Mis Raices Estan Aqui

The Constitution Project

2010-07-20T10:54:00.003-05:00

A few months ago, an idea came to my mom and I, and we are finally seeing it move along. Knowing the state of our nation today, and considering how the Constitution is being cast off by the very folks 'we the people' elected, it is safe to conclude that 'we the people' have forgotten who we are. We don't know the law of our land, how it came about, or why it says what it says.

Step one in our Constitution Project is to record the whole Constitution and submit it to as many radio stations as would be willing to play it. I'm not sure if it would be played in segments, or as a program of itself. So that is what we are doing over the next month: gathering people with good reading voices and recording the entire Constitution. If you would like to be a part of it, let me know.

We have had the support of some awesome volunteers, whom I believe God arranged to join us at just the right time. But this project needs your prayers. It needs to be recorded, edited, and distributed and (if you know me...) only God can effectively do this.

If 'the people' hear the Constitution, they will have questions that will lead to knowledge...it is my hope that we will once again become the 'enlightened people' that this document was meant to govern, and that in this, the people of God who are citizens of this nation will be the moral influence that will 'turn the tide'. Only God can do this, and we are all he has to work with.

If we are to remain free from the yoke, we must pray and seek God. 2 Chronicles 7:14 wasn't meant for the non-believers...it was meant for God's people. If we turn, then they will, too. But it starts with us.

Thank you all.

No. 8

2010-06-02T15:04:00.002-05:00

In the end, you will sacrifice for what you love, not what you think. So what is patriotism? And what role does faith in Christ play in it?

Consider this. Ask yourself if your patriotic ideal can stand up in the same room as Christ Jesus. Is your faith attached to this ideal, or does your patriotism grow out of your faith? If you spend time thinking about your country, and you have arrived at your opinions and you hold fast to them, do not neglect to put these opinions to the test of sacrifice.

What would you sacrifice for the opinions you hold? You hold them because you believe they are right. What is it worth to you?

I’m not asking you to talk yourself into some sort of vow to ‘die for what you believe’. To me, that is ridiculous. You can’t fake devotion. Either you will sacrifice, or you won’t. What I am driving at is for us all to align our hearts and our minds; to love the right things so we are never torn between what we love and what we believe.

It is possible to love peace more than righteousness, to love security so much that you are unwilling to sacrifice.

I will admit here the struggle I have over this. Spouting it off in a blog is one thing, but sacrificing for it is entirely another. We need to pray for each other. Pray we have one heart and one mind, that we love what is right. And if we do, then we will certainly possess the courage necessary to sacrifice for it.

To put this into perspective, I have two things to say. One, that eternity is what matters most. Glancing back from heaven, what would seem more valuable? Security, or righteousness? Would it seem worthwhile to be socially accepted because you don’t rock the boat, or to be considered radical sometimes because you loved what is right? Look at life from eternity. What lasts? Line up your opinions with that, and you will love the right things.

Two, sacrifice cannot be seen truly from a worldly perspective. I’m sorry for those of us who manufacture all their opinions from the stuff of this world. You can’t win that way. It’s just smoke, it’s just chasing the wind.

We need to be praying for each other. And we need to repent of valuing too highly those transient things. The truth is, if we value anything but Christ Jesus, we are destined to be shackled, enslaved, and finally devoured by fear.

America as it has always been is a transient thing. But freedom is not. Just like a house is transient, but the family inside it is not, there are worthwhile, lasting things in this nation worth sacrificing for. And if they are right and true things, there is not conflict between holding to them and holding to Christ.

I don’t know how or if we will all be presented with the choice to sacrifice for something. But we must prepare for it by finding and treasuring the eternal things in our nation, in our own lives, and in our churches. Soon our time here will end, and we will get the opportunity to see things from Eternity’s light. Let us hope we will have treasured the things that last.

“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light, momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that seen, but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” II Corinthians 4:16-18

Commencement Speech

2010-05-25T16:21:00.000-05:00

“Homeschool” is pretty self-explanatory. Going to school at home probably conjures a mental picture for you that involves stacks of books and chalkboards and math flashcards. Well, don’t forget to include rows of empty coffee cups-for both Mom and kid-scattered all over the house. And a kitchen table that is covered-no-buried in schoolwork to be graded. Well, I could talk about that. Or, I could talk about how every homeschool family eventually learns to take misunderstanding in stride. Relatives, friends, and strangers never seem to comprehend that homeschool is a legitimate way to get an education. But today, in honor of my sister and in tribute to my mother, I will tell instead about the ‘secret life’ of our homeschool family.
Beneath the appearance of everyday dullness and toil is a hidden structure, built through us by the patient of labor of the Spirit of God. Every family experiences this, and our homeschooling years have made us even more aware of it. Our daily struggle together to get along, to accomplish something in a day, to finish our schoolwork before noon or to get supper cooked made us tired sometimes. There are days that you just wish you’d picked another way. At any time, we know life can be shredded into a million pieces, and we wonder if working this hard is going to make a difference. There is no peaceful serenity involved in the word, ‘homeschool’, in fact, the picture that comes to my mind is more like crossing the Atlantic on a raft. Some triumphs, lots of tragedy, a little comedy and a whole lot of fighting the weather. I don’t know what it was like for mom, but sharing the glorious moments made it all worth it. Not glorious moments like this, but glorious moments that came when we didn’t expect them.
Homeschoolers and their parents have regular epiphanies, and those are such rich times-when we discover some great truth and come bounding into the kitchen with new knowledge on the tip of our tongue. I can’t count the times that our day has been paused, suspended in air, to make time for a long discussion about Biblical truth, church history, American history, or something else that lets us see our world in a truer light. We’ve gone to school in the barn, horseback in the pasture, in stock tanks, and even sometimes in bed! When you learn to learn wherever you are, you learn wherever you go. This is what fills the ordinary days with those glorious moments.
Tests come. Not just in school, but in life. And this is when we are sent tumbling by circumstance or events, but we land on the invisible structure God has built up under us. He strengthens it with our growing wisdom and understanding of the truth even in the everyday dullness. He fastens us together with strong bonds of love between us so that in the test, we are able to rise by His strength again, and move on. I remember the times we have looked back as a family, humbled to recognize that all along, He was strengthening us for the tests ahead. It was Him, all along, and it still is-for we are merely ordinary, flawed human beings!
Neither Callie nor I really loved learning in the beginning. For me, it took the first seven years of coercion, bribery, and spanking to get through school-the rest of my years as a student were smooth except for book reports. For Callie, I think it just took watching me and deciding not to make it so hard on herself! Both of us, thanks to our peculiar education, have felt at times that we were living a double life. Our education has been consistently Christ-centered and classically structured. Our thoughts and conversations around our dinner table sometimes find us discussing theology, or literature, or political theory, or philosophy. At home, we engage the spectrum of worldviews with our intellect; we speak freely and have developed passion for truth, for godliness, and for beauty. Outside of home, we have learned to temper these passions, not wanting to hear another homeschooler joke. We aren’t more important or special than anybody else, and boy, do we know it! But I can witness to you the truth of Galatians 6:7-8. Our parents sowed Spiritual seed in us, and we reap Spiritual fruit. If you find yourself discouraged as a parent or as a homeschooler, you’ve just gotta hear this one more time: Don’t give up!
The secret life of our homeschool family is hidden with Christ in God, a sweet, special fellowship whose journey has been more rewarding than anyone outside of us could fathom. We have experienced the blessing of obedience, thanks to Mom’s faithfulness to God’s calling to homeschool. And thanks to her faith and God’s grace, we’ve been able to overcome the obstacles, even when we were the obstacles.
Allow me to insert here, a sincere thanks to Mom. She did it. Ask her sometime if homeschooling hellion ranch kids was as easy as it sounds! Thanks for the times you let us go ride instead of do school. You seemed to always know when enough was enough. Mom, you make us proud to be your children and proud to have been your students. I can’t put a price tag on what you taught us, but it is something we hope to pass on: Loving God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength. Thank you.
Callie, I address you now, about this double life that we have led: part of our lives spent under the watchcare and nurturing of our family in the Lord; and part of it lived outside in the open air of this culture around us. It seems not to be as much an issue for you as it has been for me. But in case it becomes so, I must speak to you about your further calling to wisdom, understanding, and truth.
It is well known among Christians that we do not choose God, but he chooses us. We know that it is by his unlimited grace that we, through faith, are qualified to serve Him. We can approach the Father and know His will not by our own merit, but that of Jesus Christ, whose work on the cross bought us freedom from slavery. And we know He has given us the Spirit of Promise, who dwells within us, reveals God’s will in our hearts, and builds the hope of eternal life in us. Callie, you are of great value, but not because of any quality you possess. It is the Cross that has made you shine so purely among your peers.
You and others like you have been called and set apart for God’s use in a time that will require every strength and every skill you possess. You may wish you lived in a quieter, less serious time. To quote you-know-who, “So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we must decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world besides the rule of evil.” Like others, you have been entrusted with a great treasure. It is not merely an education that you have. It is not merely a family that you love, but it is a calling and a fellowship that God has arranged around you, to strengthen you for the tests that are coming. I know it is comforting to hear someone encourage you to follow your dreams, especially, as you are searching for some path that will take you higher than others have gone. The worlds’ smooth speech matches our natural desire to be made content and happy, but it sells us a cheap imitation of peace. You know, sister, and I know, that we are citizens of another far country, and we will never be content here. Because you are set apart, it is your duty to set your course on God’s will, not on your dreams.
It is my hope that after you have surrendered the bright unknown to the Lord, that His will becomes your dream. I pray that in the decisions you face in the months and years to come, that you are true to the Lord Jesus in everything. Remember that what you have been entrusted with is of too great a value to set aside or to be spent on lesser pursuits. May you grow strong and prosper beside the Living Water. I leave you with His words from John 15. “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it is in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from Me, you can do nothing.”

No.7

2010-05-13T17:30:00.003-05:00

Please read 2 Chronicles 6:12-42.
If you have not been paying attention to current events, or if you find it too depressing to think about, I ask you to overcome this immaturity now, before you are caught off guard, and your fears become reality because you were too complacent to speak up.

I'm sorry I haven't been fighting and speaking up all along. I've been where you may be now. I liked ignorance because it didn't require anything of me. I liked not caring because I felt it removed the responsibility from me. But it doesn't. Whether you speak up or not, whether you care or not, what is happening in America now WILL AFFECT YOU. So you can stand up and speak out or you can sit down and shut up, but either way, what's coming is coming.

Many of you have been standing and speaking up long before me. And I wish I had listened to you earlier. Some of you are offended by what I have just said, concluding it's none of my business and that you've already done everything you can-why am I so pushy? You want me to stop prodding, because it's just making you mad.

If you feel that way, it's because I'm preaching to the choir, right? Why am I preaching to the choir, I wonder? Where is everybody? I'm so sorry to hammer on people who get it already. That's not what I'm trying to do.

Today, May 13, 2010, every one of us has access to all the information we could possibly want. It's been this way since the internet opened up the world at the touch of a button. But this, my friends, will change. And what I've put up on this blog might become treason, and it might become censored. In a short time, you might not be able to speak your mind without being censored yourself. Now, you are free to do and say whatever you want. How do you use that freedom? What is it worth to you?

It's true and has been true time out of mind that "you don't know what you have until it's gone". If you don't get to read blogs like mine, see facebook posts, read email alerts, hear things like talk radio or Christian radio, watch stuff like Fox News on TV...would you feel you were alone? Would standing alone be scary enough to keep you quiet? It might. Those who oppose us are COUNTING ON IT. They are banking on you shutting up when you can't hear anyone else. What are you going to do?

I pray I have the courage on the day I lose my freedom to speak. I pray I can say before God and my peers that I used my freedom to speak for a cause greater than myself. I pray I can look back and know I did my level best to honor God and speak the Truth. And I pray that on that day, I will look forward to laboring and fighting for the RESTORATION OF WHAT WE HAVE LOST, because I know that it is right to preserve and cherish, even to the point of shedding blood.

Men and women you know have willingly given their youth, their mental health and peace of mind, their relationships and families, even their lives to fight for the preservation of this freedom we possess. They volunteered to do this. Can you sacrifice a little 'social discomfort' for the truth, for what is right and good? Can you? Because if you can, you are on your way to having the kind of commitment our soldiers have to their country. If you can't, I'm sorry for you. You will look back and wish you had.

I know that if you are reading this, you probably are one of those people who do speak out, stand up, pray, and vote according your faith and Biblical principles. But you know someone who is on the fence, and that's who I'm talking to now. Say this to them: If you do not stand for something, you will fall for anything. What do you stand for?

May God, who knows the hearts of every one of us, see fit to spare us from the worst. But even if he does not, my course is set. Remember: "He is good, and His steadfast love endure forever."

No. 6

2010-05-10T08:21:00.001-05:00

There are a great many things in our republic today that demand our attention. It seems that crises are multiplying, and we become numb, and ask ourselves: “Why should I care?”

After a while of being alarmed and stunned by recent events, it seems the adrenaline lets off, and we turn our minds to everyday things again. After all, it’s not really affecting everyday things right now. And those people who seem to stay stirred up over it, they annoy us. Inevitably, we justify our apathy by secretly telling ourselves we’d rather not sound crazy like them.

Citizen, if the republic falls, who will answer for it? Will you blame God, saying it was his will? Will it be fate if the republic crumbles? Or perhaps you are so uncertain, you would say there is no way to tell, and if we fall it was pure chance?

I say not by fate, nor by chance! I am not willing to trust my sacred liberty to either of these. If we have prayed, if we have sought the face of Almighty God, if we have turned from our wicked ways then GOD WILL KEEP HIS PROMISE! Have you lost heart and have your eyes been darkened so that you forget the character of your God? Citizen-Christian!-have faith! Have faith.

Have you, in the back of your mind, thought that God weighs the good and the bad, and if the bad is heavier, then no amount of righteous praying will influence him? Maybe in your judgment you think that this country deserves what it gets. Yes, this nation is full of wicked people, perverted justice, and rampant disregard for God. But you are here. You are a righteous person, made so by the blood of Christ on the cross. You are praying. You have faith. And if you know God firsthand from the accounts in Scripture, then be assured God will keep his promises to you. “For the Lord is our judge; the Lord is our lawgiver; the Lord is our king, he will save us.” Isaiah 33:22

Am I arguing that we all ask God to take us back to the way it was before 9/11? I am not. Are you? When we pray and ask Him to heal our land, we are asking for what He wants, not what we want. What would a healed America look like? When we pray, are we trying to control the outcome, or do we trust Him that the product of our prayers will be His greater glory? Give your patriotism to God. Do not pray like a patriot, pray like a Christian. What is God’s heart for our republic? Let us ask Him to give us His heart for this nation, so that we pray according to His will.

These hard times will make or break the republic. And perhaps us, as well. We Christians are being tested, here…now. What are we called to do? Be engaged in prayer, stay stirred up, let ourselves really care about what is going on in America…or, pray out of obligation and do our best to get lost in everyday life, avoiding those extreme people who annoy us?

Have you ever met a person who likes being awakened in the middle of the night and made to stay awake for the rest of it? No. But we as a people have been stirred awake. Will you go back to sleep, or is a burning republic important enough to keep you out of bed? The watchmen have sounded the alarm. Again, ask yourself: “Why should I care?”

Patrick Henry's guest post...

2010-05-08T19:27:00.002-05:00

I don't think any of us can improve on ways to say this. Please welcome Patrick Henry, March 23, 1775.

"No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen if, entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The questing before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.

Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is...."

Read the rest of this amazing speech by clicking on "Patrick Henry's Famous Speech" on the left-hand side bar.

No.5

2010-05-04T12:21:00.000-05:00

Many suggest it is the end times or that the tribulation is about to begin and the rapture is soon. This is a hasty conclusion, but if it were true, would this change what we ought to do as Christians in America? Does it mean that by resisting global government and by opposing the destruction of our nations laws, heritage, and freedom we are somehow opposing God? Does God wish for us to be passive in these times? Were we born to live our destinies in this era by being dispassionate observers?

If you are hungry for a taste of theological assumptions and are eager for debate, look elsewhere. A discussion will be welcome, but I mean merely to point out a few things here.

First, I have questioned why some among us feel compelled by God and in Scripture to defend American liberty and some feel God has led them to withdraw. Does this not mean that one is right and one is wrong? And if, on both sides, there is assurance that the Holy Spirit’s direction to them was clear, how can we keep from arguing? How can this not divide us? Is our decision to fight or to retreat made by our first reaction, or is it made with wisdom, considering the whole picture and as much information as we can glean?

Second, I recall that the devil is always plotting and scheming, and every one of his schemes has a common thread: to divide. If he divides a mind, he makes a doubter. If he divides a church, he conquers them, and the battle is his. He knows very well that he must do both to win: he must defeat faith in the individual and unity in the body.

Third, I realize that to hear from God and to receive His comfort, grace, direction, blessing…even his love, I must be surrendered totally to Him. I must be completely His, and trust myself completely to His wisdom. I am only a servant, I am not my own.

Therefore, I have come to this conclusion: That we are all servants of His, unified by His love, one in the Spirit. And each individual must obey the Master’s direction. Our goal is to obey so that he will be glorified. And following this, we realize that to accomplish His purposes-which we do not fully know because we do not know the mind of God-we must obey one step at a time. In doing this, each of us obeying his specific direction, we will all work together to accomplish His greater purpose.

I put it to you this way: When a General goes into battle, he issues every order for the goal of victory. All his men know that victory is their purpose, but he does not proclaim all that is in his mind, all his methods and plans, to every soldier. Instead, he issues orders at precise times to specific soldiers. As each one dutifully obeys the orders he was given, he is confident that his work will serve the common cause. The General does not order all the soldiers to do exactly the same thing, either.

Can you see what I’m driving at? If God has led you to withdraw, to retreat, and to back down from defending American liberty in peaceful assembly, in speech, and in conduct, then those are your orders. Obey them, and I will obey mine. Because American liberty is not my god, it is merely my heritage, which I have been led to defend. I trust that God will accomplish his greater purpose, but I do not first demand a guarantee of success before dedicating my ‘life, my fortune, and my sacred honor’ to this work. Like those others of whom we have read, I know God can preserve us. Whether he will or not, I am resolved to obey his orders, and if I perish, I perish.

No. 4

2010-04-28T20:16:00.001-05:00

I believe Christians have not merely the option, but the duty preserve American liberty under the Constitution. I’m going to explain why I believe that.

All over the world, all across time, man has tried and failed to create the perfect society. There will never be a perfect civilization until we cross over Death and enter Heaven. America is not the Biblical Promised Land, and we are not God’s new chosen people. But as Americans by birth, we share a heritage of obedience to God’s Word. When our forefathers crossed the Atlantic, they had a chance to create whatever kind of society they wanted. Anyone could have set up a kingdom, or set up any kind of government. Instead, those who laid the foundation for this country’s character were the first in history to take God’s Word and apply it to every aspect of life. Let me make myself more clear.

God’s Word says (and if you are not sure, do not take my word for it! Read it yourself!): All men are created by God, equal in his sight and equally in his image. All men answer to God as individuals, and God judges every man according to his deeds. God gave his moral law as a safeguard against sin and injustice among ourselves. That said, it does not take an expert to see how our Declaration of Independence, our Constitution and our Bill of Rights reflect these principles in God’s Word. Our revolution would have been identical to that of France if we had not had these true, inspired, God-given principles to guide us. Remember that where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty. And His Spirit was here then, and it is here now.

