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.
Water?
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)

www.ponyexpressministry.com

Book: Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God's Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled—https://www.amazon.com/Walk-Like-Warrior-Inspirational-Encouragement/dp/1512774812

 

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.

www.ponyexpressministry.com

Book: Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God's Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled—https://www.amazon.com/Walk-Like-Warrior-Inspirational-Encouragement/dp/1512774812

Hope

www.ponyexpressministry.com

Book: Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God's Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled—https://www.amazon.com/Walk-Like-Warrior-Inspirational-Encouragement/dp/1512774812

In Memory Of ...

It’s been kinda rough around here. My father-in-law passed away last week. We, like so many others, are wading through the waves of grief, yet holding on to the treasured memories of a man who left his mark on “this side of the fence.”

So, in honor of him, Henry Joe Repka, I decided to repost this story—the first story I posted on this blog. Henry loved his family, loved his life as a lifelong, accomplished musician, and, boy, did he love his dogs!

I invite you to ride along with us as we remember a very special man…
                                
                                       Chico and the Man



 "The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears, and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all"—Psalm 34:17-19.

My father-in-law, Henry, loves dogs. Years ago his original "dog plan" was to breed Rat Terriers as a business adventure (yes, adventure). However, as the puppies were born, he became so attached to them he couldn't bear to sell them. His brood grew to a lively bunch of seven. I have fond memories of watching him walk his dogs next to the cow pasture. With Henry leading the way, his little entourage followed him like the Pied Piper. Or, when he drove his "Mule" to the back end of the property, one of his bunch would proudly sit in the passenger seat—mouth open, tongue hanging, and ears blowing back in the breeze.
 
Henry also has a huge heart for homeless or unwanted dogs no matter what size or breed. As each one of the little Rat Terriers eventually moved on to the "Happy Hunting Ground of Heaven," a stray or unwanted dog would, without fail, show up "on the door step."   
 
He discovered Smokey, abandoned and wandering, around a gas station pump. She stole Henry's heart and became his constant companion for many years.
 
When the inevitable time came and she passed peacefully to join her former companions, my father-in-law was heartbroken. It is never easy to lose a loved one, be it human or animal, no matter what the age or reason.
 
It was a lonely drive as he traveled to the family farm for his monthly visit. He tried to steel himself as he passed every rest and potty stop that he and Smokey would frequent during that long trip. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "I can't deal with this," he cried. "Lord, You're going to have to help me." He drove on to the farm, parked his car, and wearily began to unload his things. 
 
Suddenly something caught his attention—a tiny figure next to the farmhouse door. He moved in for a closer inspection and discovered a lively little Chihuahua investigating the porch.
 
Daily inquiries were made until it was apparent that this little guy was homeless … dumped on the County Road to fend for himself. At this realization, Henry immediately made him part of the family and named him Chico.
 
Chico has proven to be a family project. Scared and defensive, no one could get close without him yelping. One day my mother-in-law, Betty, was lying on the couch and her hand slipped to the ground … right next to Chico. A "Grrrrrrrr!" immediately resounded from somewhere under the coffee table—her hand pushing the boundaries of his comfort zone.
 
However, as Henry and Betty persevered in their patient care of this little dog, Chico began to progress from whimpering at them to whimpering for them when they were out of his sight. The latest feat was actually picking him up, which,had not been a tolerable move until now. With heavy BBQ gloves to protect against defensive teeth, they crossed this last hurdle. But they needn't have bothered with the gloves. Chico lay perfectly peaceful in their "armory" … no animosity, whatsoever, expressed. He has now become Henry's faithful companion, following him everywhere and sleeping next to him in a little blanketed, cardboard box next to the bed.
 
The Lord displayed his grace by bringing these lives together: one with a broken heart, the other abused and homeless. He knows that in this life we will go through trials and heartaches. But He promises, through Jesus, to deliver us out of them all in victory and with strength. His love is so great that it will reach out in answer to a simple prayer—even bringing an abandoned little dog to a man's door step to help ease the pain of a loss. (1 John 4:14-16; Lamentations 3:21-23)  

www.ponyexpressministry.com

Shara's book: Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational true stories of God's encouragement on the trail less-traveled: https://www.amazon.com/Walk-Like-Warrior-Inspirational-Encouragement/dp/1512774812/

Wild Horses and Storms

"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble”—Psalm 46:1.

