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,

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

"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.

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

The Trail Less-Traveled

I looked across the table at her frail frame. The smoke from her cigar curled a white trail through the air. Her heavy heart was palpable as she stared out the window at nothing in particular. The deep lines that coursed down her face gave testimony of a hard trail ridden. A year ago to the day, they had buried her son—his life taken by the effects of doctor-prescribed drugs. They had buried her daughter a short time ago too though she couldn't bring herself to give details.
 
What do you say? How do you help this broken woman? What could you possibly say to help ease her pain? I sensed the Lord telling me, "Just listen." So, this was my "action" much of the time during the following days...
 
We were in Albuquerque when we got the call—our friend needed help working in the sewer holes in a particular town in New Mexico. Huh. "OK, Lord," we prayed, "we've done a lot of things besides teaching and singing in our ministry. But working in sewer holes? You’ll need to confirm this one."

No calls came in for singing dates ... for any dates—just the looming prospect of the sewer work. We decided that the final confirmation would be the price of the horse motel where we would need to stay. We set the we-won't-go-over-this-much price and made the calls. After unsuccessful attempts to find a reasonably priced motel, we decided that this trip was a definite "no."
 
Then, one of our friends volunteered to put out the word to her rodeo group to see if they knew anyone in the area where we could stay. The word came back: "Yeah, there is one place. But the lady's pretty cranky." 

Well, in our ministry, we've handled 'cranky' pretty well, so we gave it a shot. I called her up and the price was right. She also had room for us. As we chatted, I found out she was an elderly woman and desperately needed the money. I felt a tremendous peace as I hung up the phone. If we're going to invest our money anywhere, I'm excited that we can help her out.
 
She was a bit on the crusty side, but I found from that first conversation, I liked her. We ended up coming in a week early and so, stayed at "Miss Haddie's" stable and RV park for a month and a week.
 
While Bruce spent some "iron sharpens iron" time helping our friend rebuild manholes in the sewer system, I spent most days in a smoke-filled room with my newfound friend—or trimming trees, feeding horses, and running trash to the dump for her. I discovered that in the middle of that hard shell lived a woman with a heart of gold.
 
The lingering question of "was coming here the right thing?" answered itself as I sat with Haddie, listening to her talk about her family, her joys and frustrations, her questions ... her life. I was grateful we chose to follow this "trail less-traveled." This adventure was out of the ordinary from our music ministry, but we knew we weren't supposed to be anywhere but here—for this woman and for our friend in the sewer holes.
 
We filled the role of protective neighbor as well. My phone rang about 8:00 one evening—a distressed voice meeting me on the other end. "Hey, I need you! Get over here, now!" Miss Haddie was in a panic.
"Miss Haddie, what's wrong?"
“Just get over here!" Click.
 
Phone in hand, I bolted out the door and raced for her house with Bruce hot on my heels. Looking back, I guess it wasn't too bright of us, running through a half lit stable yard toward who-knows-what—we just prayed and ran.
 
Rounding the corner of her house, we nearly careened into the man who rented the space next to us. "I don't know what's going on," he blurted out. "She's crazy!" I noticed, however, that this man's words were just a bit slurred. And, as he turned his head, I caught a whiff of the "spirit."
 
Leaving Bruce to talk to the man, I sprinted up the trailer house steps to Miss Haddie's front door.  
"Miss Haddie, it's Shara," I called through the door.
"Come in!"
I pushed the door open and nearly collided into my friend—with a pistol in her hand. She was scared and ticked off.
"Come with me," she commanded. I walked with her back out on the front porch (careful to stay clear of her pistol-hand), and we addressed the situation.
"I just wanted to borrow your ladder," the renter slurred in his defense.
"Well, you just kept bangin' on the door, yelling you were in Space 519," she retorted. "We don't have a Space 519. I didn't know who in the ___ you were!"
"Sorry, Ms. Haddie," he apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you."
 