This is why we say that Americans have a Godly heritage. Because in this country, we are self-governing individuals, equal in the sight of the law, and responsible for our own individual property. Contrast this with the opposite way that we have so swiftly been forced to accept: in a socialist/communist system, we are no longer individuals before the law, but groups. We are not equal any longer. In the eyes of a corrupt government, we become Democrats and Republicans, or rich and poor, or haters or bigots or racists instead of real people with real names and real reasons for believing what they believe. Do not allow yourself to be confused. There is no way to untangle our nation from the web Socialism has weaved about it except to cut ourselves free of that web with the Truth.

The truth is, we have a Godly heritage. The truth is that we are equal under the law, and any other form of law is perverted justice and an unjust balance. What does this mean for Christians?

I cannot answer for anyone but myself. I am a Christian. I was born an American. I have a Godly heritage. Others may decide they ought to remain passive, but I am certain it is my duty to Christ to do all I can to remember my Godly heritage. I do not need justification. This is my calling in these troubled times: to stand for my heritage. I know that if I do not, then I put to scorn the abundant gifts I was born with, the gift of freedom, the gift of just laws, and the gift of individual rights.

God blessed America, but not with prosperity. His blessing is freedom, because He knows prosperity is not necessary to life, freedom is. I will gladly relinquish all my abundant wealth as citizen of a prosperous nation in exchange for my freedom! I cannot and I will not endeavor to persuade anyone else to violate their conscience by asking them to stand with me. If your conscience demands that you forego this calling, I do not judge you for it. But if you are called as I am, be courageous. I leave you with these words:

“The moral principles and precepts contained in the Scriptures ought to form the basis of all our civil constitutions and laws. All the miseries and evils which men suffer from vice, crime, ambition, injustice, oppression, slavery, and war, proceed from their despising or neglecting the precepts contained in the Bible.” ~Noah Webster

“If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude better than the animating contest of freedom, go home from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or your arms. Crouch down and lick the hands that feed you. May your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that ye were our countrymen.” ~Samuel Adams

No. 3

2010-04-23T17:32:00.001-05:00

Those age 16-29 (approximately) are the largest generation of Americans to date. We are known as ‘Generation X’. We are the first generation to be brought up in a world that depends technology. They call us ‘Generation X’ partly because our future is so uncertain. If the world has progressed this far, is it possible to progress further? The world awaits our fate, to know what will define us and whether we will bring it down or bring it onward.

This sounds a little silly at times, I admit. We look around us and we don’t feel the hand of destiny-or Providence- leading us anywhere. We just want normal lives; we want to enjoy life and have fun until it’s over. But for a long time I have sensed (and you may have as well) that the future was bringing me to a crossroads. When I look around me, I can’t fail to see how divided my generation truly is. To put it plainly, some think of life as a meaningless joke, and some are quickly willing to risk everything for an ideal. Of those dedicated to an ideal, they know instinctively that we play an important part in the battle between good and evil.

If you, like me, seem to have been hanging in the air, looking for a spot to land; waiting for a clear sign of what you were supposed to do with your life, pray. God will show you, as he has shown me, because He is faithful and good.

In the life of this Republic, many hard times have come and gone already. And God has been faithful to guide the people who would listen, and he blessed them when they obeyed. In return, time and time again, they thanked him for his kindness. There has never been a dark time in our history when God has not made the Truth known to anyone who turned to him. He has always rewarded the people who put their faith in him, and he has guarded their liberty so far.

Americans, another dark time is upon us now. A line has been drawn in the sand, and we have to choose a side. There’s no neutral-not choosing IS choosing. Generation X, this marks the spot. This time in our nation’s history is our defining moment. What happens now will reveal who we were all along. So we must have the Truth to light the way. We have to acknowledge God, and put our faith in him. We cannot blithely recite “In God We Trust” unless, somewhere deep within us, we have also vowed, “In God I Trust”. We don’t know the future. This could be the Alamo, or this could be the Fiery Furnace. But even if we are not assured victory on this earth, we know that trusting God has earned us an eternal reward. That’s what it was about all along.

No. 2

2010-04-20T17:08:00.002-05:00

First, I will explain the purpose of journalism. Second, I will explain the definition of media. Third, I will tell you why this matters. This is the short version here. If you want more, talk to me.

Journalism exists as a watchdog, its job is to make the truth public. It is not the property of business, of government, or of any one corner of a free republic. By relaying true accounts to the public, journalism sounds the alarm against tyranny. Think of the purpose of journalism as the “Paul Revere” of a free people. Paul Revere rode to warn the Minute-men that the British were coming, and his midnight ride saved their lives. Journalism watches over the government, and warns a free people of corruption and oppression wherever it is present, allowing the citizens to take action against it by speaking out and voting etc.

The ‘media’ as we know it today is a business. It can be thought of like a huge barge that brings us information. Journalism, advertising, and entertainment all ride on the barge. It is an unfortunate necessity for journalism to use it, but do not confuse the two. Real journalism is bringing the news- true events, words, and deeds-to the people. The vehicle is inconsequential. What often happens today is that the vehicle of journalism compromises its purpose. This is why we get fed up with the media-because we don’t get journalism straight up. Because the national media ‘barge’ is such a huge business, advertising and entertainment are tangled around journalism, and this can be thought of as chaining and muzzling the watchdog. If government takes charge of the barge, journalism is thrown overboard.

Keeping this in mind, we now understand that we have to filter out advertising and entertainment ourselves in order to get a true account. We can then act on correct information. Many of us for a long time have put a bark collar on the watchdog by turning a blind eye to the news. The result will be that abuses to our liberty will come out of nowhere, and we will be defenseless. So we have to pay attention to the news. We have to listen to the warning of the watchdog.

Journalism, remember, is not the voice telling us what to think about what is happening. It is the voice telling us what is happening. We must be informed citizens who know the Truth (we have read the Bible, we know the Constitution, we know who we are and why), so that we can prepare and act upon the warnings we receive. Like the minute-men in the story of Paul Revere, we are those who wait, willing and ready to defend our liberty. We are not those who roll over and go back to sleep.

It is important to watch and read the news, especially the local news. We can content ourselves by saying we are vigilant because we watch the national news, but that is far away. Some around you need your support, for they have chosen to be informed and know the truth. They need you. You must know your community. You’ve got to know what is going on around you as well as what is going on out there. To proceed blindly on in denial is a betrayal of all those who have bled to give us what we have. Stand ready. Stand with us, and we will stand together.

No. 1

2010-04-18T12:11:00.000-05:00

Citizens have gotten used to believing things without checking up on them. The majority of us have been educated by the government school system. Inexplicably, we have all stopped caring about whether truth is taught in schools: true history, true science, or truth of any sort.

The result, we all now know, is that the true stories of the lives of our founding fathers; the true story of our wars and the true story of our way to greatness has been hidden. I do not say this to blame anyone in particular. I’m not going to rail against those who, for whatever reason they were compelled to do so, have re-written and fabricated our history.

I challenge you, Citizen, to go back and read our founding documents. Read letters our founders wrote, read their papers. Go back to original sources before you allow yourself to listen to debates or party rhetoric.

The founding generation was a Godly generation. That doesn’t mean they were all perfect churchgoers or that they were anything like the hypocritical churchgoers you may associate with the word ‘Christian’. What that means is that they acknowledged the existence of God and His activity in the lives of men; they adhered to the same moral code based upon the words of God himself in the Bible. It means that they knew there is absolute Truth, that that Truth can be known, and they lived their lives by it.

To all of you who are neutral about this issue, I ask you: If the people who re-write our history despise and belittle the founders for being Christians so much that they would change history, what would they do to a living Christian if they had the power? How far would they go? Erasing the faith of these men from history is by far the most bitter disrespect. I can think of no greater act of enmity than to lie about someone posthumously…except perhaps to have assassinated them when they were alive.

No one can deny that over time, a story gets twisted a little. How to you prevent the “Telephone Effect”? By asking the person face-to-face what they said. As citizens, IT IS OUR DUTY to know the Truth and prize it highly.

I challenge you, American, to find the Truth about our history. Read what the founder’s themselves wrote-don’t trust a biography unless you’ve done that. Don’t know where to start? Let me help. How about reading the Constitution and Declaration of Independence. Do you have a copy? Get one.

Prove you are a free-thinking American and opt for original sources instead of Cliffs Notes this time! You can think for yourself. You can discern what is true and what is a lie if you get the truth yourself. Truth is the torch of Liberty. Without that light, free men wander and are lost.

Citizen, inform yourself while the truth is still freely available. Too much is at stake to settle for second-hand information. Don’t lose your freedom out of ignorance. Uninformed and ignorant people are easy to enslave. Defy oppression. Find the Truth.

Only The Beginning

2010-02-18T11:34:00.005-06:00

My filly is out of an unregistered Quarter Horse mare named Annabelle Oakley and a Quarter Horse stud names Jackies Gold Bee. Her name is Windsome Belle, but I call her 'Chisum' because 'Windy' was too girly, even for her. She was born in a wind storm, but 'Winsom' was a mare in a book I read a long time ago, and I liked the name. She is almost two years old now, but the picture up on this page was taken the day she was born.

So what? I know, you are getting impatient. Well, Chisum's story is something I promise to tell you one day. But there's one aspect of her life that I can tell you now. Being the only mare on the place, she gets to be alone all the time. For all of her nearly two years of life, she has not run with any other horses. As a result of this, she's had plenty of time to study them. It's clear by how she handles herself that she thinks she is all grown up. She never gave a bit of trouble loading and backing out of a trailer, being caught, tied up or having her feet picked out. "Why throw a fit? If the big boys can do it, so can I!" she seems to say.

