"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

Blessings in Disguise and the Start of All Things Horse

If it had four legs (more or less), be it fiberglass or human, I rode it. The back of my middle-aged Grandpa, my older brother, or the shoulders of my favorite uncles were fair game. (My Grandpa submitting to a living room rodeo are still fond memories.)

When I wasn’t pouncing on one of my human-horses, I straddled my fiberglass hobbyhorse and rode into adventures only I could dream up. Puffs of air blew back my bangs as I pulled on the handles below its tan ears and threw myself backward, and then forward. The metal springs creaked and groaned as they strained to their max—sounding to me like hoof beats galloping down the trail.

My next thrill was the privilege of riding a steed whose legs actually moved. I was ecstatic! I sat proudly on its black and white painted back, grabbed the reins, and took off into brand new adventures. Staring across the mountains, I wondered what was on the other side. I imagined my horse and I flying over the ridges, exploring new territory. At four-years-old, my heart soared with the endless possibilities.

In the midst of my exciting escapades, however, there was an emptiness—a void only a real horse could fill.

On a quiet afternoon, I played with my plastic horses, trying to teach my Barbies how to ride. The devout ladies in my mom’s prayer group sat in a pious circle in the living room. Tranquil murmurings filled our home as the women prayed through their list.

Somewhere around the last name, the faint rattle of my dad’s pickup and trash trailer rumbled up the driveway. Intent on successfully bending the Barbie’s legs to fit around the barrel of her Breyer, I barely gave it notice.

And then, we all heard it. The reverent “Amen” had scarcely been uttered when a rather peculiar noise blasted through the air from inside that trailer.

The appalled look on Mom’s face was along the lines of, “Oh no, what did he bring home now?” (to add to our two goats, a couple of dogs, hamsters, and a colorful assortment of 20 or so cats).

“What was that?” Squeaked the lead church lady as the rest of the women stared out the window in wide-eyed silence.

Apparently my dad found an awesome deal on a donkey. I’m sure you could hear his Hee-Haws in the next county! Donkey Ode (Don Quixote) wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for, but he had four legs and a tail and I was happy. He, however, was a utility-type donkey, bought to tromp down weeds and clear land. My brother and I did attempt to ride him while Dad led him along the wash road. But he wasn’t too thrilled about that and promptly bucked us off in the brush. He remained a “utility” donkey, and I resumed my pony-dreams.

Not too long after, I was “helping” my mom with dinner when we heard my dad roll up with the trash trailer again. I raced to the dining room window just in time to see him open the door of the trailer. There was something moving back there!

How fast can a five-year-old run? Fast! I bolted across the room, out the door, over the front lawn, leaped the wall and nearly collided with my new present. The first lesson I learned was never run like a crazy thing up to a horse. It could spook them and all.

The story? On the way home from the dump, my dad discovered a pony for sale by the side of the road. Unable to resist the desire of his daughter’s heart, nor the sob story of the pony’s owner, the Shetland was purchased and loaded into the empty trailer.

The next day, growing suspicions of Sandy, our new family addition, surfaced. This placid little pony from the street corner showed signs of a more spirited, mischievous steed in our backyard. In the name of safety, my parents solicited the help of one of our horse-neighbors and her arena. 

As the horse people we knew weighed in with their doubts, the verdict became unanimous that our first lesson as new horse owners was: “beware—the horse trader.” Our little friend had obviously been provided with some “happy juice” to calm his personality, and the trader had laid in wait for someone to take the bait.

But even when others pull a fast one, God has a plan. That pony taught me how to ride. His lively shenanigans of twirling in circles and nipping at my legs taught me to balance. His sporadic bucks taught me to grip. And I learned to outwit him, anticipating his evilness, when he decided a frolic across the field would be great fun.

In fact, years later at age 18, my ability to stick to a horse like glue came in handy when I applied for a wrangler job at a local stable. The interview with the foreman included the challenge: “If you can ride that strawberry roan out of this stable yard without gettin’ tossed, you’ve got the job.” I got the job.

However, at 5-years-old, my limited expertise in the equine world warranted a search for another horse. A nice lady with five rambunctious boys bought Sandy and assured us he was going to a good home. But she also assured us that Sandy would continue his comeuppance with her fearless bunch.

Shortly, I was rewarded with a black and white pinto pony, King. We rescued him from a lonely existence in a friend’s pasture after her sons decided they liked motorcycles better. I moved on to learn more solid horsemanship skills on a more amiable horse.

King

  

Sandy, nevertheless, will always have a soft spot in my heart. Although a holy terror, he was beautiful, he was mine, and he was the start of a long legacy of my love and amazing adventures of all things horse. 

Midnight Rebel

Tari

At 55, I still have horses. They are a vital part of my husband and my ministry. I sit here grinning and grateful at the thought that sometimes a blessing may not come in the package we expect. Even when a “trader” targets us with less than stellar deeds, God, in His goodness, has a way of turning even that into a beautiful gift we can use. 

Rocky and Nocona

And yes, I explored the other side of those mountains … and many others. 

Nocona

 

('And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose'—Romans 8:28)
 

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/

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I Did It MY way...BAD Idea!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


                

The Art of the Ear: When God Speaks

“But whoever listens to Me will dwell safely and will be secure, without fear of evil”—Proverbs 1:33.

Giving God our ear. Hmmmmm. What does that look like? How does God speak to us? Many ask this.

For me, His voice has different “sounds”: He gives a strong impression in my spirit about a particular situation ... a gut feeling, if you will; The truths in His Word will come alive as I read and revelation hits me right between the eyes; He will move on someone to be His voice, giving me an encouraging word; He’ll give me a dream while I’m sleeping; Or, He may use pictures in His amazing Creation to illustrate His character.

When He speaks to me through His Creation, that’s incredibly cool. One time, I was out feeding the horses trying to work through some stuff in my head. I glanced up and saw the most magnificent full rainbow I’d ever seen— and a double one to boot. The colors were so vibrant and alive. I ran to the trailer and grabbed my camera. As I stared at that rainbow, profound thoughts eased my mind: Our Creator created incredible beauty out of mere mist; Every rainbow from the very first one is the same—the same colors, the same lines, the same form. They don’t change. He doesn’t change. His promises never change. In this world, we can’t count on anything. But we can count on Him—encouragement I needed right then and a word in due season. (Isaiah 52:7)

He used a gentle breeze to encourage an acquaintance of mine. She was reading her Bible outside, troubled by a circumstance she faced. The breeze kept blowing the pages to a certain scripture. Every time she tried to turn back to the previous spot where she was reading, the breeze would flip the pages right back to that other place. She finally looked down where the breeze stopped—there she found the answer to her problem.

He likes to speak through people to give His encouraging words. Years ago I was asked to sing at a trail ride in Texas. When I pulled up on the ranch, my heart was heavy. I had a new truck, two beautiful horses and looked as though I hadn’t a care in the world. But on the inside, I was hurting and scared. I had two jobs: one in an office, one on a ranch. A “friend” betrayed me and stole the ranch job—the one I had based my truck payment on. Single, with no other means of extra support, I was afraid of losing everything.

A few days before I drove to the trail ride, I prayed, “Lord, please make yourself real to me.” Until then, I did not believe the Lord really knew I existed—unless I hung out with people I thought were spiritual. Let me tell ya, the devil had deceived me good!

I parked my rig and made my way over to a big oak tree. I leaned against it, quietly watching the other singers on the stage. A man and his wife, whom I had never met, walked up. “I have a word for you from the Lord,” he said. That man “read my mail.” He told me, “The Lord said, ‘all your needs are already taken care of.’” I was floored. I had not told a soul what I was going through, not even my closest friends. How in the world did this guy know my situation?

One week later, I received some cleaning jobs that perfectly dovetailed with my day job at the office. The wages from the cleaning jobs covered my old ranch wages to the dollar.

Two months later, the same man gave me another word from the Lord: I would be given one job that would take care of all my needs. Within three months, I quit my cleaning jobs because the office I worked for offered me a higher position in another department with a lot more pay.