 
Wild horses! Just the thought of spotting them sent me trotting to the barn. It took me no time at all to saddle my horse, Nocona. To be quite honest, I really didn't think I'd see anything, as these horses run on about 64 million acres of Nevada Bureau of Land Management land. What are the odds of me finding them? But, hey, it was worth a shot.
 
I glanced at the sky with its gathering clouds, but figured I'd have plenty of time to quench my thirst for exploration that day. However, I tied my slicker on the back of my saddle, just in case—you never know in the backcountry.
 
Off I rode toward adventures unknown. The wind was up and so was my spirit. I felt like the proverbial kid-in-a-candy-store—so many possibilities. Topping the last hill, I caught my breath in sheer delight as I gazed at the entire high desert valley stretched out before me to the far mountains—not a soul out there but me and my horse as far as our eyes could see. I breathed deeply as the sweet smell of sage saturated the breeze.
 
We descended into the valley, absorbed in the vast beauty. Suddenly I sensed something looking at us. Slowly scanning the terrain, I saw them. A band of six jet-black wild horses calmly watched us from their hill. I could hardly contain my excitement.
 
Captivated, I spotted the stallion (a black stallion, no less) standing on the point. The breeze caught his mane and tail; they flowed softly behind him. I cried—I really did. Never in my life did I ever think I would witness this sight for real, not just in some movie. But then again, the Lord is ever so willing to give us more than we could ever ask or think and to give us the pure desires of our heart ... very cool! (Psalm 37:4) 

I could have stayed there all day with the Black Band, but the trail-less-traveled was beckoning, urging me to continue exploring this vast, wonderful land. I swung Nocona around and headed down the valley.
 
Riding the backcountry, one has to keep an eye on the trail—and another on the weather which, in this case, was becoming more unstable every minute. As I glanced toward Fred's Mountain, I noticed black clouds quickly gathering. Reluctantly, I decided to abandon my original trail ideas and head back to camp.
 
It was a good decision. With every step, the black cloud buildup was getting worse—that was on my right. To my left, huge white thunderheads formed and headed my way. If Nocona and I didn't hightail it out of there, we would be caught between both storms.
I had another decision to make: 1) take the shorter route toward the worst part of the storm and risk getting hit? Or, 2) take the longest route and hope I made it through? It wouldn't have been so bad except the boom of thunder foretold of lightning inching closer. We were up in an open valley and a prime target.
 
Did I start praying? You bet I did! "Jesus, keep us safe," I prayed, as I kept an eye on the black mass making its way over our heads.
I glanced at the sky again. Right between the mass of white thunderheads and the mass of blackness was a perfect trail of blue. Surprisingly, it pointed toward the longer route. I made my decision, threw on my slicker, and urged Nocona into a long trot, following that trail in the sky.
 
As serious as this situation was, I had to laugh. Looking up toward the "wild horse ridge," I spotted the herd watching us as Nocona and I hightailed it up their valley. What was going through their minds?

Trotting and loping, dodging sagebrush and cactus, we sailed off the ridge and raced across the valley floor. My slicker snapped in the air behind me as the wind grabbed it. My hat strained against its stampede string as it threatened to fly off my head, and I threw my hand up, pushing it down to my ears. My other hand grasped the bridle reins with a white-knuckled grip.
 
Urgent prayers went up again as we headed into open country, and I watched the lightning streaks flash to the ground. Suddenly I witnessed a miracle. The wind blasted toward us, but the black clouds moved away from us! As I prayed, the Lord spoke to my spirit, "I am bigger than the storm." Awed and encouraged, I swung Nocona toward our rig parked in the middle of the valley.
 
As we galloped toward camp, I glanced at Fred's Mountain—another set of storm clouds tried to make their way over the summit. I realized in amazement that some unseen force restrained them—another miracle.
 
At last we slid safely into camp and underneath the barn overhang. Only then were the clouds released. The downpour on the tin roof was deafening, but we were safe. And I thanked God for His goodness. 
(Psalm 91:14-15; Hebrews 1:7)

www.ponyexpressministry.com

Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God's Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled is available in paperback and eBook: https://www.amazon.com/Walk-Like-Warrior-Inspirational-Encouragement/dp/1512774812

Opportunities

 While scouting for a much needed truck, my husband Bruce and I have been privileged to hang around our home base and help family. One of these awesome opportunities came in the form of babysitting our little cousins over the summer as well as spot appearances in the fall and winter. It was a tad challenging from time to time as these kids live in a pretty tore up family life, so there were attitude adjustments here and there and yes, a lot of prayer. But, all in all, we had a blast together and developed a solid bond.

