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/

H.A.L.T.

I love acronyms. Whoever thought of this memory-jogger was a genius.

My husband, Bruce and I were introduced to one of these creative gems at a youth Bible study. But like other pieces of useful information that get crowded out by life, I needed a reminder of this helpful acronym during a situation we faced.

I figured it might come in handy for others too, so I’ll share it with y’all. So, here goes. H.A.L.T.: Halt if you are:

H: HUNGRY 
Oh my. When I’m hungry, I fall into the “whatever” mood category: “I don’t care, just get it done.”; “Let’s just get there.”; or, “I don’t care what we do, I just need a snack.”

And everyone knows to never go near a grocery store with a growling stomach. The junk food retailer’s stock skyrockets every time on this one!

*A: ANGRY: Stay tuned. I’ll come back to this one.
 
L: LONELY
I’ve made some pretty bonehead moves when I was lonely (I won’t elaborate).

T: TIRED
I figure I’d better not do anything while I’m tired. I may be convinced I’m coherent, but realize later…hmmmm, not so much. I’ve glanced at sent texts and emails and realized: Yeah, should have waited.

*A: ANGRY:
I’ve left the “A” part for last. Being lonely, or tired, or hungry can drive us to make less than stellar decisions. But angry? This one might be the worst decision-driving emotion ever. For it’s with anger that words are said, actions are taken, and destinies determined that may never, except by the grace of God, ever be fixed.

A healthy dose of self-control curbs emotions and can be a handy little tool to douse the spark that could cause a potential wildfire—a wildfire that destroys a lot of ground and a lot of people.

Which brings me to the following “situation we faced” and thankfully in this case, I listened and obeyed that Giver of self-control …

The wall our back was shoved against left indents in my shoulder blades. And the friend who could have helped us, betrayed us.

My hands shook as I pounded out a text message on my cell phone in response to one of her stunts. My thumb hovered over the send button when a still small voice cut through the flame, “Don’t do anything in anger.” I knew this to be true, but I so wanted to fire off that text!

However, I paused. I glanced over at Bruce who, not 15 minutes before, snapped, “That woman’s gonna push me too far!”

I read him my text, a little part of me hoping for validation and the confirmation to hit that little green button.  He looked around at me and to my surprise said calmly, “Don’t do anything in anger.”

Like cold water on a hot flame, I realized God was confirming His word to me. My phone fairly flew across the counter as I shoved it away. I knew one twitch out of me would have sent that text flyin’.

I cooled down, grateful I didn’t send this text. The day before, as I was ranting and flinging manure across my horse’s stall into the bin, the Lord gave me a serious command: “Hold your peace, vengeance is mine.” And then started chatting with me about forgiveness. It would not have been wise to ignite any fires with my message. (“Be angry, and do not sin”: do not let the sun go down on your wrath, nor give place to the devil (Ephesians 4:26-27).

God knows what He’s doing when He tells us to H.A.L.T. before making a decision. Take a breath, scarf an energy bar, take a nap. Whatever it takes that’s moral and decent with no side effects, we need to do it. Nothing is worse than having to undo an unwise move. I’d rather not spend the energy to apologize, lament over an excessive grocery bill, or explain why I sounded like a dork. I’d like to act right the first time and avoid cleaning up a mess.

So, the next time we face a challenge or a decision while we’re hungry, angry, lonely, or tired … and we will … join me in implementing H.A.L.T.. Our lives will be much more peaceful and productive for it.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. Against such there is no law (Galatians 5:22-23).
 

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


Beauty From Ashes

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me, because the Lord has anointed Me to preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn, to console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified—”Isaiah 61:1-3.

The morning sun flecked the curtains as shock waves coursed from my chest to my gut. The events of the prior day, November 24, 1980, had not been a bad dream. The nightmare was real.

My classmates and I smelled smoke from a distant fire and figured the mountain backcountry was burning again—like it always did during the high, autumn winds. But when the smoke drifted over our school, apprehension rose. Rumors ricocheted through the hallways, “Structures are on fire at the base of the mountains!” My home stood in those foothills. My hands shook as I called my family from the school phone—no answer. I panicked and raced for my truck.