I have learned that He is always directing us with that still small voice of His ... or trying to. I’ve blown right over the top of it— more than once, I’m afraid. One time, He impressed on Bruce, my husband and me to clean up the pine needles under the high-line our horses were tethered to. We didn’t, getting distracted with some other project. Our “Hoover”-horse, Rocky, decided he very much liked the taste of pine needles, proceeding to suck up every strand in the area. He promptly colicked. We were way out in the National Forest with no phone service. Prayer and the painkiller Banamine played veterinarian. He was pooping pine needles for the next day and a half, but he pulled through.

In all my years with horses in the mountains, I have never seen them eat pine needles. I never, ever imagined that Rocky would do that. But it didn’t matter what I thought or what my experience was. The Lord told us to rake up the pine needles ... period. He knew what would happen. Lesson learned ... again!

Fine-tuning the art of the ear takes practice. Sometimes total resurrection. But it’s an art worth bringing back to life. It means laying down our own desires and agendas. It takes not just being hearers of the Word of God, but doers of what He’s asked us to do. (James 1:22-25)

And the reward? We can live a life of victory and peace, encouraging others in the same. (John 15:12-13)

Listen ... Listen ... Listen ...

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


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

   At long last, Walk Like a Warrior: Inspirational True Stories of God’s Encouragement on the Trail Less-Traveled has finally been re-released! Whooohooo!
   In life’s challenges, do you search for the testimonies of others that could encourage you in your journey? I know I do. And that is one of the reasons I wrote this book—to encourage others. And, to keep my own testimonies fresh in my mind as a reminder of God’s faithfulness and kindness in my own journey. 
   Walk Like a Warrior reads like a Chicken Soup for the Soul-type devotional of our road stories, growin’ up stories, and stories of others … with loads of photos!
   Check out this award-winning book at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and the WestBow Press bookstore (available in print and eBook versions).
   Come on, join us on the trail, live the adventures, and be encouraged!

https://www.amazon.com/Walk-Like-Warrior-Inspirational-Encouragement-ebook/dp/B071SFQP2T

www.ponyexpressministry.com

Like A Child

 

We drove onto the farm and made our way around the silo and haystacks. Distracted by an issue I couldn’t seem to find answers for, I stared out the window in silence.
 

As our horse-hay was loaded, I stepped out of the truck and chatted with the farmer’s wife. Her three-year-old granddaughter wandered over and plopped in the dirt at her feet. Suddenly the little girl zoomed in for my attention. Her bright blue eyes danced as she told me about all the ways she played in the mud, the kind of birthday balloons she wanted on October “25fift,” and … would I like to come to her party? Her little legs kept in time with her chatter as they fanned wide half-circles in the soft dirt. Faded pink toenail polish peeked through the grains of sand.
 

That beam of innocence dissipated the cloud I’d come in with. We came for a load of hay, but I left with so much more.
 

As we hit the highway, I heard God’s voice in my spirit, “Like a child. Come to Me like a child.” Funny how God’s “still small voice” and interventions can almost be lost in the distractions of life.
 

Suddenly, my problems didn’t seem all that big any more. I felt a peculiar peace that all would be well even though I couldn’t see any details. Simple direction exchanged for simple trust. My heavenly Father wanted me to approach Him with all the innocence of a little kid. No preconceived ideas. No self-righteous, religious rules. No fear. Just a belief in the love of a Father who has my very best interests at heart.
 

The secret is developing that relationship. The mystery of God’s true heart is solved as we experience Him: reading His Word, the Bible; watching His creation; recognizing His voice. And simply believing that He is Who He says He is and will care for us as His beloved children.
 

Demands and distractions of life quite often send us down the path of self-reliance. “I’ve got this,” our actions tell God. And we don’t consult Him. We become stressed out, weighed down, and pulled apart. Life becomes more difficult and complicated than it was ever meant to be.
 

When I think of Almighty God coming to us in the form of a child, lying in a feed trough with animals for roommates, humble and simple come to mind. He didn’t have to appear in this fashion, He just did. An example of how far He would go to show His love for us.
 