As I babysat these kids (six-year-old twins (boy and girl) and a nine-year-old autistic boy), I prayed for opportunities to introduce them to Jesus. We all need Him. But these guys needed a little extra dose. My heart was to show them how kind and mighty He is. That He is approachable, and He would help them if they were in trouble.

A variety of opportunities presented themselves throughout our time together—some profound, others more subtle, but every one important. Sometimes I got distracted and missed it, but those times just made me more determined to be quicker when the next opportunity came. With fervent prayers for wisdom, the Lord helped me field Creation, heaven and death questions; He helped me build on their grandparents’ foundation of praying over meals; And on one particular morning, He prompted me to take action and step out in faith.

That morning I walked in my aunt’s door for “work” and into a challenge. One of the twins was sick and “it” was coming out both ends. When things calmed down a bit, my aunt settled him on the couch with a trash can next to his head. She left for work, and I prayed for wisdom.

I watched his curled up form and couldn’t bear observing his misery. I knew right then that I needed to pray for him. I looked around at his twin sister, concern shadowing her face.

“You know what?” I told her. “We’re going to pray for Dax so he feels better.”
Her eyes grew wide.
“Come on,” I coaxed as I reached out my hand to her. “We can pray together.”
She crept forward with a skeptical expression, but she was game.
I held her hand and placed my other hand on Dax’s head. “Jesus, please make Dax feel better. Thank You, Jesus, for healing Dax. In Jesus Name, Amen.”

Dax relaxed, and Mila and I dug out the crayons and busied ourselves with masterpieces.

Dax used the trash can a couple more times, and then, in typical shy-Dax style, an arm emerged above the couch, fanning back and forth. I grinned: Dax’s unique “feel better” flag. Within the hour, he was up playing with his dinosaurs and Transformers.

Now, we were in full play mode…all of us. I cleared off the chest (a.k.a. the coffee table) to make room for horse corrals and a road for the truck and trailer. Tiny Transformer toys that scattered the chest top got tossed in my wellies (rubber rain boots) to keep them off the floor.

Mila and I corralled horses as Dax performed fly-bys with his Transformer fighter jets. Suddenly, a swift movement out the window caught my attention—a flash of flea-bitten gray. Oh, man! Somehow the ranch horse escaped from his pen and was having a high-time of it running around the yard!

Knowing the gate was open at the top of the driveway, I flew into action…and, yes, prayed again. I grabbed my wellies and stared into their uppers…brimming with Transformers. I promptly dumped them on the floor, jammed the boots on my feet, and slung on my coat and hat as I headed for the door.

As I hit the top of the landing, I saw the gray horse with his head buried in a feed bucket on the tie rail. Not knowing this horse, I quietly moved down the steps. He moved off toward a patch of grass. I had an idea. It was a ways up the lane to the open gate, and the horse seemed to have no interest in running off. I grabbed the bucket and slapped the side of it as I headed into the horse pen. Thankfully, the horse took an interest, and I safely lured him inside and secured the gate.

As I turned toward the house, I noticed I’d picked up two tails—both twins had bolted out the door, hot on my heels. I grinned as I observed Dax and gave a hearty “Thank You, Jesus.” I watched him run around like a penned up pooch that had won his freedom. He scooted across the yard with his hands shoved in his sweatshirt pockets, dancing from side to side.Then he took off to the ant pile to see if he could find any dead ants (frozen by the frigid temperatures).

He showed no signs of slowing down. Part of me wanted to stop him for fear, since he had just been sick, that he would relapse. And then the thought came, “Whoever Jesus heals, is healed…period.” So, I kicked that fear out of my mind and let him rip.

I’m thankful for the God-given courage to step out and take advantage of opportunities that not only put feet to my faith, but also showed these kids by example, the love of Jesus. 

We will not hide them from their children, telling to the generation to come the praises of the Lord, and His strength and His wonderful works that He has done—Psalm 78:4.

 

www.ponyexpressministry.com

https://www.amazon.com/Walk-Like-Warrior-Inspirational-Encouragement/dp/1512774812/

Trust for the Trail

I focused on the path in front of us and kept my seat centered as my horse Nocona and I rode along the narrow trail. The steep mountainside rose above us, and Nocona’s hooves ambled inches from the plummeting precipice falling away. As his hoof sunk into a soft part of the trail, the distinctive click of a loosed pebble made my heart skip a beat as the stone bounced off the side, sailing off into space.

Trust. I was grateful for the many hours spent hanging out with my horse. That bond of trust and love developed over time, throughout the years. We ride trails like these only because of that friendship and bond. I know his character and he knows mine.

Building the Relationship

It started out small. When Nocona was a colt, our first encounter involved putting a halter and lead rope on him—he’d never seen either. This was a must as I needed to load him in the trailer to take him to the ranch. On a hot, humid Texas morning, I watched him as he stared wide-eyed at me. Sweat trickled down my face as I spoke softly to him. His ears flicked, and he slowly dropped his head and relaxed. Our relationship began.

Trust is synonymous with relationship. You can’t truly trust someone you don’t know. I had spent years as a Christian, but not fully trusting the One I claimed allegiance to. When adverse circumstances ambushed me, I realized the hard way that my relationship with Jesus was sorely in need of maintenance. I found myself floundering, my foot searching for the solidness of the Rock. (Matthew 7:24-25)

In desperation, I looked for Him. He was already watching me. In that ever-so-loving still, small voice, His Holy Spirit prompted me to start at square two (I was  already firmly planted on square one, having accepted Jesus as my Savior). He gently guided me to read Jesus’ words, written in red. As I studied every word, an amazing picture formed—God’s strong, open arms in unconditional love. As I read about His kind, solid character, I relaxed. And a real relationship began. I found a personal God who loves us all dearly and wants to take us to heights we have never known—heights that may make our heart pound, but have beautiful, breathtaking views.

A Love That Longs for Trust

In the beginning Nocona was a feisty one, but I never gave up. I slipped my hand around his neck and slid the halter over his nose, around his ears, and buckled it. It was a foreign concept to him, and he bolted. I stayed with him, letting him test the lead rope, all the while continuing to speak softly to him, reassuring him that all was well and I would not hurt him. We continued building on our relationship from that solid foundation. (Proverbs 3:5)

I suppose some schools of thought would have suggested I lasso him and then “show him who’s boss.” But what good would that have done? I would have created a relationship where he only obeyed me because he had to, or worse yet, feared me. It would have been a life of slavery for him and a chore for me.

Many times the Holy Spirit revealed His wisdom, but because it was foreign to me, I bolted. But He stuck with me, eventually earning my trust and moving me further toward my destiny in Him. (Psalm 73:28—But it is good for me to draw near to God; I have put my trust in the Lord God that I may declare all Your works.)

The Acid Test

Life can be a trail of unknowns. The acid test of our trust is what we do when confronted with one of life’s unforeseen surprises. Fear of the unknown (the “what ifs”) can easily keep us from fully enjoying life. Courage is required to take the leap of faith, believing God’s Word is truth.

While riding the trail, scary things tend to “jump out” of the bushes:  A rattlesnake angrily buzzed his tail, warning us that we were in his self-proclaimed territory; A mountain lion dashed across the road ahead, chasing a herd of deer. Nocona stood his ground and just flicked an ear, all the while listening for my instruction.

In this fast-paced, don’t-have-time-to-breathe society, listening has become an antiquity. But it’s a must to develop that solid trust. In life, circumstances will shoot out of nowhere, putting us in a position of decision. Do we run? faint in fear? or stand our ground on that solid relationship we meticulously built in the peaceful times? We might “flick an ear” at the scary thing, but immediately flick it back toward the One with the instruction on what we need to do with that thing. (Proverbs 1:33—“But whoever listens to Me will live in safety and be at ease, without fear of harm.”)

Trust That Continues to Strengthen

As with any relationship, there is constant adjustment and tuning-up. Though it is built on a solid foundation, maintenance will always be an ongoing process. Even the apostle Paul was in constant growth and learning: Philippians 3:12—“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.”

Just like Paul, I haven’t “arrived” yet. I’ve learned my relationship with the Lord requires forward motion. There are always new things to learn about myself and Him, along with old things maybe I’ve forgotten and need to remember again. I’ve come to realize that a trust-building relationship is a step-by-step, day-by-day process. But it’s an exciting one. It’s a process full of adventure, offering hope as I discover the depth of God’s character and His love. (Jeremiah 29:11-13)

I Did It MY way...BAD Idea!

“If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him”—James 1: 5.

The Lord speaks to us in many ways: the Bible (His Word), dreams, visions, a “still small voice,” and on the rare occasion, audibly—just to name a few. He also “speaks” through everyday circumstances. He taught me a thing or two through this latter type of communication.