She's had a pretty full life so far, but her mind isn't big enough to comprehend what is in store for her. In a month or two, she will learn all about saddles, bits, cowboys and ropes and she just won't know what to do with herself! But up until now, she has not been ready. She is almost there. Of course, from her point of view, there isn't much she doesn't know. She has the layout of the pens memorized, knows where to get feed and water and what time the two-leggeds always show up to talk to her and feed her. She thinks she knows pretty much everything, and the dullness of so much wisdom has made her cocky and perhaps a little disappointed. "Is this all there is to life?" she might say. "I was hoping there was more."

Well, there is more. A lot more. And real soon, when Chisum is ready, she'll find out just how much she knows and get the humiliating chance to measure that against what she doesn't know. Life will lose its dullness, and all the petty things like that ol' red hen in her feed bucket will lose priority in her day. New things that aren't so petty will take its place, like climbing over deadfall and chasing a cow. In her shrunken little world of the corral and dogs and chickens, she can't imagine there being more to it. She's figured it all out. But you and I know she hasn't. She probably wouldn't listen if I tried to tell her that, so she will have to see for herself.

When I put myself in her 'shoes', I see how much alike we are. I'm a young woman who thinks she's seen it all, but God knows my destiny and certainly does have a lot to teach me. There's a world out there, a life I haven't even begun to live...and here I am at the starting gate thinking I've already run the race! Everything up to now has been calculated preparation on his part, and slow monotony for me looking back. It's easy to smear it all with the dust of the 'everyday' and sigh and look over the fence, like Chisum, thinking the world is so dull. I probably wouldn't understand God spelling out to me what's next in my life anymore than she would understand a lecture about getting the right lead. That's why timing is so important to God. He doesn't waste our everyday moments telling us stuff that won't make sense right now.

If you are still with me, let's try to grasp a bigger picture. A mere 90 years of life on earth is really only like Chisum's two, and my twenty-four. We have the rest of our lives to live. This part is the morning of life, the getting-out-of-bed and brushing-your-teeth part. From here, we enter ETERNITY, where life will really get started. At the end of a lifetime here, we are nowhere near halfway to the halfway mark. As immortal souls, we have an unending life ahead of us. It stretches on beyond what our minds can scope. I hope you read what I'm trying to tell you. I guess the best way to end this is to ask you what your eternity will be like. Because you do have a choice where you will spend it, and who you will spend it with. All this preparation, all this dullness; all the thoughts you've had about how much you know of life, it's just the beginning of the beginning. And when the next chapter begins, like Chisum, we will have to humble ourselves before our Master and submit in order to truly live our destiny and fulfill our purpose. Because there is more. A lot more.

Now I hope this gives you some food for thought.

Not In The Mood

2009-10-10T10:40:00.002-05:00

On the subject of procrastination and neglect I'm probably an expert. You know, one of those experts that has 'learned from experience'. A lot has happened since I last posted here, but the nice thing about it is that you don't have to hear it all! I'm not in the mood to write, which is how I've been all year, pretty much. Just generally dry when it comes to words. I could apologize, but that won't do any good either, because I'm the one who 'suffers' for being so out of practice!

My Lord has been so kind to me, and I don't deserve his patience. He's just amazing, you know? The report on my life's direction sounds kind of like last year. My life is at His disposal. I'm not here for long; while I'm here, my calling is to bear fruit, i.e. invest my gifts (from God). I know this sounds kind of crazy when you see what it looks like. For example, I have tiny, miniscule, nothing-much of a gift in the areas of art, music, writing, and horses. So, what I do is I take my little mustard-seed-sized talent in each, I plant it, and I let it grow. This is a full time job, you know. Because none of these things are careers, and all of them 'don't count' in a money hungry culture. I am actively pursuing my Lord's directive in Matthew 25:14-30. And it is a scary thing, but I'm taking it step by step.

The last thing I want to do is turn this blog into a diary. But someone told me back when I wrote more that there was nothing on here about me. Well, the last few posts are a piece of me. Whatever appears here I hope is something that will touch someone else with light.

"...you have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much..." I pray what I'm doing reveals the Master.

So, What Happened?

2008-11-10T21:25:00.000-06:00

I'll keep it brief. I still don't know about permanent plans (are there such things?), but right now, I work for a horse outfit. I never sit down long enough to write because I'm so busy riding horses, feeding horses, grooming horses, doctoring horses and looking at horses! I'm happy, and I'm still looking for God.

Nothing notable has happened yet, but let's keep watch. I'll let you know what happens next.

Oh no. He's At It Again.

2008-08-19T16:02:00.000-05:00

If you’ve read the post below, then you probably knew something like this was coming. There was change in the wind, but I didn’t know it until a couple of days ago.

So how did it come to pass that I suddenly decided not to go back to PHC, and have surprised my family and disappointed a few of my friends…all in the space of a couple of days?

There’s not much to the story, really. I had everything packed, and was planning to arrive in Virginia by Wednesday at the latest. Ahead of me was a semester of managing the women’s soccer team, editing The Soundboard, soaking up more and more about journalism, life, God…and enjoying close friends. I was starting to load the car and realized I couldn’t go. I couldn’t go back to Virginia.

I’ve struggled with the back-East culture, I’ll be honest. But I had a gut feeling I just needed to throw it all to God. He’s in charge, right?

To all my friends and family, I hope you are watching closely. I don’t want you to blink and miss seeing something God does. I’m actually expecting him to move now at any moment. My heart is God’s, you see. And as flawed as it is, some of the desires in it originated with Him. Those are the things I am looking toward now…

I feel awkward, at this moment in time, and uncertain of what the heck I am doing. Just watch. See if God can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

I would absolutely love to hear from any of you, so please talk to me. You have not seen the last of me yet.

Via con Dios…and so will I.

But I Do Struggle...

2008-07-25T16:30:00.000-05:00

If I may make a confession, I’d like to say that I have purposely neglected everything but the ranch and the horses and the dogs all summer long. I haven’t checked my email since sometime in May.

I have been daily training pups, helping them learn the ‘dry commands’ like ‘come’ and ‘down’ and ‘heel’ while helping my parents keep things up. And I have been doing things like halter breaking my filly, riding my own and my sisters’ horses since she has been gone most of the time, and helping my grandfather with his cattle. I saw it hot and dry here until the very tail end of June. Then it started raining. About 3 weeks ago, we got four inches in one day, and the house flooded. We had to sweep the water out the door with brooms.

I went with a small documentary film crew last week to Colorado and Wyoming. We rode up in the Rockies on mules and filmed the Oliver Ranch crew driving their cattle to summer country. That was Colorado. Further down the road we met and interviewed Miss Rodeo Wyoming and spent a whole day observing three different bands of wild Mustangs in the Great Divide Basin. The week finished out with getting some footage and photographs of the Cheyenne Frontier Days in Cheyenne, Wyoming.

This week, I found out that my sister Karah is engaged (yippee!) and that my brother, Kile, is finally coming home. My other sister, Callie, turned 17 yesterday. I was given a Border Collie-Cattahoula cross pup as an early Birthday present around the 4th of July. Her name is Beque (pronounced ‘Bek’). She’s a tiny thing, but she’s been a welcome source of joy and amusement as I contemplate returning to Virginia.

I must be honest. The prospect of heading east is truly depressing. I wonder-again-if this is what God really wants me to do. When I hear nothing from Him, by way of signs and wonders, I ask, “Father, is that your final answer?” Silence from God is ok when the question belongs on the shelf. ‘God, will I live to be 80?’ No answer. ‘Ah. No big deal.’ But the urgent questions, like, “Should I transfer to a different school?”-inquiries of this type make me anxious when I don’t hear from God. I find myself thinking about how I can get an answer out of Him. While I’m at it, I may as well get the answer I want. But herein is another difficulty. I want a PHC education. I want the diploma, too. I know that may be solely because so many people told me I couldn’t do it. But is it right to shut the windows of my soul, coil up my dreams and my natural gifts and live in a stuffy back east town? Am I going the wrong way?

I do not even know my own mind. How can I manipulate God, the Universe Maker? Confession again: I’m wrong to try. I’m selfish. I’m…scared. The bottom line is that I need to draw a deep breath and trust Him one more time. Whatever He says, I need to be ready to hear it.

To those of you who will, please pray for me to be ready for the answer that I know is coming. Thank you all for your patience with me.

Hank the Cowhorse

2008-07-25T15:08:00.000-05:00

The horses we use on a ranch are not all special. Some of them are just horses. Some of them are outlaws. But some of them have a way of warming your heart with a good character and an honest willingness to please. Believe it or not, character counts for horses, too.

On a dry spring about 14 years ago, I met Hank for the first time. The one broodmare we had, a buckskin named Jenny, had been turned out on the Robinson ranch all winter. I remember rattling out in the feed truck to the Buzzard Well, searching the brushy hillside for a glimpse of Jenny. It was about time for her to foal, and we needed to find her.

Mom was driving, and although I now know it’s not a good idea, I was using the binoculars out the truck window. (Looking through binoculars from a moving truck makes you sick…trust me.) Mom honked the horn and sure enough, Jenny topped out over a ridge. Clinging tightly beside her was a flickering red flame. As they came closer, I realized that it wasn’t fire-it was a coppery sorrel colt. Solid red from nose to tail, he only had a little white marking on his left hind leg. I was impressed with him at the time, thinking he would someday become a famous halter horse or race horse or something like that. When you’re little you don’t realize that there are limits to things. No ranch raised Quarter Horse has ever won the Triple Crown. But I was happy with my dreaming and christened the little fella ‘Hank’.