Like a child. Come to Him like a child.
 

“Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven”-Matthew 18:4 (NKJV). 

 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


Concert in the Cookhouse

I stomped the cold from my feet and rubbed my hands together, feeling warmth creep into them. Fog billowed from my breath and from my horse’s nose. I put my foot in the stirrup and swung my leg over the saddle. “Yow, that’s cold!” I squeaked as I sat in the seat—at 7:00 in the morning the temperature hadn’t risen out of the teens.

My husband, Bruce and I were invited to this fall roundup by our friend Bo, a seasoned buckaroo (Nevada lingo for cowboy). Hundreds of cattle grazed across thousands of acres in the rugged, unforgiving mountains of northern Nevada. Several volunteers, stockholders, and hired buckaroos worked together to gather these cattle for shipment to their winter feeding grounds.

Bruce and I sing Christian Country music and travel full-time on the road with our two  horses. God had given us this awesome opportunity to ride with these folks, and we jumped at the chance. However, he saw an even bigger picture than merely volunteering to help with the cows.

                                      No Wimping Out

Saddles creaked and horses champed their bits as we waited for the foreman to assign groups of riders their sections of land. The goal was to drive or "sweep" the cattle from the high country and meet at the bottom pasturelands at the same time … or nearly. Most of these cows are as wild as the country they run in, and this type of gathering keeps them moving forward. 

While gazing across the haphazard landscape, I was grateful for the instruction we had received from Bo about the cattle and country. I realized we were living examples of Hebrews 10:24-25: “And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds … encouraging one another.“ Bruce and I were strangers to this place, but the Lord had prepared us for this job through Bo. Receiving our section assignment, we spread out to cover our area.

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!” Philippians 4:13 flew from my mouth as my horse and I plunged down the side of a steep draw to gather cattle at the bottom. At the same time, “Whoohooohoooohoooo!” echoed across the mountains as the buckaroos revealed their location. I urged my horse around the cattle and drove my mini-herd through the small canyon.

We rode narrow mountainside trails that appeared to be carved by a goat and skirted bogs and boulders to keep the herd tight. I picked grit out of my teeth and blew a breath of relief when I saw Bo with his cows at the meeting point. We joined Bruce farther down the mountain.

                                         No Offense Taken 

Bruce and I have learned that the opportunities the Lord gives us are not just to minister to others. Opportunities also arise to knock the bark off us.           

“You’re late!” bellowed the foreman as he raced by us on his horse. Startled, Bruce spun around in his saddle and stared after him as he thundered past and disappeared down the prairie.

We knew there had been some confusion concerning the instructions of the day, but it appeared we were blamed for something out of our control. Our blood boiled. Angry words churned inside us: “How dare he!”; “It’s not our fault!” We rode in an indignant fog for about a mile. Then, like cold water on a hot flame, the Holy Spirit’s still, small voice impressed, “Let it go.”

We realized it was foolish for us to ride in offense, recognizing Satan’s temptation to tear down the relationships we had already built. Swallowing our pricked pride, we decided not to take the bait and continued our search for the cows in our section.

                                     The Bigger Picture

It was a good thing we let it go. Later that day the bigger picture unfolded—a stockholder asked Bruce and me if we would give a concert in their cookhouse.

The next evening as we set up our sound system next to the kitchen counter, we thanked the Lord that we had overcome the challenges from the previous days. When you ride in someone else’s world, you either earn their respect or you don’t. This was the ultimate reason God sent us here.

One by one, the entire crew filed into the warm cookhouse while the smell of fresh coffee and homemade cookies drifted through the air. They took their places at the picnic-style tables or lounge chairs along the wall. One old cowboy even relaxed in his own recliner.

We began with a lively hymn medley and continued through a list of songs as the Holy Spirit led. The demeanor of the more hardened ranch hands softened, their toes tapping to the beat. One rambunctious buckaroo had wanted us to sing one of his favorite country songs as we rode with him through the aspens the previous day. We didn’t know the song but, when the concert was scheduled, we determined to learn it. We sang it that night and dedicated it to him. He couldn’t believe it. His eyes brightened, and his heart opened to God’s message in the other songs we sang.