Tempers cooled, and the situation was quickly resolved.
 
“You still want to borrow my ladder?" she asked.
"Yeah, but I'll get it tomorrow," he replied as he shuffled away.
 
Living at that little stable was definitely an experience. But it was well worth it. At the end of our stay, we saw Miss Haddie, a woman shrouded in depression, transform as she escaped from that spirit and joy engulfed her. And we saw our friend at the sewer holes receive crucial answers to some issues he faced.
 
Sometimes the Lord sends us to places that aren't necessarily our comfort zone—sometimes it’s more like a war zone. But we serve a very personal God Who will do whatever it takes to reach someone crying out—or to reach someone who a loved one is crying out about. (Luke 15:1-23)
 
The questions: Are we willing "to lay down our lives"—lay down what we aspire to be ... our desires and plans? Are we willing to leave the "ninety-nine" (our comfort zone) and go after the one (or two) who need the touch of God's love on the "trail less-traveled"?

"This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends”—John 15:12-13. 

 

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/

 

Fire Away!

Well… I was trying to be helpful.

It was a beautiful mountain morning as Bruce and I, two teenage girls, and our new friend hit the hill-trails with the expectancy of an excellent ride.

We hadn’t traveled far, when our friend started having trouble with her mare, a young draft horse cross. The mare was cranky so my friend dismounted to walk her for a bit. She led the horse along the trail and through the stream as the mare continued her antics.

We finally came to the short, but steep narrow part of the trail that shot up from the creek bottom to the top edge of the meadow. I knew that it would be difficult, at best, to lead a horse up this path. I offered to pony the mare from my horse.

She gratefully accepted, and I moved Nocona closer as she handed me the lead rope. I no sooner gripped the rope when the mare lunged forward. I tried to pull her back and around but that mare already had her plan of action figured out—and it was on. I remember seeing two huge freshly shod hooves fly at Nocona and me. She missed but, quick as lightning, regrouped and fired off another shot like a Gatling gun. I felt the smack as her hoof landed on my ankle and heard the thud as her other hoof landed on Nocona’s flank.

I vaguely heard a “let her go!”, but was already releasing the rope of that wild-eyed whirlwind as I swung Nocona away from her—but not after she cranked off another one and buried her final blow in Nocona’s stifle.

Immediately my friend was at my side bursting with profuse apologies. But her voice faded as I blocked out everything around me. I lowered my hand to Nocona’s flank and prayed, “No weapon formed against us will prosper, no evil will befall us, no plague will come near us!”—quoting Isaiah 54 & Psalm 91. I didn’t know who heard me and didn’t much care, my first thought was my horse.
 
Powerful testimonies pepper my experiences when the Word of God is spoken over situations and the miracles spring forth. As I prayed (albeit with heart pounding), Nocona slowly relaxed his leg and put weight on it. At that point, I noticed the intense throbbing in my ankle. I went to praying over it too. 

I pulled my attention back to Nocona and walked him back and forth across the clearing—he was solid. I reined him toward the steep incline—the real test. “Let’s do this, Nocona,” I grinned. He sailed up that trail with no problem. Praise God.

When we reached the top, the teenagers stared, wide-eyed, at us. “Are you OK?” “What happened?” they blurted. And, frankly, beyond me telling them, “We’re good,” I have no idea what I said after that, distracted by the stabbing pain in my ankle. I smiled through gritted teeth and headed for Bruce, who was also staring at me intensely. 

“How is he?” Bruce asked.
“He’s fine. But we need to pray over my leg,” I whispered. (My friend felt bad enough that her horse had kicked mine, and there was no way I was going to let her know that her mare had nailed me too.)

So, while the rest of the group got horses and riders reorganized, Bruce and I prayed over my ankle. He commanded healing to come and the pain to go in Jesus’ Name.

I moved my ankle around. “Pray again,” I said. He did.