I got to help halter break him, and he made me proud. He wasn’t the gentlest, but he didn’t throw many fits. When he was a weanling, it became clear he wouldn’t be a world champion halter horse-his big head and Roman nose made him look like a little red pumpjack. So much for pretty. And he wasn’t very big yet-he kinda had short legs. So much for the Triple Crown. I figured he would prove to be the smartest horse anyone had ever seen, so I had my hopes up for him to become a famous cutting horse. Dreams are resilient things when you’re young.

But life interrupted my dreaming, and Hank was sold so we could have enough money to move to my dad’s new job. I was so busy growing up and learning how to be myself in a new place that I let go of Hank completely. It wasn’t until years later that I caught up with him again. I’d had a rough few years but I was still dreaming. By then I was a teenager and had finally gotten the chance to rodeo in the New Mexico High School Rodeo Association. I went looking for a roping horse and lo and behold, I wound up buying back my very own Hank.

Now a full-grown horse, he was stout and muscular with a thin wiry tail and not much of a mane (which made his oversized ears look even more oversized). He had been ridden on ranches and sent to a roping horse trainer. If horses had GPA’s, I reckon his would have been below a 2.0. Luckily, I graded on a curve and took him home.

I hauled Hank for two years to rodeos all around New Mexico. I soon learned his quirks, not the least of which was his claustrophobia, his love of Dr. Pepper, and his uncanny knack for getting hurt. But there was nothing he loved more than roping calves, and nothing he hated more than speed events. Calf roping was his niche. We were often outrun, so both of us finally learned to break quicker and swing quicker-before that calf left us in the dust.

Hank wasn’t just a rodeo horse. That was as much his weekend hobby as it was mine. Dad, Mom, and my sister and I used him for ranch work. He was ridden hard some weeks during spring and fall works and still got dragged to rodeos on weekends. He was also the horse we gave dudes to ride, because he was gentle and tolerant. That’s not to say he was patient-he would take advantage of their ignorance in any way he could. But we knew we could always count on Hank for whatever job we had to do.

There was a time in high school when both my mom and I were day working on some of the bigger outfits around where I live. Between the two of us we had one pickup and trailer and three horses. And Hank picked up the slack, sometimes working two days back-to-back during gathering time. He may have been really tired, but it didn’t keep him from trying.

Last spring, Mom was checking heifers and rode down the canyon. I guess there was a boggy spot at the crossing, and Hank sunk to his belly in black mud. He didn’t panic, he just got out as fast as he could. I was surprised, as accident-prone as he is, that he didn’t really hurt himself. That makes the first time he’s gotten into a jam that didn’t require 10 days of doctoring and a vet bill in the aftermath.

Last summer we jumped a coyote down in the Big Pasture. Mom was riding Hank again, and all I heard was “Get out of the way,” just as Hank thundered by. Mom had her rope down and they caught up to that ol’ coyote; Mom threw but that sly dog just ran right through. We chased him for the better part of 20 minutes until he disappeared into a hole. On the way home, Hank was strutting like a peacock. He had tracked that coyote at a blistering pace and rated it perfect. He knew it, too.

This January, I left Hank behind for college and dreams of a different kind. Hank never won a single halter class; never won a race. In fact, I don’t think Hank can be credited for a single trophy buckle. He never did become a great cutting horse, either.

Today, Hank stands in the corral with the younger generation of cowhorses here on the ranch. He still does the same things he always did-at the same steady pace. He hasn’t gotten any prettier, either. Now, my little sister hauls him to rodeos on the weekends, and my Dad still drags calves off of him in the spring. We still put dudes on him, too. And he is the same horse he has always been. I think in a way Hank the cowhorse not only lived up to my dreams, he exceeded them. Looking back on Hank’s life, it seems to me there is greater value in being dependable than in being a champion. I hope we can all take that lesson to heart.

The Heart of a Lion, Part IV

2008-04-30T10:41:00.000-05:00

Finally, part four.

Nine months after the colic surgery, Macho paces up and down in the little pasture he used to rest in. The dull roar of the Bobcat backhoe is the only thing breaking the routine serenity of another Mesa Ranch day. Cindy stands by the gate, her hat hiding her face. She's crying. Wes is beside her. Macho is only a scarecrow now. It's finally the end of the trail. His kind eyes still glitter with determination, but that is the only thing that is the same about him.

Immediately following his surgery, the incision became infected. Macho spent several more days at the clinic, and was given a high powered antibiotic to fight it. Less than a month after returning home, Macho was still weak and still losing weight. When Dr. Franklin examined him, the news was ominous. His kidneys were failing. Thorough research revealed that the kidney failure was caused by a reaction to the antibiotic.

His coat, once brilliant now looks like an old penny. The magnificent, sculpted body is now jagged and bony. His head, so keen and alert, barely clears the ground. He paces like a big cat, but it is taking all the strength left in him to keep from folding into a heap on the ground. This is goodbye to the horse whose destiny didn't wait for him. No amount of try could delay death.

Macho was put down and buried in the paddock that he always used be turned out to run in.
The pacing figure is now nowhere to be seen. The pasture is empty, except for Cindy and Wes, walking together away from a fresh mound of soil. Macho is gone.

Sherry Evans' heart sank when she learned Sadie was not carrying Macho's foal. Sherry had been given a free breeding to Macho as a birthday present. The colt out of her mare, Poco Peppy Concetta (Sadie) would have been able to do anything, be anything. Tears stream down her face as she stands with one hand resting on Sadie's pale, cream colored back. "I knew better than to hope for too much," she says slowly. "It was a great hope and dream to have a colt out of such a classy horse as Macho Little Lena, but it wasn't God's will at the time," Sherry says. "I felt like he had a heart that was out of the ordinary. If I had a colt out of him that had a heart like him, then I'd have a once in a lifetime horse."

"It's heartbreaking," says Walt Evans, Sherry's husband. "Macho was an exceptional cutting horse, exceptionally athletic, exceptionally talented at reading cattle. He had a future in front of him."

The loper stirs and reaches for his pocket where his cell phone is ringing. The nap's over, it's back to the whirlpool on another blue-blooded cowpony. The crackle of the microphone prepares its audience for the announcer's voice, "Thank you, boys. We're gonna pick up with Little Blue Tutu owned by Janet Keller, A Lil Tachita and Albert Rolwing Jr. be ready please."

There is a hush in the coliseum while the sounds of the warm up pen continue in a monotonous flow. The cutting world goes on spinning today just as it did when Macho was a rising star. New faces and new horses make the headlines now. But if you were to mention the name of the bright colored cowhorse, you can be sure someone would remember him. In Wes's words, "Macho, he goes down in the books. He'd been dealt a terrible hand. Sometimes things aren't fair. But he had the heart of a lion."

A Little Out Of Hand

2008-04-20T16:46:00.000-05:00

Dear PHC folks,

It won’t be long before we all part ways for the summer. But before we get to that, every one of us is staring down a couple of weeks of difficult reading, writing and test taking. If you’ve got the stomach read through the rest of my letter, I hope you’ll notice that though it is true that all good things come to an end, it’s also true that all bad things come to an end, too. Allow me to illustrate this point by telling a true tale that took place in western New Mexico in the winter of 1999.
My family lived in a one-room cabin in the Gila National Forest. We were taking care of cattle on the Cox Canyon lease, which is about 7,000 feet elevation. We didn’t have running water or electricity, and the only way to get water was by hauling it in a 250 gallon tank from a spring-fed water trough about seven miles away. Usually, mom and I would use five gallon buckets and dip the water out of the trough. But dad figured it was time to stop working so hard and start working smart.
The day before the ‘catastrophe’ happened, my dad went in to town and purchased a small water pump-complete with a rubber intake hose. He also bought a nice, long cloth hose (like a fire hose without a nozzle) for the output end.
The ice was five or six inches thick on the trough that morning, and the wind was cruel and sharp. Mom and dad took the feed truck-loaded with the tank and the pump-and went off to get water first thing. About two hours later, they pulled up to the cabin and mom got out, appearing an unusual shade of blue. When I got closer, I noticed the 250 gallon tank was empty…and mom was soaking wet. Dad had a ridiculous grin on his face that only flashed when mom’s back was turned. Here’s what happened:
They arrived at the trough and backed the pickup close enough for the hoses to reach, lowered the tail gate, and primed the pump. Once the ice was broken, they were ready to fill the tank. Dad stayed on the ground to man the pump and the intake hose, while moms only job was to make sure the output hose didn’t kink and the water went in like it was supposed to. The pump started. The stiff intake hose jerked as water was drawn in to it. Water filled the cloth hose and travelled quickly down it to the opening at the end. The pump sputtered, so dad reached over and adjusted the choke. The pump sped up and began drawing more water faster. Suddenly, the cloth hose was endowed with a crazed intelligence. It leapt out of the tank and slapped mom across the face. She reacted too late, and fell backward into the snow. The crazy hose proceeded to flop and writhe all around mom, who didn’t lay there long. She jumped up to lay hold of the wild hose, but her efforts were futile. She chased it only to get close enough to be blasted with ice cold water. She dived for it only to be smacked in the back of the head by it. Somewhere in the fray she lost a glove and her glasses. This violent escapade lasted for several minutes, amidst her shrill protests and shocked exclamations each time she was doused with icy spring water. After the initial panic reaction wore off, she received an epiphany: she could escape. So she hid around the other side of the truck only to have it reach underneath and soak her snow boots through. Eventually, she made it to the tailgate and shut off the pump.
And where was the would-be hero of this errand-gone-wrong? He was laughing- twitching and convulsing on the tailgate of the pickup, only an arm’s length away from the switch that could have prevented the disaster entirely. Dad was laughing so hard he couldn’t even lift the intake hose out of the trough. Mom was miserable. She was dripping wet in temperatures around 15 degrees (don’t forget the wind chill factor!). And like every feed truck on every ranch I’ve ever been on, the heater didn’t work. Mom suffered all the way home. Dad suffered too-from having to hold laughter in the whole way.
Well, I hope that story makes you chuckle. I figure it was worth telling if made you smile. Here in the next few weeks, when your assignments and tests seem to be treating you like that hose treated my mom, don’t let it dampen your spirits. It won’t be long before you’ll be able to look back and laugh about it.