My husband Bruce and I rode with our friend, Bo, for one of the ranches in northern Nevada. Our job was to help drive six bulls across the pastures, through a gate, and “kick” them up a canyon. We gathered the bulls and drove them along the fence line. “Can you get the gate?” Bo called over the sagebrush. “Sure,” I called back, trotting my horse to the gate. Dismounting, I tried to unlatch it.

Two wire loops, attached to the main fence, were wrapped around the end post of the gate—one over the top, one around the bottom. Simple, right? I thought so. Besides, we have this kind of gate all over Texas. Trying to pop off the top loop first, I grabbed a hold of the post and pushed ... nothing. I pushed as hard as I could ... still nothing. Then I commenced to pulling that post ... nothing! Frustrated and scolding myself for getting soft in the muscle, I’m not sorry to say, I also called for angelic help.

The urgency? Six HUGE bulls were trotting up the trail toward me, and that gate wasn’t budging. As the minutes ticked by, Bo figured there was something wrong and sent Bruce to help me. Bruce stepped off his horse, grabbed a hold of a metal lever (that I didn’t see), and cleanly and simply popped it up—releasing the loop around the top of the post. Gate open, the bulls charged through, and we chased them into the canyon.

I had to chuckle at myself. Apparently, this handy metal lever is called a “Lady’s Aid”—this advantageous invention was lost on me! As we rode back to the ranch, the Lord spoke to me in that still, small voice of His, revealing a couple of lessons to be learned:

Lesson One: sometimes, when told to do something, we jump in and tackle the project the way we’ve always done it or how we think it should be done. After all, from a glance, we assume the situation resembles what we’ve dealt with in the past, and we use the same old strategy that worked before. The problem is, we assumed.

We try to accomplish the task in our own strength and knowledge. The Lord tries to tell us He has provided a better, easier way. But we’re so focused on our opinion, we ignore Him and end up making it harder on ourselves. (Matthew 11:28-30: “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”)  He told me, “You cannot do what I’ve called you to do in your own strength. You may succeed a little (I did get the wire loop pushed up near the top of the post), but you’ll never get the job fully done.”

Lesson Two: unity. I couldn’t figure out that gate, but Bruce could because he had the knowledge. We need to let others help us—there are no Lone Rangers in the Kingdom of God. We are all called to uplift, encourage, and exhort one another, helping in each other’s destinies.
(1 Corinthians 12:1-11)
 
Thank you, Lord, for caring enough to speak our language when we need a little “tunin’ up!”


                

Behind the Scenes

“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts”— Isaiah 55: 9. 

Twelve hours and counting, we drove on into the night. You’d think it would be somewhat easy finding a rodeo grounds in the West to hole up for the night with a horse ... not.

We were headed for the northernmost parts of Nevada to work and minister with the buckaroos (cowboys) on their remote ranches. Our original plan was to stop for the night somewhere in Utah, but we couldn’t find a place on our route. So, on we trekked into the evening searching the Internet and road signs for a rodeo grounds in Nevada.

Finally, our Internet search paid off. Struggling to keep our weary eyes open, we headed for the rodeo grounds in the small gambling town of West Wendover. As we drove around the fence, we prayed that the gate would be unlocked. Rounding the corner, the gate was wide open. “Thank You, Jesus,” we breathed in unison, and squeezed our big rig through the small entrance. We shut down our truck, turned our horse, Nocona, out into a cow pen, and settled in— for about 10 minutes.

I glanced out the window and spotted two sets of rig lights inching down the fence line and turning onto the grounds. Oh, please don’t park right next to us. Dog-tired, we just wanted some peace and quiet.

Bruce and I looked on as they pulled in— right next to us. The man stepped out of his truck and headed for our door. As I cracked it open and peeked through, my mouth dropped. It was our friends from New York who had recently moved to California! What were they doing in Nevada? Their entire family, horses, dogs, and the whole shebang were packed into two vehicles and two horse trailers.

“Jason? No way!” we exclaimed, throwing the door open. “What are y’all doing here?”

Jason grinned as we exchanged bear hugs and handshakes. His wife and their four kids piled out of the vehicles and ran to our rig. Through happy tears, our friends described the exhausting events of their evening.

They were moving back to New York to settle some things. Their day had not been a good one. Planning to stay in Utah as well, they called ahead to a horse motel, but it was booked up. They, too, prayed for a rodeo grounds to spend the night. Tired and hungry, they also figured they’d have to spend the night in their vehicles just to keep an eye on their horses.

