds. Ole Miss Bald Face decided nice and slow wasn’t her style. Like a wild hair blowin’ in the March wind, she blasted off like a rocket, veering the opposite way… and taking the rest of the herd with her! There was nothin’ for it but to spur Nocona and bolt after her to try to head her off. Nocona, however, felt fresh as the morning dew and decided to let out a little steam. So, bucking and tooting, squeaking and snorting, we bounded through the sagebrush, dodging prairie dog holes and unyielding foliage.

Daylight shown through the gap between my rear and the saddle seat, and I about lost my hat. Trying for a death grip with my thighs to stay seated, I grabbed at my hat with one hand while my other hand white-knuckled the reins. By some miracle, we caught up with Baldy and turned her towards Bruce, who held the line on the other side of the herd.

The lead cows finally slowed when they got to a wide, shallow water hole with good, plentiful marsh grass. They dropped their heads in the shallow lake to drink and graze. Perfect. The water tank peeked through the greasewood, and we could smell victory. I swung Nocona around and headed back to check for stragglers.

The rest of the group moved in a tight bunch, so I slowly moved to the front of the herd. Suddenly Baldy threw her head up and charged across the lake like her tail was on fire. Bruce and I watched in dismay as the rest of the herd followed suit. There was no way to catch them over that terrain, and we had to let them go. 

What the heck just happened?

And then we saw Bailey, the ranch dog, happily bounding above the sagebrush in hot pursuit of a jack rabbit, ears flopping in perfect time with every bounce. She sailed away into the deeper brush, oblivious of the chaos she just caused. And, I ain’t gonna lie. Our thoughts were none too friendly towards that dog, right then!

Bruce called Roy to give him the unpleasant news. We saw the cows in the distance, settling around a huge rock pile. Suddenly they spooked again and plowed through the rabbitbrush. We had no idea where the end of the pasture was and for all we knew they could keep running for decades.

“You can go after them, if you want,” Roy said. “If not, we’ll try for them later.”

We scanned the horizon. There was just no “give up” in us. These cows needed to know where that tank was—when the weather warmed, the natural water holes and canals dried up pretty quick. Finally we spotted them. They had splashed across the wide canal, taking a breather next to a cross fence.

As we swung our horses towards the canal, a tiny brown calf appeared through the sage. The abandoned calf stared at us, unsure of what to do. We moved in behind him and gently drove him within earshot of the cows.

Reaching the canal, we noticed another abandoned calf. Huh. Funny what fear will do—the helpless get left in its wake. The two calves joined each other and decided to take refuge on the soft bank. The black calf plopped down amongst the brush while the brown calf decided to explore the edge of the canal for a way to cross the water.

About that time, low, throaty murmurs from a large black cow drifted across the pasture—a mama calling her calf. We assumed that she was looking for the black calf—solid black cow goes with solid black calf. Right? Not. She was aiming for the brown calf. Her scrappy little fella took the plunge in the water and waded the width of the canal to join her.

The black bull-calf rested in the brush, his sides heaving with exhaustion. Odd. Smaller calves than him made the trek, so why was he struggling? We climbed the embankment, out of his vision, so we wouldn’t further stress him. As we waited, we prayed.

While contemplating the calf, we faced another challenge. How do the two of us maneuver those flighty cows back through the canal, over the path between the waterways and into the pasture that lead to the tank?

OK, Lord, need some wisdom here.

As we pondered what to do, we watched in amazement as the herd began lining out along the fence and splashing back through the canal…like unseen riders drove them. They fanned out in the wide, grassy depression and continued moving in the direction we needed them to go.

Sweet. Now…what to do with the calf. Do we leave him? Stick with him? Call Roy to bring the ranch truck to pick him up? More prayers. In the meantime, “nature called” and Bruce and I took turns behind the rock pile.

Bruce cautiously walked to where the little guy lay. The calf jumped to its feet and limped across the embankment. We saw the cause of his troubles: He walked on the tip of his toe. He could’ve gotten hurt in the cattle truck or in the pen. But most likely, he got hurt when the cows stampeded to the back of the pasture. Who knows? At any rate, Bruce and I mounted our horses and slowly, gently moved him along the trail, not wanting to leave him for any lurking predators.

After about 100 feet, he found a sparse area between some scrub brush and plopped down again, tuckered out. We glanced at the cows. To our astonishment, the whole herd was moving steadily in our direction like an unseen force, again, drove them. Cowboy angels? I have no doubt!

As they moseyed past the calf, its mama finally showed and claimed him. They were officially mothered-up. If nothing else had worked out that day that was the most important!

Before the cows could get any ideas about crossing the canal again, Bruce and I moved around them and slowly turned them back towards the way they had come. As I drove them along the canal bank, Bruce swung down into the sloppy ground to keep them from turning from the direction of the water tank.

I prayed and held my breath as we reached a cross-fence: The cows needed to turn left across a small dirt bridge. I blew a sigh of relief as they drifted left.

They continued drifting into a low depression on the other side of the bridge and spread out across the pools of squishy grass. We tensed as we moved over the marsh. We were all too familiar with dangerous bogs, having dealt with these tendon-blowers in the past. Thankfully we splashed and sloshed through the shallow water without a problem.

We worked to keep the herd in a semi-tight bunch as we all emerged onto drier, brushier ground. We were home free! Almost. Unfortunately the bull decided he didn’t like his herd going the direction we wanted. For every foot we moved those cows, he’d push them back. This belligerent bovine charged back and forth in front of them, blowing, stomping, and pushing them with his nose to turn them around. We’d never seen anything like this.

Brush crashed and split to our right. We whipped around in time to see Bailey, once again, leaping over rabbit brush chasing cottontails. (Insert eye-roll here). However, we cooled our hot-heels in the realization that, though painfully slow, we were miraculously moving the herd, (albeit inch by inch), closer to the tank.

Finally we reached the edge of the pasture where we had started … about four hours before. We realized the bull wasn’t giving up, refusing to let his herd move any further; The cows weren’t complaining as they contentedly munched on marsh grass; And the calves decidedly flumped onto the soft sand, signaling the end of this whole broo-hah-hah. It was time to let ‘em be.

Well, except for the two cow/calf pairs near to us that were still wandering around. We drove them across a small water-filled ditch and onto the hard dirt next to that water tank. (Maybe they’d get the word out to their friends?) At any rate, we knew we’d driven the herd near enough to the tank for them to scout it out for themselves.

We swung our all-too-willing horses towards the ranch and happily trotted home.

P.S.: For those wondering what happened to our little friend—the black calf, we checked on him later that day and he was back running with his buddies amongst the sage. :)

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go”—Joshua 1:9.

Book: Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God's Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled