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

Healer of Broken Hearts

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/

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/

PRICE PLUNGE!

GREAT news! Just in time for Christmas! 💖 Amazon continues to drop the price on my award-winning book: Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God’s Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled! I don’t claim to know the reasoning behind their pricing, I just note when it drops. I know that I’ll be jumping on that price plunge before they pop it back up again! 😀  https://www.amazon.com/Walk-Like-Warrior-Inspirational-Encouragement/dp/1512774812/

I invite you to join me in giving the gift of encouragement! 💖

Beauty from Ashes

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.”

“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.

Beauty from Ashes joins other inspirational stories in the newly re-released, award-winning book, Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God’s Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled, available 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


www.ponyexpressministry.com

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

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