Your friend,

Cheyenne

Readers Thinking Out Loud

2008-04-16T11:02:00.000-05:00

Here are some readers remarks that I thought everyone might like to read. Both of these ladies live and work with horses today, and both of them have their share of stories. After reading through this blog, they shared with me some of their thoughts.

Charity comments on ranch life:

“I have to tell you, being raised on a ranch gives you a certain amount of appreciation for the land and the hard work that goes along with it. It's just that when you're out there pushing cattle or working in a branding pen, you have a stronger connection to how God wanted us to live, you appreciate the environment and the animals and the weather and the people that are with you more. Unless someone has lived like that, I think they just don't get it and we may come across as a bit arrogant sometimes, but that's not the deal, it's just that we know it's a better way of life. I remember hating having to get up and go feed or get up and go throw hay when the snow was blowing so hard you couldn't see, and I hated not being able to hang out with my friends in town, but now that I'm grown, I can understand the desire to be away from everything in town and the drama that goes along with it.” - Charity Underwood

Cindy talks about technology:

“Not too sure what a blog is, I guess…I’m assuming it’s what you like and what goes on in your mind and you put it out there for all to see. Sure is different from when I was your age. I just saddled up and rode off into the wide open spaces, looking for a wild yearling to rope and tie down; a good horse to ride; and to live as far away from civilization as I could. Didn’t even have a phone-never dreamed there would be a cell phone and for sure a computer and what they can do now! Even my mother and father can use one. I’m sure if they thought about it, they would’ve felt like they’d been thrown into a science fiction movie, or something like it. Imagine growing up in the 1940’s like they did, WWII, with the Great Depression just over and seeing all that has transpired since.

Even my generation has been exposed to ‘speed-of-light’ transitions. Text messaging??!! It works for me-if I have glasses and lots of time. I like it better than holding a cell phone next to my ear while I’m trying to get work done. My days of squishing a phone between my chin and shoulder are over. The neck is done in. Besides, when you talk on a cell phone that way, the other party hears this muffled sound. You can’t hear a thing, and the horse you are trying to blanket just boogered, whirled and almost killed you.

Other times the dang cell phone falls out of your pocket (which you forgot to snap) because your reins were in your hands and the horse was jumping away from a cow, so you just slipped it in your pocket without even hitting the end button. This fragile piece of wondrous technology sometimes lands in the water trough. Either way, it’s pretty hard on the little critter you can’t live without, and at the same time you just absolutely hate! You have to grab that little rascal as quick as you can, shake it, disassemble it, hurry! Stick it and it’s battery in the refrigerator (of all places!) to dry. How long can you live without it? One hour perhaps? Put it back together and check for messages!! I noticed a lot of young folks wear their pockets out pulling that cell phone out just to look to see if they have a had a call. Slaves to a cell phone, all of us.” -Cindy Smith

Thank you, ladies, for letting me post your comments up here. And thanks for reading, too.

The Heart of a Lion, Part III

2008-04-15T18:18:00.000-05:00

‘The Heart of a Lion’ is a four-part series about a brave horse, good people, and life lessons. This is the true story of Macho Little Lena…

As a three year old, Macho was preparing for the NCHA World Championship Futurity. The cutting world started to buzz about Rice's prospect of winning on the little bald-face stud. Rice was confident and pleased with the young horse, but his training style was extreme. "Ronnie pushed Macho past the limit, like a Marine drill sergeant," Wes said. But Macho took it all in stride. Amazingly, Rice didn't put Macho through anything the little horse couldn't handle. "He was one of the only sound horses of all of them. But that kind of thing takes it's toll," Wes said. Macho didn't win big like everyone thought he would. After his time with Rice, Cindy and Wes brought him home.

Macho's next stop was with Mike Mowery, another world champion trainer. Mike showed Macho and really liked him. Cindy started showing him in the Non-Pro division while Mowery showed him in the Open division. All through Macho's career, he made the finals almost every time. But it wasn't a win every time.

Cindy continued showing Macho, while the cutting world looked on. Macho became one of the most popular horses. "People would always ask about him and come and watch him," Cindy said. There was something about that little horse that people would always notice, something in his manner and in his eye. Cindy and Wes were sure that even if he didn't win everything, he would become a great sire. Macho's future was bright. He had even paid for himself in his five years of life, earning a total of $104, 599.06.

One morning before leaving for another show, Cindy took him down to the arena for a practice work. He was perfect, she'd never seen him so good. He was doing everything right, he was "just awesome". So she took him back to the barn and put him up, hooked up the trailer and went up to the house to get herself ready to leave. When she came back to get him, she could see something was wrong. The look he gave her was trying to let her know he wasn't doing good.

Cindy trusted her instincts. She checked for a fever, and sure enough, he had one. She called Warren Franklin, their veterinarian, who came within two hours. He diagnosed the problem as a severe colic, and told Cindy she'd better get Macho to a clinic. She and Wes loaded him up and took him to a vet clinic in El Paso. Surgery took place immediately. Macho spent 10 days in the clinic, and came home to recover. But something wasn't right. He got an infection in the incision, which cost some extra recovery time. But that was only the beginning of the end.

Weeks passed. Franklin came out to check him, and revealed to Cindy and Wes that Macho's kidneys were in bad shape. There wasn't much of a chance that Macho would live for another year. So they did their best with special feed and excellent care to get him healthy enough for breeding.

Macho hadn't seen a cow since that morning Cindy worked him, the day everything fell apart for the little cowpony. Cindy and Wes cancelled their show schedule. This was a big sacrifice, their other horses needed to be out showing. But for Macho, they couldn't risk not being there in case his condition worsened. There was a slim chance he would make it and his kidneys recover. They hoped and hung on. It wouldn't be right to give up now. They remembered what he was, what he promised to be. They just couldn't give up.

Look for Part IV.

The Heart of a Lion, Part II

2008-04-13T19:28:00.000-05:00

‘The Heart of a Lion’ is a four-part series about a brave horse, good people, and life lessons. This is the true story of Macho Little Lena…

Wes and Cindy Smith of Mesa Ranch in Nogal, New Mexico have been in the cutting horse world most of their lives. They've raised and trained hundreds of horses, but one horse stands out in both their memories. They called him 'Macho'.

Macho Little Lena, a shiny copper-colored stallion with blazed face-started off right. He was the son of a respected daughter of Dual Pep and the great Smart Little Lena, mammied up to a recipient mare and catching everybody's eye from day one. His conformation was one thing that made people take notice of him. Underneath a glowing sorrel coat was balanced build, square on all four legs, but clearly not bulky and not stiff. Every muscle was smoothly sculpted and curved just right, the length of each line matching every other in proportion. He stood on four strong legs that were set just right under him and appearing a little long for the shortness of his back. He had a refined but bold head, kind, sparkling, clear eyes, and tiny little ears that never missed a thing.

Those that knew him say there was a unity of mind and body in this horse, every thing he was thinking was evident in his movement and posture. He was always alert, but never nervous, sometimes ornery and strong-willed but always teachable. He was the cream of the colt crop in 2000 and was likely to stick around as a stallion. There was never any doubt that this horse was going to make a name for himself.

Wes Smith has been a bronc tamer all of his life, and he knows good horses. He knows how horses think, how they move. He reads them like a poet would read his own poems. Macho stood out in his mind because he was so easy to get along with. "When I broke him, he acted like he was already broke," Wes said, " He was just kind all the time, like he was saying to you, "How can I help you and what do you want to do?" Wes describes Macho as "a little big horse."

Wes starts all the colts on Mesa Ranch, and has seen every one go on to the next stage of training. The temperaments of horses are not something Wes would overlook. Macho impressed him from the beginning. "Anything that you showed him, you show him one time and he'd act like he'd already done it before."

Once Macho was started, he handed him over to Cindy, who soon realized Macho was far from ordinary. "Every morning when I got up, I couldn't wait to ride that horse. He just made every day special." Cindy said. His early days under saddle were no trouble, though he was a little playful, he simply "melted in your hands". Cindy understood then that she was dealing with something special.

The day finally came for him to get started on cattle. He was afraid of cattle at first, so afraid that he could not be made to come within a few yards of one. It was just Macho, Cindy, and one cow in the round pen. Other colts usually take several minutes to notice the cow, and it may take days for them to lock in on one. But not Macho. "There was nothing else in the world except that cow, he was glued to that cow, " Cindy said.

Cindy urged him a little closer, and every muscle in the little horse wanted to run. But he obeyed, with his big eyes open even wider. The cow started to trot. Cindy sat still. Macho started to trot, too. The cow sped up. Macho sped up. The cow stopped. Macho stopped.

All this time, Cindy didn't have to give Macho a single cue. He stopped on his own. That first day on cattle is what stands out in Cindy's memory. After that, she knew he was going somewhere. "I couldn't say that I trained him, because he was just such a natural," she said.

When Cindy and Wes realized how much natural cow sense and athletic ability Macho had, they knew he couldn't stay at home in New Mexico if he was going to make it big. The promise in the colt helped them decide to send him to Gerald Alexander, a Texas horse trainer. When Macho was finished there, Cindy decided to turn him over to two-time world champion, Ronnie Rice. Macho's talent and Rice's winning record were sure to be the combination that would send them to the top.

Read how Macho's career developed and fate delt its blow in Part III.

The Heart of a Lion, Part 1

2008-04-11T08:09:00.000-05:00

'The Heart of a Lion' is a four-part series about a brave horse, good people, and life lessons. This is the true story of Macho Little Lena...