As they crept around the fence line, the kids had spotted our rig. “That’s Bruce and Shara!”, “That’s Bruce and Shara!”
“Kids, no, it can’t be.”
“YES, it IS! IT’S THEM!” they insisted.
Sure enough, as they drove closer, they recognized our Paint horse, Nocona, and realized it was indeed us.

As we helped our friends unload their herd, we assured them we would be that “watchful eye” so they could get some food and a good night’s sleep in town.

God is so good! Greatly encouraged, we all continued our treks the next day knowing that the Lord is always working on our behalf, even when we can’t see what’s going on “behind the scenes.”  

 (Proverbs 16:9--A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.)

www.ponyexpressministry.com

Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God's Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled:  https://www.amazon.com/Walk-Like-Warrior-Inspirational-Encouragement-ebook/dp/B071SFQP2T
 







 

Power of the Sword

 

"For the word of God is living and powerful, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart”—Hebrews 4:12.  

My insides lurched as I clenched the receiver, trying to wrap my mind around my brother's words on the other end of the line.

"Dad's pretty ill, Shara," my brother said. "He's been diagnosed with a debilitating disease that affects the muscles in his eyes and throat. The condition could be life-threatening. The doctors gave him some medication they hope will work, but his speech is already severely impaired." He paused. "It doesn't look good."

I called my parents’ house and talked to my Mom. While on the phone, my dad suddenly motioned to her to call 9-1-1. That was only the beginning.

The year was 2006 and everything we considered normal life abruptly came to a stand-still. Leaving Bruce to "hold down the fort" in Texas—tending to our horses and music ministry—I flew to California. In one phone call, I had suddenly become the foreman, secretary, and bookkeeper in my dad's construction business, as well as a caregiver when he was at home.

My plan to stay a week and a half turned into two months. My dad would get treated at the hospital, then be released. All would seem to be going well and then a few days later, I'd either be calling the ambulance or rushing him to the hospital myself. I finally quit booking flights home because I kept having to cancel them.

I needed help beyond the physical. I needed God Himself to show up in a big way.

Sitting in the emergency room once again, I stared motionless at the scene around me: Doctors and nurses hurried from one section to another; A gunshot victim groaned through the partition on one side; And there was some sort of unidentifiable commotion on the other. I looked over at my 75-year-old dad—a very resilient man—whom I had only seen really ill probably once in my entire life. It was nearly unbearable to see him in a hospital bed with a bunch of tubes hooked to him. I choked back the tears and tried to stay strong. What was going to happen? The tightening sensation of fear threatened to suffocate me. I felt so alone, so vulnerable. All the Bible verses and sermons I had heard went straight out the window—I remembered none of them. At that moment, all I could say was "Jesus, help me."

A "still, small voice" stirred within me, "Didn't you bring your Bible?" I reached for my bag and yes, there it was. Blinded by the fear that gripped me, I never saw the tabs and bookmarks that revealed my favorite verses. I just opened my Bible and numbly, randomly started flipping. On my second "flip" it opened, miraculously, to 1 Corinthians 2:5: "that your faith should not rest on the wisdom of men, but on the power of God." Encouraged, I flipped one more time and again, miraculously, the pages fell open to 2 Corinthians 5:7: "for we walk by faith, not by sight." The Lord knew I would need these two verses that night and throughout the entire two months. I grabbed a hold of them with a white-knuckled grip.

His Presence in the emergency room jarred me loose from the paralyzing grasp of fear. His encouragement caused me to reach for Him through His Word, giving me hope even through distressing doctors’ reports and procedures; the stress of running a construction company; and other unthinkable situations that tested me during that time.

God's Word saved me and in turn, saved my dad.
 
It happened one night as I was sitting with him in his hospital room. Suddenly, for no reason, his blood pressure shot up into the danger zone. The Lord’s urgency spurred my heart as He told me to start reading His Word—out loud! I grabbed my Bible.

By this time, my dad's face was beet-red. I looked at his face, looked up at his patient monitor, looked down at my Bible, and started reading. As I read, a nurse came in with a shot. Lord, no! Please, no more medications for my dad! Now, I have no medical training whatsoever, but I sensed in my spirit that shot was the wrong thing to do. I was close to panicking as the nurse stood there with the needle poised. All I could do was sit there, read, and pray. Curiously, though, the nurse wasn't moving. She quietly watched the monitor, and I kept reading the Word. As suddenly as his blood pressure rose, it dropped. I stared in amazement as my dad recovered and he was safe. The nurse, visibly relieved, said, "Good, I really didn't want to give him this," and walked out of the room.