Patrol cars blocked my way home, so I detoured toward my grandma’s house. Gripping the steering wheel, I drove through the smoke and screaming wind. Loose pets and livestock darted between buildings and across the road. I inched my way through the chaos, fearing the worst.

As I pulled into the driveway, my family met me on the front lawn. Thank You, God. They’re alive, I breathed. But my brother's two words said it all: "It's gone,” he whispered. And I knew, in one afternoon, we had become homeless, losing nearly everything but the clothes on our backs.

With nowhere to go, my dad, mom, brother, and I crowded into my grandma’s two-bedroom, one-bathroom house.

                                       Do Unto Others

As I drove to my grandma’s after school, I glanced down at the passenger side of my El Camino—everything I owned now fit on the seat. 

As I opened the front door, piles of trash bags met me in the entryway. “They’re filled with clothes,” my mom said, pulling them out of the walkway. It was surreal to be the recipients of charity. Life isn't supposed to be this way, I lamented.

I fumbled with the plastic tie on the nearest trash bag. Stuffed inside were blouses from the ‘60s, skirts from the ‘70s, torn jeans, and stained shirts—a virtual circus of clothes. Bag after bag revealed more of the same with only a few of the items fit to wear. As a newly homeless 17-year-old, this felt like rock bottom.

But a funny thing came over us as my mom and I numbly eyed the clothes now piled on the living room floor—a spark of God-given resolve. One by one, all articles of clothing became fair game as we picked our prize and headed for the back bedroom. Reappearing in a puffy, lime-green blouse—complete with stains on the front—I sashayed into the living room with chin in the air and hands on my hips. "How does this look?" I beamed. “I’m so in vogue, don't you think?" 

"You look mah-velous, dear,” Mom chirped as she disappeared into the "dressing room." Out she strutted in bell-bottom jeans with a tear in the pocket. With pivot turns and a flip of the wrist, she wore Christian Dior on a Saks Fifth Avenue runway.

"Those jeans just become you, dahling!" I applauded.

In the midst of our antics, someone knocked on the front door—a childhood friend had sent me a package.  Tucked between the tissue paper was a note and a model horse. But it wasn’t just any horse—it was King, her prized possession. I embraced him and read the note: “I know your entire horse collection burned,” she wrote. “King was my favorite, and now he belongs to you.”

My friend’s selfless gift helped soothe the pain of receiving others’ rejects. Luke 6:31 (the golden rule) became my new motto, and I vowed to always give the best I had when another's need arose.

                                          Helping Hands

My best friend, Dorothy, and I slowly walked together up the long driveway. My once beautiful childhood home stood lifeless, the concrete shell standing in the midst of white ashes. Gaping holes where the windows once set now stared blankly at me like a ghost. As my hands flew to my mouth, I felt her arm resting around my shoulders.

In the days that followed, friends, family, and even strangers stood shoulder to shoulder with us. They sifted through rubble, brought food and wearable clothes, and replaced photos that burned. They prayed and consoled us as we cried.

A rancher had caught my horse as she galloped through town, graciously trailering her to the safety of his corrals. My plea for her in the local paper united us.

Actions comforted more than wordy platitudes of, “You can rebuild.” Or, “At least your family didn’t die.” The Good Samaritans sympathized with our shock and discerned what we needed, sometimes without asking. We witnessed God’s Word walking as our town worked in harmony to help all 280 families who had lost their homes.

After a few weeks and frayed nerves in my grandma’s little house, our prayers were answered for another place to stay. A friend phoned my mother. “I don’t know if you’d be interested or not,” she said, “but some friends of mine are going on vacation for a month and need a house-sitter.” Within a week, our family moved into their lovely, two-story house. 

The day before the owners returned, a rental house became available on a lake in the mountains. And we realized that God had not forsaken us; He was restoring us. We stayed in the rental for a few months until my dad, a general contractor, built a house for us in a nearby town. 

                                     It’s The Little Things

The aroma of popcorn and chocolate chip cookies drifted through the air as raccoons loafed on our rental’s deck rail, and squirrels peered through the sliding glass door.  We eagerly anticipated this community of critters that scampered across our deck to indulge in our weekly handouts.

Finally, with popcorn bowl in hand, Mom slid the door open. The temptation was too much for one young squirrel—he blasted through the gap like a rocket. Squeals and popcorn peppered the air.