People shuffle up and down the hallways of the Will Rogers Coliseum in Ft. Worth, Texas. Somebody's heavy footsteps and ringing spurs come down the concrete steps. It's another day at the National Cutting Horse Association (NCHA) World Championship Futurity, just one of the many big shows that attract the nations best cutting horses and trainers. The winnings in 2006 add up to 4 million dollars. Perhaps that's one reason why some prefer to call cutting the new 'sport of kings'.

Beyond the steps, a unique little world greets the eye. In one of the fold down chairs, a loper (exercise rider) takes a siesta. His sand covered feet resting on the chair in front, hat hanging down over his eyes, arms crossed over his chest. He has probably been up and working since 3 o'clock this morning. His serenity is not disturbed by bawling cattle or the creak of leather and the jingle of gear.

The warm up pen behind the judges' stand resembles a whirl-pool. Forty or fifty horses go around and around, all in the same direction; the ones on the inside going slower while the outside horses are running, turning the mass of horseflesh like a grist mill. Horse sweat fills the air with a balmy salt-smell. There are people talking, horses breathing, and cattle coughing-- all blending into a harmonious hum. Horses tied to the wall doze off. Someone's fresh horse takes a couple jumps, everybody hollers until the fun's over. That will mean a good hour of loping, at least, for that pony.

Not far from the resting loper is a stroller, empty, parked haphazard across the isle. On one side a diaper bag and a tooled leather purse are hanging, on the other a hackamore rests limply, one rein on the floor. A pair of chinks and a baby blanket lay across the front of the stroller.
Welcome to the cutting horse world. This is a world that revolves around horses. It is built on families, but it runs on honest work and a lot of money. There is nothing more valuable here than a loyal friend and a good horse. People put in long hours not for fame (though, perhaps, for fortune) but for the thrill of seeing that horse win, of watching him triumph. This is where the horse they've spent the last 3 years crying and sweating over, the horse that they've invested thousands of dollars in, is weighed and measured.

In Part II, meet Cindy and Wes Smith and their horse, Macho Little Lena.

The Joke Was On Him This Time...

2008-04-01T06:44:00.000-05:00

I have a beautiful golden-colored palomino horse at home. His name is Joe. Through the course of his life, he’s shown more of a sense of humor than most people.
We were expecting him to be born around the middle of April, 1997. So April Fool’s morning, I woke up and thought I’d play a trick on my mom. I looked out the window, grinning, and said, “Oh, look Mom! There’s a new baby colt!” She came to the window and saw what I saw: nothing. “April Fool!” Ha ha. The joke was on her. But when we got up to the barn, we were both surprised. There was an ornery bow-legged colt standing behind his ma, blinking his brand new eyes at us. The joke was on me.
I remember when Joe was an awkward, long-legged yearling. He somehow tangled himself up in a barbed-wire gate. When I saw him standing in the wire, I panicked. “He’ll be sliced to pieces!” I thought. But as soon as I got close to him, he gave me that look that said, “Ha! Fooled you!” and sprung out of it like a deer. Not a scratch on him. The joke was on me again.
When he was a two-year-old, I started riding him. On the fifth day of his ‘kindergarten’ training, we were going up a rocky hill. Joe thought it was fun to go really slow, so I reached back and spanked him with a rein to tell him I wanted more speed. Without warning, he and I were up in the air. When we came down, he sucked backward and I had nowhere to land but right on my head. My not-so-graceful landing had knocked the wind out of me, and while I was gasping for breath, he stopped and gave me that look again. If horses could chuckle… When I finally caught the prankster, he was sorry. But I could see a little satisfaction in his eyes that his prank had been a success.
But you know what they say, “What goes around, comes around.” Joe, apparently, is no exception to that rule. One fine morning in late March, the horses came in for their grain. We have five saddle horses, and they are all big buddies. But that day, they were giving Joe plenty of room. He couldn’t get close to any of them and as a result he was pretty offended. His friends were giving him the cold shoulder. I thought this was a little unusual, but when I came within 30 feet of him, I understood why. The prankster had somehow gotten sprayed by a skunk. The joke was on him this time!
Sometimes we learn a lesson best by noting someone else’s mistakes. So take a lesson from Joe and remember what Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 10:12, “Therefore let anyone who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall.”

Mis Raices Estan Aqui, by John Mitchum

2008-03-26T09:53:00.000-05:00

On a trial drive from Texas, down by the Rio Grande,
We drove past the Medina to a dry and bitter land
Where before the longhorns streamed along, grass range once was there.
Now we herded them in silence with a feeling of despair!

The day was hot...the wind was dry, and the mesquite barred the way.
The maguey and the cactus tried to drain our lives away.
We came up to a ranch house dying in the desert sun,
Looked the old spread over and couldn't see anyone.

Then from the ranch house a man stepped out.
He was old beyond his years...
A viejo caballero whose eyes filled up with tears."I have nothing for you, Senores," he said. "My hacienda's empty now. There was a time..."
He shook his head and gave a gentle bow.
I asked him why he'd stayed on in a place where hope was dead.
He looked up at me and his face grew soft, and this is what he said:

"Mis Raices Estain Aqui!...
My Roots Are Buried Here!"

Now, I've punched cattle from the Rio Grande to the cold Montana plains,
And I've pushed 'em through New Mexico and through Arizona rains.
I've seen ranchers hanging on when it's been forty-five below--
And the thought's always crossed my mind as to why they just don't go
To a place where life is easier and where nature's not so hard...
And then the past comes floating back, and I'm in that viejo's yard.
I think of him and his quiet pride and of the things that he has done,

And I know that if men battle back at the snow or the broiling sun,
They'll live their responsibilities to the land that they love best.
America will proudly stand and in her vigil will not rest,
For no matter what may lie ahead, the answer's loud and clear:

"Mis Raices Estain Aqui!...
My Roots Are Buried Here!"

Written by John Mitchum

From my heart to yours: Man or Legend? ...how sweet...

2008-03-20T07:57:00.000-05:00

We may never be able to put certain events into words. This fact ought to make our memories and our lives even more precious. But too often, we don’t even stop to mark such events in our minds. We are too busy living them to realize that we won’t pass that way again, ever.
We buried Peg on the first day of spring, 2007. After ninety-three years of life in one place, he left Leota alone. And who was Peg anyway? To a stranger, it may sound like that same old story: the community mourns the loss of an old timer. Gee, that’s a shame. Or, have we all witnessed the passing of an era? Were we saying farewell to a legend of a man that day…or just seeing an old timer out of this world? If we were honest with ourselves, we’d have to say we don’t know. I myself feel caught between the two.

You see, I grew up thinking of Peg as a hero. I was born on his birthday. We like strawberry shortcake and whipped cream for a birthday cake. The last special day we celebrated together was my nineteenth and his ninety-first. That was the human side. The legend side of him was stories of wild cattle and horses, and untamed country, and family, and dangers the modern world doesn’t experience anymore. Peg was a big man. I remember seeing him and hoping against hope that some day I might marry a man who stood as straight and tall as him. Big and quiet and gentle. And strong. That was Peg to me. I remember him like that.
I never saw him ride or work cows. I didn’t see the daring feats he told about, but I believed every word he said. Something in his eyes convinced me that he wouldn’t lie to me. I remember seeing him at the grocery store or at the fair or the Fourth of July, and even though I was too shy to come up and say hello, I’d watch him. He was a real man. Believe me, growing up in this generation, I know those when I meet them. They are a rare breed.
Shall we put him down as just another old timer, an average guy who lived a good life? Or shall we say Peg Pfingsten was no ordinary man, that he was a man above the rest, a great man whose brethren have filled the pages of history books?
And, let me ask you, what if we dared to say he was both of those things? What would that mean for us? It would mean that our lives matter. It would mean that everything we do counts for something. If Peg was both man and legend, then character really does count. That would imply that every human being we come across deserves a chance, deserves to be honored as a person. That would mean that our ordinary, everyday lives really aren’t ordinary at all. Our neighbors and friends and even strangers are not just people we can label and dismiss-they are people who are great in their own way. After all, that’s how Peg and Leota treated me.
Since we are supposing for the moment that Peg was both man and legend, we can take this just a bit further, because it implies something else. It implies that no one of us is better than somebody else. We are all standing on level ground, and the height we acquire as we grow through life, accomplishing and accumulating, really doesn’t count. It isn’t what we look like and what we do, but who we are and how we live. Peg had the courage to live as if his life counted. Something that comes clearer and clearer to me as I write is that Peg didn’t live how he did so that he would get everyone to hail him as great. He did it because that was who he was, because the approval of people wasn’t worth near as much as the approval of God.
Honestly, folks, I think that’s the truth for all of us. In a few years, Peg’s grave will be covered with grass and he’ll be a distant memory. Someday, all the ones who remember him will be gone and he’ll be forgotten. Mankind has a short memory. But God? God sees everything. God sees who we are and how we live. I don’t know about you, but if God is good enough to love us like he does, it makes sense to be who He made you to be.