“Are we ready?” our friend called out.
“Yep,” we answered. Nocona and I ended up leading the pack and he stepped out like nothing had happened. And as we rode out, I felt a kind of warm sensation in my ankle, with tinglies. The pain left… just like that.

Four and a half hours later, we finished the ride—no lameness in Nocona or me.

With all my stories, of course, there’s always some kind of epiphany or moral… a lesson to be learned somewhere. So, first off, I learned to not be so quick to offer help to someone, even a friend, with their cranky horse. Secondly, go for the prayer first. Sometimes there’s no time to think, just do it. The Word of God is definitely a two-edged sword and we need to wield it like a weapon… ‘cause it is. And you can’t beat the power in Jesus’ Name!

My ankle should have been broken, and Nocona could have been seriously hurt, but we were fine and finished a ride that turned out to be a very enjoyable one, indeed.

“Because he has loved Me, therefore I will deliver him; I will set him securely on high, because he has known My name. He will call upon Me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him. With a long life I will satisfy him and let him see My salvation.” (Psalm 91:14-16)

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/

No Way Out?

Funny how thoughts of past adventures drift into your memory when you need encouragement. Many people nowadays are facing pretty hefty challenges. Our family is no exception. But this verse keeps popping up in my head, “And they overcame him (Satan) by the blood of the Lamb (Jesus) and the word of their testimony..."—Revelation 12:11).

In tough times, I am comforted when I reflect on all the times God has shown up in this adventure called life. And, frankly, I can’t recall any time He has let us down. Through illness challenges (both human and horse), lack challenges (no truck), family challenges, on-the-road challenges, ministry challenges, people packaged with challenges, on and on, there has always been answers…aka hope. Answers come in ways we expect or ways we never thought of (and every variation in between), but all answers come from a God who is incredibly kind and full of wisdom.

So, I have to remind myself of His faithful goodness with each confrontation that rears its ugly head: focusing on the faith of a good report, even when I can’t see the outcome clearly; focusing on the One who makes all things possible, even when there seems to be no way out.

The following simple, yet profound testimony insists on making a recurring appearance in my thoughts. It reminds me of God’s grace and power, and I figured it may encourage you too:

Back in 2005, before our living-in-our-horse trailer-days, Bruce (my husband) and I loaded up my diesel truck with snacks, sleeping bags, and a pup tent and headed cross-country. We sing/play Christian Country music, so concerts were scheduled along the way during our round trip from Texas to Wisconsin to California and back to Texas again.

Bruce and I love to stay in and explore National and State Parks. So after our concerts in Wisconsin, we set out for The Badlands of South Dakota.
 

As we traveled through The Badlands, we gawked at the strange, unearthly look of the landscape. It looked like a movie set from Star Wars!

 

We stopped and snapped pictures, enjoying this unfamiliar “moon” scape. However, we grew increasingly wary of the skies and the ominous storm brewing in the distance. But the storm seemed far off and was actually quite beautiful to watch with its swirling clouds and lightning show.

We made our way through the hills and down into a valley, keeping an eye out for a campground sign. A stampede delayed us a bit, so it was rather late by the time we spotted the campground entrance (see last month's post: Bison in The Badlands).

Creeping through a sleeping campground is a tad difficult in a diesel truck, but we trekked to the far end of the place, away from the other campers.

We set up camp and prepared for a good night’s sleep. Glancing at the skies again, we caught our breath—the humongous thunderstorm we had been watching changed course and headed straight at us! There was no way out. We hunkered down in our tiny, nylon tent and listened as the rumble of thunder drew closer.

Now in South Dakota, there’s a lot of open ground. And, here we sat in our flimsy tent with little to no protection. The line of that storm stretched so wide, there was no way it would miss us. About the only thing we could do was pray. And pray we did! We rebuked that storm in the Name of Jesus, then prayed and thanked the Lord for protecting us (albeit through heavily beating hearts).

