tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3326631947966135692024-03-05T02:34:05.520-06:00Mystic MomLiving, loving and laughing.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-65130389269231515462017-06-06T15:17:00.000-05:002017-06-06T15:17:31.768-05:00Car Show Fun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
#cbtambassador #mybadlands #ThreeHillsCarShow17 #familyfun #TravelAlberta</div>
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Last weekend was the <i>Three Hills Car Show</i>. Most everyone will be remembering that weekend for the Friday 'most photogenic tornado ever' but we went the next day to enjoy the sunshine on the chrome, test our will power against the mini donuts and enjoy some well deserved family time.</div>
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Alberta has a number of awesome car shows and cruise nights - as the Joker says, "It's worth a Google!"</div>
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Going to a car show is a lot of fun. Taking an 11 year old who loves classic cars and his Dad, who also loves classic cars, makes for a day of total fun. Barbed wire grills on rat rods, chrome skulls on a lead sled. Classic pick ups and newer hot rods. Custom rides of every kind.</div>
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Gotta figure out how to make this work on my truck.</div>
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Having fun as a family is the best part of summer.</div>
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These won't wreck your diet - they are crocheted! </div>
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Such a cool prop for a classic 'drive in' car.</div>
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Glitter and a Camaro - two of my favorite things!</div>
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How many people can you fit in an old school station wagon?</div>
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Yeah. Nice square body.</div>
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Love how they did this oldie. It was a real hit.</div>
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There is no school like the old school.</div>
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This was under the hood of the Psycho Bird.</div>
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No I didn't buy it. But I don't disagree with it either. ;-)</div>
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What an amazing line up!</div>
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New made to look classic - a retro mashup.</div>
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Barbed wire spider web grill - now that's a cool touch on a rat rod.</div>
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Where are you Clark? We found your car!</div>
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<i>The usual: Photos by Shanyn. Do not use without permission. Thanks for visiting. Come back again.</i></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-35559408513928320112017-05-11T11:43:00.000-05:002017-05-11T11:44:17.042-05:00Summer Dreaming<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3OK16mk3tOZ79KbiP4sbWBgxV5ITYLnKRd5TZq5bB8mwcjd5pXgHxcZIVB4_QL1h3JkuMe4oDsvDhK3QWC7abzS7alCEV8FlkLvzQYOn_HWzMIlB6u9jrWG9VsdBJEf20PCp27MOH5uk/s1600/17972243_1765055480187659_8446839556919779050_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3OK16mk3tOZ79KbiP4sbWBgxV5ITYLnKRd5TZq5bB8mwcjd5pXgHxcZIVB4_QL1h3JkuMe4oDsvDhK3QWC7abzS7alCEV8FlkLvzQYOn_HWzMIlB6u9jrWG9VsdBJEf20PCp27MOH5uk/s640/17972243_1765055480187659_8446839556919779050_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Click to see entire image - Photos by Shanyn is on Facebook</td></tr>
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Spring 2017 goals include reviving my blogs. Also being active on social media for agriculture and as a Canadian Badlands Tourism Ambassador this year ( #CBTAmbassador ). I am keeping some awesome company - check out all the great tourism ambassadors we have! Search the hashtag on Twitter, Facebook and especially Instagram!<br />
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When you have a life that in intimately and intricately tied to agriculture you live in two seasons, 'in season' and not. We are very much 'in season' with #plant17 going strong for the guys at #CarlsonAg . They are all doing a great job! This summer is going to be a busy one with tradeshows, field tours, spraying and yet we will get in much cherished family time.<br />
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Having the opportunity to live in the Canadian Badlands ( #mybadlands ) makes that family time full of fun choices. Like the Royal Tyrell (of course) but also Dry Island Buffalo Jump, the Wintering and Hand Hills for a photo tour drive, the beautiful Red Deer River valley with all the amazing sights. Fishing, hiking and taking photos.<br />
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The Canadian Badlands stretches a long way and covers a lot of ground. It also includes so many amazing places that should be on your #SummerBucketList !<br />
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We have friends coming from Manitoba this summer and are so excited to be showing them around one of our favorite places. We'll also tour into the mountains as well - another favorite place.<br />