Up the walls, over the counters, bounding over the couch, that squirrel flew like his tail was on fire. Mom grabbed a broom as I ran in circles, flailing my arms at this fly-by furball. We nearly collided as he squeezed between us and shot up the curtains.

Before the white flag waved, we somehow corralled him and he careened out the door. Mom slammed it shut and slid down the frame in hysterics. We laughed so hard tears flooded down our faces.

These characters of God’s creation appeared at the perfect time—a merry heart indeed does good like a medicine.

                                        No Longer a Victim

Life hurts sometimes, but God is faithful to His Word. I found that time does not heal, but God does. He abundantly restored us, honoring our trust in His promises and in Him.  He also helped me break the bonds of materialism, which remain broken to this day.  As 1 Timothy 6:17 encourages, I can enjoy the things God has given, but never cling to them for hope and stability.

He gave me a newfound compassion that rose from the ashes to help me comfort others suffering loss. I can now come alongside them with the hope of Psalm 27:13: “I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.”

www.ponyexpressministry.com

Clouds Without Rain

‘These are spots in your love feasts, while they feast with you without fear, serving only themselves. They are clouds without water {rain}, carried about by the winds; late autumn trees without fruit, twice dead, pulled up by the roots;’-Jude 1:12

I stared at the clouds, praying their blackness would oblige us and dump some much needed rain.  The red-orange glow of lightning-ignited fires ate up the surrounding mountainsides.  Dust mixed with smoke choked the long valley where we rode as we moved cattle up the Payette River.  

Why weren’t those clouds cooperating?  They meandered and accumulated, taunting us.  They had every look of a rain cloud, but they withheld any moisture. 

We left the cows at the salt blocks as the clouds drifted away and dissipated over the distant mountains, leaving behind frustration and haze.

“Clouds without rain” trailed through my thoughts, and I suddenly realized what that Bible verse meant—to understand the frustration of hope diverted.  I pondered the destruction of people’s lives around me: a heroine addict here, a grieving parent there, a lonely divorcee over yonder, and hopelessness abounded, driven by fear.

The common thread weaving its way through the desolation was a disillusionment of God. Where is He?  They had searched all the “normal” places but found nothing … no love, no answers. Oh, they found a semblance of spirituality in the folks they met, but nothing of substance.

As one rides along, there sure is time to ponder.  And I pondered.  Profound, disturbing questions pelted my thoughts as Nocona’s hooves pounded the sand:

Are we just too busy with our everyday lives to offer the hope within us, helping the hurting who stagger across our path? Are we too busy playing church, to go be the church?

Or, do we trip over the troubled as we lunge in a flesh-feeding frenzy, grabbing gold dust and jewels falling from a false heaven?

Are we as Believers in Jesus Christ living the Great Commission as Jesus’ hands and feet—healing the sick, casting out demons, raising the dead … binding up the broken-hearted? 

As I rode, I checked my own “gear”: When people observe my life, do they see God’s Word walking? Or do they hear a bunch of yammering and spiritual platitudes?—A cloud that should be full of rain, but void of any life-giving moisture? (I like asking myself the tough questions when I’m riding in God’s awesome creation—I can digest the hard questions a lot easier!)

(“Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts; And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”- Psalm 139:23-24).

David’s prayer is a bit scary, really.  Deep down, we all want to think that what we’ve chosen to believe is right—that we have a corner on the spiritual market. However, the truth is simply this: we are all growing and learning in this journey we call life.  But our learning better be coming from “rightly dividing the word of truth” in God’s Word through the Holy Spirit.  And when the Lord in His love and grace reveals a hitch-in-the-get-along in our lives, we’d best be swallowing our pride and humbly fixing it (2 Timothy 2:15).

Nocona and I rode out of the river bottom and up the bluff, joining the rest of the crew. And I determined to always be that refreshing “rain” to those the Lord brings across my path, as a faithful representative of Jesus Christ.

As with everything in life, the lack of rain was temporary.  A couple of days later, the wind kicked up, and other clouds appeared. But this time they emptied themselves on that thirsty soil. As the land greedily gulped in the moisture, the dust settled and the smoke cleared. And I breathed deeply the cool, fresh air.