We tried not to count the seconds between the flashes of lightening and the claps of thunder, but it was hard to ignore. By then the flashes and the thunder became almost as one. We prayed harder, thanking God again for our protection and that the storm had no authority where we were.

 


Suddenly the wind came up…blowing against the storm! My first thought was the verse in Psalms: “He makes His angels winds.” I told Bruce my thought.

“Hey! The Holy Spirit just told me the same thing!” he said.

We breathed a sigh of relief. The storm stopped within a short distance of our camp and blew around the campground in a circle. (Psalm 104:4)

As the thunder continued to roll and the lightning danced, we peeked out our tent flap. Directly above, we gazed at stars twinkling in a canopy of clear, black sky.

Safe and dry, we settled in for that good night’s rest.

 

 

(For You have been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shade from the heat; For the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against the wall—Isaiah 25:4.)

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/

Bison in The Badlands

"O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up; You understand my thought afar off. You comprehend my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. For there is not a word on my tongue, but behold, O Lord, You know it altogether. You have hedged me behind and before and laid Your hand upon me”—Psalm 139:1-5.

The sound of thunder rolled in the distance, but there was no storm. Dust swirled into the night sky, but there was no wind. We drove on through the South Dakota Badlands, waiting for the unseen phenomenon to show itself. The darkness became a light shade of tan—we caught movement on the right. Huge shapes careened down the hills and through the draws, crossing the road in front of us. Bruce hit the brakes as bison of every size and shape flicked through our headlights like an old western movie. As quickly as the stampede pounded through, it disappeared, leaving us awed and bewildered. We had truly come to a wild land.
 
Arriving at the campground very late and trying to be inconspicuous in our diesel truck, we camped at the far edge where the tent sites bordered open land—wildlife abounded, and we wanted to be right in the middle of 'em. Little did we know ...
 
We woke up to a beautiful, crisp morning—and a mysterious sound of snorting, munching, and stomping. We wanted to see wildlife, but by the sound of things we were beginning to think we had gotten a little more than we bargained for.
 
I opened the flap of our tent and stared out at a world from centuries past. Everything from the twenty-first century was erased from view—by a couple of hundred bison! They grazed everywhere and all around our tent and truck! Two little curious calves stepped cautiously toward me as I held my hand out through the opening. I tried to touch their noses, but that was a little much for them, and they scampered off.
 
We were having great fun—until their mama snorted and pushed her nose against the back of our tent. Bruce and I looked at each other and realized we could be in a precarious situation. But as she didn't seem to be interested in trampling our tent, we again turned our attention to the thrill of the scene outside our little door.
 
We heard another ominous noise and were again pulled back to another uncertain situation. A humongous bull patrolled past us, swinging his head and grunting. And with every swing, he gave us the "stink" eye. Now I've hung out with animals, wild and otherwise, my whole life. I've never been afraid, but always respectful. But when I looked in that eye, instinct told me that this bad boy meant business. Bruce and I shrunk back inside our tent and prayed that this brute would move on. After a couple of passes he finally did, as well as the rest of the herd, and we crawled out of our tent.
 
We wandered over to the information post in the campground and found abundant literature, complete with warnings, about how dangerous these animals can be. Of course we read this stuff after the fact—ignorance was definitely bliss in our case. However, as I surely pushed the limits of my ignorance, I also thanked the Lord that my battery went dead as I tried to get a picture of the bull. If the camera bulb had flashed, that guy would have really been ticked off!
 
True to our "trail" experiences, epiphanies abound with the stories, and this was no exception. God understands the "stampedes" of life that threaten to overtake us, but He protects us before we hurl headlong into the midst of the fray. Likewise, when we push ahead against sane wisdom because of momentary excitement, God's gracious hand is evident when He brings our precarious plans to an abrupt halt, saving us from ourselves.
(Psalm 91:9-12)

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

Strength in the Struggle

“My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing”—James 1:2-4.