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The renewal of this blog will be fun. I'll share our badlands adventures, talk about farming. Share links to #EarlTalks videos and we'll learn together about the amazing things that happen on a #ModernWesternCanadianGrainFarm .<br />
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In the mean time why don't you share your #SummerBucketList and favorite #mybadlands spots in the comments? Would love to hear them. Maybe we'll even see you on the road this year!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-49898876112521704812014-02-06T11:53:00.003-06:002014-02-06T11:53:28.865-06:00Take Ten Country Style<i>Heather from </i><b><i>Where the butterflies go</i> </b><i>has us thinking about Taking 10 minutes to write about winter traditions. No editing. No fussing. Just write. For 10 minutes. </i><br />
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<i>Check it out at her blog: http://heathergracestewart.com/2014/02/06/take-ten-thursday-writing-prompt-2</i><br />
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<i>Winter traditions. Country style. </i><br />
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When I was little and home from school sick we could watch Sesame Street. Buffy St. Marie making bannock on a stick over the fire. Quebec and Ontario kids making snow candy and maple syrup candy. Things these prairie kids never got to do. <b><i>But they were fun to watch!</i></b><br />
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Instead we have our own traditions for winter. Like hood sliding. <i style="font-weight: bold;">What is hood sliding you ask?</i> Take a tow rope, a rope handle and an old truck hood. Put on a mattress pad. Hook up behind the quad or side-by-side and have a grand time riding. <b><i>This winter has been hard on the hood sliding. So cold. Cold enough we can't enjoy our snow.</i></b><br />
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The other winter traditions we share are chores. Winter chores. I don't gain weight in the winter. Between walking in the snow, and falling through the crust on the drifts, and forking hay and carrying salt blocks it's a workout daily. Oh and put in a few pounds of winter gear and boots. <i style="font-weight: bold;">That is fun!</i> It is also an important job. Caring for our animals.<br />
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A favorite treat in winter is tracking. Seeing animals tracks, wing imprints and sometimes interesting scat. It's all so cool to see what animals stick around in the winter, how they live, what they eat and if we can spot them. The other day I was waiting for the school bus to come and the birds were just everywhere. Then I heard a tapping. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Tap. Tap. Tap.</i> And I slowly started looking around. Up and sideways. There he was. A woodpecker making a hole in a birch tree. <b><i>Tap. Tap. Tap.</i></b><br />
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Blue jays scolding. Chickadees chirping. Snow buntings flying wildly. Soaring ravens. Owls almost invisible. Sparrows. Magpies. Cedar waxwings.<br />
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Wildlife watching in winter can be so cool. Like watching the coyote eating frozen apples. Jumping up to get them off the tree.<br />
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All the fun things we get to see in the country in winter.<br />
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What are some of your winter traditions?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-73074206460991804712014-01-02T16:12:00.003-06:002014-01-02T16:12:45.602-06:00Why I don't ask why<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><a href="http://joannfore.com/when-you-ask-god-why/" target="_blank">Jo Ann and the lovely Voice Bloggers </a>are talking today about 'why' at Jo Ann's blog. Join us for the link up after you are done reading here if you like! </i><i><br /></i></div>
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I almost always get in hot water by asking too many questions. More often than not when someone says, <i style="font-weight: bold;">NO</i> my response is <b><i>why?</i></b></div>
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No one likes that, but sometimes it is good to ask ourselves why we answer things the way we do. Is it a well thought out <i style="font-weight: bold;">no</i> or a knee-jerk <i style="font-weight: bold;">no</i> or a '<i>I don't know what else to say'</i> <i style="font-weight: bold;">no</i>? Maybe it is just <b><i>NO - no way I'm going there!</i></b></div>
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When it comes to God I think sometimes I need to investigate the <i style="font-weight: bold;">why</i> a bit deeper. I love being able to rest on Him, and on my faith. That solid rock is what I cling to and what I reach for when I get into water that is too deep for me to walk upon. </div>
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But I think I need to seek His will in the <i style="font-weight: bold;">why</i> and put that into action in my life. It is well, and good to rest but we also need to be <i style="font-weight: bold;">faith in action</i>. We need to put the boots in the stirrups and saddle up. We need to move <i>knees to chest people!</i> We need to speak <i style="font-weight: bold;">using our out loud voices</i> and risk being heard.</div>