(www.trail-tails.blogspot.com)

(www.ponyexpressministry.com)

(Copyright 2016 Sharabueler-repka.com. All Rights Reserved.) 

Don't Lose Heart

Analogies of life are everywhere, popping up inconspicuously in the norm of everyday doings. But if we're watchful, we catch that encouragement of God’s ‘still small voice’ as he helps us along our trail. Here's an inspiring one that revealed itself as we helped a friend work her family's cattle in the hills of California:

And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.—Galatians 6:9

Bruce rode down to the flat, and I rode up into the hills. Branding and vaccinating were the order of the day as we worked with other volunteers to help gather cattle for a friend. Sometimes we rode fast and hard to head off mavericks that didn’t have a hankerin’ to get corralled, but eventually we got them herded in the right direction.  

As Bruce and I calmly drove all the cows, calves and the bull into the holding pen, the others worked the gates and stood ready by the chute.  Riding nice and slow, we then helped our friend sort the cows, moving them one by one into the alleyway that led toward the chute.  

But an ole bossy-cow had other ideas.  One minute we thought we had her convinced, next minute she’d wheel around and plow through us like a freight train and scatter the other cows. She knew no fear, nor mercy. But we regrouped and tried again.

With a fair amount of patience, we finally got her moving toward the alleyway—and we smelled victory. Suddenly the air exploded with shouts and mayhem—the gate-guy left his post to play “cowboy.”  Wild arms waved through the air as shouts of, “Hey, Hey, Hey!” and “Aaaaaah!” (along with a various sundry of other animated communication) ripped through the air like fireworks. Instantly, a sea of swirling cows surrounded us.

With jaws dropped, we watched all our work circle the drain. Our friend (the boss) quickly stepped in and quenched the fireworks, sending Gate-guy with tucked tail back to his post.

We had to start all over with that cow, along with quieting the herd. To say we were a bit annoyed would be putting it mildly. We took a deep breath, however, and swung our horses around, determined not to give up and lose sight of our goal.

It took some time, but every cow was finally vaccinated and branded, and we cut them loose into their world of pastures and freedom, in health and security. 

As I relaxed on my horse, watching happy cows, I grinned at the analogy that played out that day.  We live in dangerous and discouraging times, no question.  Distractions in every way shape and form are lurking everywhere ready to ambush our peace and purpose. 

But no matter what, we must never lose our focus of what Jesus has called us to do, and the grace that He gives. There are those in desperate need of the care and security only He can bring.  And He has commissioned us, His people, to help bring them home to Him.

(Luke 4:18-19—“The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, because He has anointed Me to preach the gospel to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed; To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.”)

(Copyright 2016 Sharabueler-repka.com. All Rights Reserved.) 

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


Welcome to my first blog post!

At long last I’m launching myself into the blogosphere. So, how about some encouragement throughout your month? Welcome to my blog: Trail Tails. The way I figure it, we all need to be encouraged in this daily adventure we call life.  I, personally, love stories about how God shows up in our everyday lives, helping us along our trail.  And I love to laugh.

  . 

My life is fairly interesting.  My husband, Bruce and I sing Christian Country music and sing/minister all over the western United States.  We’ve been living on the road full-time in our living quarters horse trailer for about nine years. Needless to say, we and our two horses, Rocky and Nocona (aka The Boys) have had many adventures.  Some of those stories I’ve compiled in a book, Walk Like A Warrior: Inspirational true stories of God’s encouragement on the trail less-traveled (available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.). And still other stories have been sold to magazines. I also enjoy sharing the stories of others.

I invite you to enjoy my blog with its adventures (ours and others) and the pictures. I also welcome your input: Have a question? I’ll be quick to answer (If I don’t, you’ll know we’re galavanting around the backcountry and returning with more stories.);  Or, have a bit of constructive criticism? I’ll don my thick skin with “ears up.”

I picked this first story because I just felt it would be an encouragement to many that, in God’s eyes, you always matter.  And thanks for hanging out with me for awhile.

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)  

Stay tuned for another adventure …

(Copyright 2016 Sharabueler-repka.com. All Rights Reserved.) 

www.ponyexpressministry.com