I’ve never seen a cow give birth from start to finish. I usually come across this fascinating bit of Creation either halfway through the process, or when the calf is already on the ground.

I was keeping an eye on the one last cow from the rancher’s herd, as I figured she’d give birth within the next day or so. As I watched her, she lay down. Then she got up, circled and lay down again with her back legs stretched out. I knew it was time.

I walked back to the farmhouse and informed my mother-in-law and my husband, Bruce, that the herd would expand shortly. Bruce grabbed the binoculars and spied on the mama cow through the windows. I took his cue and stepped out on the front stoop and peered through another pair of nocs.

The miracle of life is awe-inspiring. How could anyone even imagine God isn’t real?

We watched every inch of the calf come out. When it finally was lying on the grass, we took off out the gate and across the pasture to check out the rest of the process. I named it Slick…until we found out she was a heifer (girl). Bruce promptly named her Slippy.

All wet and fresh, Slippy blinked and looked around at her new world, and the show began.  A low rumble sounded from her mama’s chest as she spoke to her calf. She proceeded to lick her all over to stimulate her new muscles.

Little did I know, I would receive some much needed encouragement…again…by the simple hand of God’s creative touch.

Slippy’s spindly little legs did their best to support her on the slick grass. Then her legs gave way, and she sprawled out. It was kind of comical, but at the same time I wanted to run over and help her. However, I knew full well this is a natural part of the process and I had to let her work it out.

We observed her mama during the whole ordeal. She licked the calf for a bit, then moved away and munched on grass. She didn’t seem concerned at all as Slippy resumed her strenuous efforts. But I watched her mama’s eyes—her eyes never left her calf.

I noticed that Slippy had difficulty getting her hind end to cooperate as she struggled to stand. Suddenly, Mama turned and stepped beside her. She licked Slippy’s hind end and the upper part of her back legs, stimulating them once again. By instinct, the mama worked on the parts of Slippy that gave her trouble. Then she moved off. 

Slippy started her mission again. She did a bit better this time—she got all fours on the ground. However, gravity prevailed and down she went again. But it was progress. I noticed that each time she struggled, she grew stronger. With the next attempt, she progressed a little more and fell less.

She never gave up, no matter how many times she seemed to fail, even when she toppled head-over-heels. She seemed to realize quitting meant dying. Her efforts weren’t just about getting to her feet. She needed to make it to the lifeline at her mother’s udder—the life-giving milk that would help her grow into a stronger calf and eventually to a mature cow where she could eat solid food—to grow up. (And, of course, to be strong enough to play with her bovine buddies in the pasture!)

In the struggles we face through the trials of life, we may feel as though the Lord has walked off. Or, if He’s standing next to us, it sure seems He isn’t doing much to help. But like that cow, He never takes His eyes off us. And at the exact time, He moves in and gives us exactly what we need, when we need it.

He also knows during the struggle, our muscles become stronger: faith-muscles, trust-muscles, etc. that have to be developed if we’re to stand strong.

Let’s be honest. Unless one thrives on drama, I don’t think anyone truly enjoys afflictions. The struggles we go through are hard. They’re frustrating. Sometimes it’s difficult to muster up the energy to try anymore. Yet, our very survival depends on us never giving up. And although we may assume, during our hardships, God has “left the building,” He hasn’t. Nor would He.

In fact, quite the contrary. Most of us have heard the verse, “He will never leave us, nor forsake us.” (Hebrews 13:5). Even though we may feel He has, our feelings are just that…feelings. And most of the time our feelings are not the truth.

The moral of my lesson that day? We all struggle—from the least to the greatest. It’s what we do in the struggle and with the struggle that makes the difference between life and death. The only real failure is if we lose hope and quit.

And I don’t know about you, but too many buzzards are hovering that are all too willing to swoop in, if I even think about giving up! 

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope”—Jeremiah 29:11.

www.ponyexpressministry.com

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