Later in the evening, I found her at the nurses’ station and asked her what had happened. She confirmed there was no explanation as to why my dad's blood pressure sky-rocketed. And then added thoughtfully, "I heard you reading the Bible when I walked in."
"Yeah, I just felt I needed to," I replied.
"Well, I’m quite sure that is why your dad's blood pressure came down."

She then shared something with me I will never forget. "In all the years I have worked at this hospital," she said, "I have seen powerful things happen when the Word of God is read to patients. In fact, I have seen a marked difference between the patients who have the Word read to them and the ones who don't."

Wow. The Word of God, as it proclaims, is life.

From then on, I read to my dad every day without fail. I knew for a fact now that God's Word spoken out loud was a powerful force. Sometimes he was awake, sometimes he was asleep. But I continued to read, if only in a whisper, putting his name in all the personal spots of the verses: "John Bueler, Sr. will live and not die"—Psalm 118:17; "No weapon formed against John Bueler, Sr. will prosper"—Isaiah 54:17, etc. (Hebrews 4:12-16; Psalm 119:50; Isaiah 55:11)

Today, my dad is recovering very well. In fact, his doctor says, "He's a miracle." She called the Mayo Clinic and other medical facilities that have dealt with this disease, and my dad is the first person they have ever heard of who has recovered this quickly ... if at all.

Praise God! "Don't rest on the wisdom of men, but the power of God,” and "walk by faith (in Him), not by sight"!
(Isaiah 53:5; Romans 15:13; Ephesians 6:10-18)

This year (2017) my dad turned 86. Not to say he hasn’t had any more challenges in various things (don’t we all?—life’s a journey). But the one thing that never fails in facing these challenges is the Word of God; The action that wields that Sword is believing the promises He gave. Through a most recent challenge, we all were in fervent prayer … and in the Word, running to our only source of Life. And God spoke: “Do not be afraid of sudden fear”; “Now thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place; “You will not be ashamed” … and we weren’t.

www.ponyexpressministry.com

Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God's Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled: https://www.amazon.com/Walk-Like-Warrior-Inspirational-Encouragement/dp/1512774812

Angels Drive Freightliners

One of the cool things about traveling around the country is the people we’re privileged to meet and the testimonies they share with us. Following is an amazing true story from a friend we met in the West. She was rather shy in relating this story as she didn’t want to be labeled a kook. But I appreciated the encouragement I received from hearing it. I am a total believer in all the ways God can show up in our lives. There are no limitations with Him, and He will find us wherever we are, by whatever means He deems necessary. I’m renaming our friend to honor the fact that she is a private person. Other than that, the facts remain intact.

Before the life-changing inventions of cell phones and call boxes, traveling America’s roads was not just full of simple adventure, but a bit more like walking on the wild side. Pulling onto the highway meant facing potential dangers with few lifelines …
 
It was a far piece from the tiny, one-horse town of Rodeo, New Mexico to the big city of Denver, Colorado. Erin eyed her truck which was anything but reliable. But, it was all she had and her only choice to shuttle her to a new job and a new life.

Loading up a small suitcase, a plant, and her cat, she pulled out of the driveway for the last time and started the journey toward Denver. Gusts of snow flurried and stuck to the roadway as she gripped the wheel and leaned forward. The truck struggled and groaned, and she prayed. Somehow it chugged all the way to Glorieta Pass, northeast of Albuquerque. She caught her breath as the old pickup finally stalled and gave out.

The snow stopped falling, and Erin stared out the window at the clear, starry, empty night. No houses were visible in the inky blackness. She was totally alone. And it was cold. Really cold. So cold, in fact, that her plant froze, and she couldn’t feel her feet. She envied the cat with its thick, fluffy fur.

She grabbed her CB radio to call for help, but discovered, along with the heater, the it had died too. 

"What am I going to do?" she sobbed. "I’ll freeze to death out here!"

Suddenly a voice called through the CB, "We're on the way!"

Erin snatched up the CB microphone and tried to answer, but the CB was still dead.

Am I dreaming? she thought, staring at the radio and shaking her head.

Vehicle lights, reflecting in her rearview mirror, caught her attention. Two huge semi-trucks rumbled up. One of the big rigs parked behind her, the other swung around and parked in front. Both drivers jumped out and strolled to her window. Tentatively she cracked it open and peered up at the two truckers. 