Peg’s life has shed more light on the character of God than a lot of books I’ve read. Because God knows we are all equal (He knows this better than we do, and you can take that to the bank.), he knows that one good deed or a thousand isn’t going to put us a step higher than anybody else. That must be why His Son died on the Cross. When God sees us through Jesus’ sacrifice, we can be who we are and God approves. Without Jesus, though, who we are or try to be is nothing special. It can’t honor God…and I think that’s what makes it easy to forget how valuable people are. I think that when we live without accepting Jesus’ love, we are common and ordinary. There’s no heavenly light spilling out of our way of living. It’s just dull man-made goodness that never gets brighter than a hot coal. In the end it turns to ash.
Peg’s life seemed different because it glowed with a brilliance not its own. A light came out of him that brought out the God-colors in this world. I know this first hand. When I was a teenager, the misconceptions I had about myself and my life shadowed me like a dark cloud. What was I going to be? Where would I go to college? I’ll never be worth anything…I’m not pretty like so-n’-so…the list goes on. On my seventeenth birthday, Peg and Leota were there. And they smiled, said very little, but loved very much. Thinking back, knowing they thought enough of me to come spoke louder than any inspirational speaker or self-esteem counselor could have. They didn’t mention my blowing money mostly every weekend at rodeos, or ask what my major was going to be. They just loved me for who I was. And isn’t that kind of like God, who offers us the rich gift of His Son just because He loves us? …Amazing grace, how sweet…
Peg Pfinkston. A man. A legend. I wonder what God calls him?

The Great Divide...

2008-03-16T16:29:00.000-05:00

Our generation has work to do in the area of cultural prejudice. It’s going to be hard to unite a nation that’s as deeply divided as we are becoming. The firm hope I have is that as Christ followers, we will do our level best not to entertain prejudice of any kind. I’ll leave it to you to figure out why this issue is so important to the future of everything we love.

I never thought I had any prejudice. But when I arrived at Patrick Henry College, the Lord revealed just how strong my own prejudice was.

I realized I was prejudice against city people, or at least, their culture. It doesn’t matter why. I’m not anymore. I got a real good glimpse of what their world is like. One thing for sure, however: there are at least two distinct American cultures that have nothing to do with race.

What do ranchers and farmers have against city people? From my own experience, it’s the fact that city people are so ignorant about who we are. I know of very few city people who will take the time to understand us. Another big difference is that agricultural people are familiar with the land and city people are mostly familiar with a man-made environment. This makes an even bigger difference in the way we think.

I don’t know why Americans are divided this way, nor do I know how to bridge the gap. What I do know is that it has to start with Christians, because prejudice can’t be truly overcome without the Holy Spirit.

Before I descend from my soapbox, I want to ask you to join me in finding a way to close this great divide that exists between Americans. Please pray. I have a feeling God has been waiting to hear from us.

Plans

2008-03-16T16:28:00.000-05:00

Everybody has days where nothing goes like you planned it.

Days that go something like this: You plan to feed cattle, do chores, sort heifers and haul wood. So you wake up early to find that the weatherman was wrong again. It doesn’t matter. You’ve still got all that stuff to do. You stomp out into the snow, get in the feed truck and … it won’t start. The key was left on. So you use the tractor to jump it. When it’s running, you go feed cows and stop to bust ice. You reach for the shovel that’s always tied to the headache rack. It’s not there. Somehow that shovel must have rattled out the back.

After you break ice with a big rock and get soaking wet, you head back to start your other work. On the way, you notice a heifer calving and it looks like she needs help. So instead of doing the other chores, you catch your good horse and go to get the heifer.

When you get there, you see that the calf’s hung up. There’s no time… you throw a rope around the heifer’s neck and tie her to a tree. You aren’t carrying anything but a piggin’ string, so you’ll have to use that. After striving and straining and using all your strength, you get that baby on the ground. But when you turn the cow loose to tend to it, she gives up on motherhood and takes off.

You load the wet baby up on your ‘good’ horse, who just decided he’d rather be a bronc. It’s a long way to the house. Once you get Baby on the porch, you go back after Momma.

By evening, she’s in the corral. With her hobbled and in the chute, you are doing everything short of swallowing the milk to get Baby to eat. When the pair is squared away, you do the other chores and go to the house. But there’s no wood, and that means no fire…

I guess what matters is not what you planned, but how you handled what came at you that day. Without days like this, how would we ever know what we’re made of?

Spitting Dirt and Wondering How It Happened...

2008-03-16T16:27:00.000-05:00

All good horses buck in the beginning, but some of them never stop. Joey was one of those. Some days Joey would be lopin’ along like a seasoned cow horse when…hang on!...he’d break in two, making his rider grab for leather. Joey was always looking for an excuse to explode.

One day, when a cowboy friend of mine was riding Joey, something snuck up behind them and that was all the excuse Joey needed. He bogged his head and quit the earth, turning his belly to the sun. He ducked to the left as he landed and squealed, shooting up again like a fishing cork. That bronc was hanging high in the air with every jump; as he came down the third time, he drew back. That trick shook the cowboy loose. Joey’s next dive planted his head in the dirt. The dust finally settled with Joey holdin’ his head high, both ears locked on the cowboy, who was sitting on the ground -- dazed but still clutching a rein.

The landing had come mighty close to breaking the cowboy’s neck. It made good sense to walk home. But he’d rode other broncs and learned from them that it’s better to face what you are afraid of. So he climbed back on.

We all get ironed out sometimes. Sooner or later, we find ourselves laying there with the wind knocked out of us, spitting dirt and wondering how it happened. It can be as small as a bad grade or as painful as the death of someone close. No matter how safe we think we are, things are going to bust loose every now and then. When you get bucked off, get right back on. You’ll have ‘im rode if you keep your mind in the middle…looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Hebrews 12: 2

What Cannot Be Shaken...

2008-03-16T16:24:00.000-05:00

The other morning, a friend told me how discouraging it is to know that our way of life is gone. There’s not enough left here for a fresh start. What will happen to us, to our heritage? I wondered about that. I thought about the people I know whose hopes are tied to the future of what seems to be a dying era.

Lee married Leslie a few years ago, and since then they’ve been living and working on Arizona and New Mexico ranches. The most valuable things they own are horses, and they are happiest when they are doing what they love.

Lonnie and Rachel married right out of high school. Lonnie is a cowboy who breaks broncs for a living. Rachel rode colts while carrying both their sons, so I reckon those boys will grow up cowboy, too. They live on her dad’s ranch in Lordsburg, trying to build their own future.

There isn’t much of a future in ranching today. But when Peg and Leota were young, it was the smartest thing for a young man to get into. He’s 93 now, but he still runs cattle in the valley. He can tell stories about wild cattle and wild horses; about the Mescalero Apaches; about the big rodeos on the 4^th of July. Back when he and Leota started out, this was just cattle country. Now, there are two towns and several hundred people living on it.

When I think of the people who settled the West, my heart swells with pride. It is them, their memory, and their land that is fading into the shadow of history. Even as I write, their descendants fight to keep that way of life alive. It makes me wish for a miracle. If only there was a way to bring America back to her roots. I suppose that what cannot be shaken will remain, even when we are all gone.

What I Mean...

2008-03-16T16:23:00.000-05:00

My roots are buried here, on the land, in the elements, with the people and the animals. It’s an opportunity to learn the Father’s heart. Here’s what I’m talking about:

Instead of waking up to your room mate’s melodious alarm, you wake up in a New Mexico ranch house. You can see your breath even indoors, but at least there’s a hot plate of eggs, bacon, and red chile steaming on the table.

Usually, mornings find you briskly pounding the sidewalk up to Founders, with your laptop for company. This morning, you are bundled up and headed to the barn with an eager pack of Border Collies at your heels. Tiny ice crystals cling to the trees, the fence, the horses’ backs. The ground is frozen solid, and you are feeling frozen yourself.

Snow clouds refuse to let the sun shine, yet you are horseback anyway. That horse would rather not have to carry you today. Start out easy; maybe he won’t buck on account of the ice. It’s two miles to where the cattle are, he’ll be thawed out by then. He moves like a ball of rubber bands -- you aren’t sure if he is going to bounce or roll. The snow is coming down fast and heavy. Your job is to get the springers to the house before it gets too deep.

I often notice myself thinking I am the determining factor in my surroundings. I’m not. I may battle the snow drifts, or you may stay up all night writing papers, but we are not in charge. The more mornings I experience like the one above, the more I realize I’m dependent, too. Whether we wake up to 8:00 classes, or to hunting heifers in a snowstorm, we depend on the One who “owns the cattle on a thousand hills”. He provides for us all.

Risk

2008-03-16T16:21:00.000-05:00

Since I was 8 years old, I kept a small herd of show sheep for 4-H. I invested quite a bit of money and work in my little sheep herd. Lambing starts in January for me, in the coldest weather. I have a barn with lambing pens in it, bedded with straw. I remember clearly one night that I stayed up with a young ewe, waiting for her to go into labor.

At around 11 that night, it was clear that the first lamb was coming through the birth canal backward. She needed help. I tied her head up, washed my hands, and went to work. The first lamb was still-born. The second had a heart beat, a faint one. That was enough. I would do everything I could to save this lamb. The ewe collapsed, exhausted, while I went to work trying to bring life to that lamb. I had to give it mouth-to-mouth and rub it down with a towel to get its blood going.

The mama put her head up close to the lamb’s slick, black face, quietly talking to it with a deep, gravelly voice. She was still breathing hard. But the air was too cold- 17 degrees. I needed to take the lamb into the house if it was going to live.

I rushed to the hearth with her only surviving twin. There was a cloud of sorrow over me. In my heart I knew this lamb might not make it. But as long as there was a heart beat, I had to try. Maybe there was a chance…maybe…

By 3 a.m., the little heart beat stopped. I was worn out. I was sad. The next day, the mama hung her head on the ground and stood in the corner of her pen. She wouldn’t eat or drink; it looked like she was giving up. The loss had broken my heart, too. It’s hard to explain what I felt. I had poured so much into the hope that the little one would revive.

Anyone who has ever had a friend, or fallen in love, or invested time and talent and money in a dream, realizes that sometimes, you lose. Raising livestock is the same. My grandpa said once, when I was brokenhearted over losing a horse: ‘them that don’t have, don’t lose’. Loving or hoping in something is a risk. And it’s your choice. You can avoid the pain of losing by not having. You can avoid disappointment by not trying. But is that the right thing to do?