We watched in awe as the Holy Spirit moved through that bunch. Alcohol was passed from one to another, but one by one, weather-worn hands waved it away. We hadn’t said a thing—we just sang.

We intended to end the concert within an hour to respect the crew’s early morning call, but they didn’t care a bit about hitting their bunks early. Their stomping, clapping and laughter rocked the cookhouse. And by the time we wrapped up the hour with what we thought was our final song, shouts of  “Encore! Encore!” resounded around the room—even the rougher ones were giving us the thumbs up.

A buckaroo’s girlfriend slowly raised her hand. “Can you sing 'Amazing Grace'?” she requested.
“Absolutely,” we replied, as others nodded in agreement.

As the words and melody wound through the crowd, the peace of the Holy Spirit wrapped around troubled souls like a warm comforter. Tears streamed down faces; eyes stared off in deep thought; heads bowed, some nodded.  God’s grace and power were palpable in that old building.

We finished the last song, and no one wanted to leave. Groups of two and three gathered here and there talking, laughing, eating cookies, and sipping coffee.

The ranch foreman hailed us as we loaded our sound system and music gear into our truck. “Thank you,” he said. “We needed this. It gets really tense here around this time.” He smiled. “And, hey, you can ride with us anytime, and you’re more than welcome to sing here next year too.”

We are honored to answer God’s call to face the challenging tasks that introduce us to the ones living along the trails less-traveled. No one is too far from God’s gracious hand. As Acts 13:47 encourages: "For this is what the Lord has commanded us: ’I have made you a light for the Gentiles, that you may bring salvation to the ends of the earth.'” We pray that those stockholders, buckaroos, and volunteers never forget the love of God they experienced in that old 1800s cookhouse on a lonely road of Nevada’s high plains. 

 

 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


Of Patience and Cholla

One of my favorite things to do is ride the backcountry on my horse, Nocona. I love exploring the wide open spaces. Also, there are always lessons to be learned or reminders of lessons once learned: parallels that compare riding the trails to life itself. The lessons quite often involve patience—and Jesus coming to the rescue when I fall short.

So went the adventure as Nocona and I rode merrily down the trail. I glanced at his feet as we rode a precarious part of the path. Seriously, Nocona? Do you need to walk on the edge? I gently cued him with my legs and hands to move him over to a safer part of the trail. He fought me on it. Frustrated, I rolled my spur a bit too energetically on his side. Oh, he listened then! His rump spun around—right into a cholla cactus.

Now, those of you with any experience in the desert with its various array of cacti are probably reading fast to see what happened next. Well, what could have happened and what did happen were two different things ... thank God. Nocona had three bulbs of cholla sticking in his back leg and rump. And yes, he commenced to bucking and kicking, entering us in our own little private rodeo on top of a hill—complete with a cliff. "JESUS HELP ME!" I blurted out.

Immediately, Nocona stopped in mid-air, landed, and calmly stood as I dismounted—like nothing was stuck in him at all! Looking around, I saw no trees to tie him to (only cactus—and that wasn't happening). So, pointing him straight ahead, I stepped back to his flank and rummaged through my saddlebag for my trail gloves. You've got to be kidding me—where are my trail gloves? I never leave home without those. Great.

Have you ever been up close and personal with a cholla and its lovely, long, needle-sharp barbs? If so, I bet you're cringing right now—so was I. But there was "nothin' for it" but to cowgirl-up, grab hold, and pull. Surprisingly (and a miracle), I hardly felt it, and the cholla bulb came out easier than expected. Nocona kicked out a couple of times, but they all came out with no problem.

After all was said and done, I realized we stood in the only clearing—no cactus or rocks—and on the only part of the trail my horse could safely "break in two" (as we call it) and not be in serious trouble.

Thank you, Jesus, for your ever so patient heart (and Your angels who had to be standing there holding my horse)!

 "The Lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; and He knows those who trust in Him”—Nahum 1:7 

www.ponyexpressministry.com