“Are you OK?” asked the first man, the lines in his dark features deepening in concern.
“We heard your cries for help over the CB,” said the other man, his blue eyes piercing into hers.
Hmmm, the CB? she thought, but just replied, “My truck won’t start.”
The second man, who introduced himself as Lawdy Boy, strode to the front of the pickup and busied himself under the hood. Strangely enough, she trusted these men. She opened the door.
The first man, who called himself “Midnight Cowboy,” crouched and reached for her feet, rubbing the circulation back into them.

“All set,” came Lawdy Boy's voice from underneath the hood. “Fire it up!” Erin turned the key and the truck roared to life. Unfortunately, though, the head and taillights didn’t work.

“We’re on our way to Denver, same as you,” said Lawdy Boy. “I’ll lead out, and Midnight Cowboy will tail you since you have no lights.”

Funny, I don’t recall saying anything about Denver, Erin mused. Oh well. Relief flooded over her. She relaxed, knowing that if her truck died again, she’d have help. The two men hopped in their trucks, and the little convoy rolled down the road toward Denver. 

Bright lights from a truck stop gleamed on the horizon, and they pulled in. As she sipped her steaming coffee, she noticed her newfound friends never ordered anything, not even coffee.

They continued their journey; the trio stopping periodically at weigh stations. They figured out a routine: Erin drove around the stations, waited for her friends to pass through the scales, and met them on the other side. Before they hit the highway again, one of the men kindly rubbed the circulation back into her feet. She appreciated that neither of the men ever made a pass toward her—they simply helped her.

Sunlight peeked over the distant mountains as they pulled into the last weigh station. When they met on the other side, they hugged and said their goodbyes. “It’s morning so you should be able to make it safely to where you’re going,” said Midnight Cowboy. Erin thanked her new friends again, and they all pulled out onto the highway.

She traveled through the morning light, pondering the events of the previous night. She wondered at the fact that her friends’ rigs had no company names or writing on them anywhere. 
Lawdy Boy’s rig rolled ahead of her. But something wasn’t right. Her vision seemed to blur. She quickly glanced to the side of the road to double-check her eyesight. Shifting her gaze back to her friend’s semi, she gaped wide-eyed as it faded like a mirage and disappeared.  The open road and the bright Denver lights shown directly in front of her. I’m going crazy, she thought. She jerked her head up, peering into the rearview mirror. Midnight Cowboy's truck was still behind her. And then, just like Lawdy Boy’s, Midnight Cowboy's semi faded and disappeared.

Stunned, she drove the last few miles to her destination where the pickup promptly died in the driveway. She called a local mechanic who towed it to his shop.

“Where did you say you drove from?” asked the mechanic, eyeing her from beneath the hood.
“Rodeo, New Mexico,” she replied.
“That’s impossible,” he said, staring at her.
“But I did,” she insisted.
“Look, this truck couldn’t have gone five feet, let alone 786 miles.” He shook his head. “There’s an engine part missing.”

That evening, she related her entire adventure to her Pastor-friend, elaborating on the truck drivers who came to her rescue. “So, what do you make of all this?”
He grinned at her. “Did you ever think that you might have met up with some angels?”
“I never thought of that.” Her eyes narrowed. “But wait a minute, if they were angels, why didn’t they fix the heat too? Or the lights?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Maybe you needed to stick with them to get you safely to Denver.” He chuckled. “At any rate, I know there’s more to this than just a couple of truckers helping a gal on a lonely highway.”

“For He shall give His angels charge over you, to keep you in all your ways”—Psalm 91:11.

 www.ponyexpressministry.com

*Exciting announcement!* Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God's Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled is now available in print and Kindle editions through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and the WestBow Press bookstore.

https://www.amazon.com/Walk-Like-Warrior-Inspirational-Encouragement-ebook/dp/B071SFQP2T/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1496082052&sr=8-1&keywords=walk+like+a+warrior+book
 

FREE Download!

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Hey! Everybody likes FREE! So, here it is: In exchange for your honest review (on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Goodreads, etc.) you can download a FREE copy of my book, Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God’s Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled, through Story Cartel: https://storycartel.com/books/walk-like-a-warrior (for a limited time). Pretty cool deal!  

My prayer is that you are encouraged as you enjoy the many photographs and travel this trail with us, living the adventures!

Happy reading! 😃