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<b><i>We need to be the answer when the world asks WHY. We need to be the WHY NOT when they wonder about being selfless instead of selfish. </i></b></div>
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I used to ask God why. I used to wonder why things happened, or didn't happen. <b><i>Then a time came when there was no 'why' but instead I asked 'what would You have me do?'</i></b></div>
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I started to grow deeper faith roots, stronger faith wings and a bigger heart outside of my own need to know. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Sometimes we don't need to know. God doesn't want us knowing why when He wants us to be doing. </i> We can spend a lot of time sitting and talking about why or why not, and be distracted from doing.</div>
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Distracted from praying. From reaching out. From being present for someone. <i style="font-weight: bold;">I learned that when you ask 'why' you have opened the door to the question 'why not'.</i> I have also learned that when I say, instead, <i style="font-weight: bold;">What would you have me do?</i> I am seeking guidance for action. And sometimes that action is to be still, and let God fight for me. Be at peace, let God work. <b><i>Pray, surrender and stop mucking about!</i></b></div>
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Have you ever tried to fix something when someone is trying to help? When they don't know what you need, or haven't asked? You want to smack their hands and say, <i>Sit still, I've got this.</i> or <i>I will let you know when I need your help.</i> Neither response really endears you to them, after all they are <i style="font-weight: bold;">usually really trying to help!</i> But when I learned to say, <i>You being here encourages me, thank you.</i> and <i>Thanks for offering to help, it makes it easier with you being here. </i>Then I found myself understanding things a bit better in my walk with Jesus.</div>
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We cannot run ahead, shouting, <i style="font-weight: bold;">LEAD ME LORD!</i> and say we are following Christ. If we are shouting, crying or chanting <i style="font-weight: bold;">WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY</i> we can't hear an answer. We can't hear a thing. And the devil wins another round in the battle to distract us.</div>
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There are thousand (<i style="font-weight: bold;">okay maybe a dozen</i>) why questions I could ask God right now. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Right this minute!</i> And like a loving parent who knows more than I do, He would be right in saying <b><i>because I have plans for you. </i></b></div>
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God has plans for you. And they won't change with the volume or frequency of our questions as to the <i style="font-weight: bold;">why</i>. Nor will they be any less, or more, than His will. <b><i>What we do while we wait is where the blessings are found!</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Why didn't the dream job happen? Why did the "I'm ready to go where you lead Lord" get answered with "stay"? Why did the I can do this ministry become "You aren't the right fit for us"? So many whys - why is this winter so danged cold? </i></b></div>
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The 'dream job' may be the one I'm doing right now.</div>
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The place to be is in the now, where He is blessing us. Where if we were looking elsewhere with longing hearts we could be missing something amazing.</div>
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The ministry wasn't right for me - or for them. And it is all about Him, and He knows best.</div>
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As to winter, I don't know. It's just cold.</div>
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So instead we work on the doing, the being. <b><i>Praying. Loving. Being present. Asking what we can do. Doing what we can. </i></b></div>
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<a href="http://www.joannfore.com/" title="Jo Ann Fore"><img alt="Jo Ann Fore" src="http://i1283.photobucket.com/albums/a556/redemptiondiary/FindYourVoiceLinkup2_zpsc204a424.jpg" style="border: none;" /></a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-38488317595584532122013-12-23T17:05:00.004-06:002013-12-23T17:05:59.062-06:00When you can't see, listen<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I wrote about Listening to God over at <a href="http://strawberryroan.blogspot.ca/2013/12/hellohellois-this-thing-on.html" target="_blank">Strawberry Roan</a>, and was chatting with Pastor Kevin from <a href="http://www.savethecowboy.org/" target="_blank">Save The Cowboy</a>, and thought of how we listen differently in the country than in the city. Here is another take on being still and hearing God.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">John 10:27-28 <span style="font-size: 12px;">(NIV)</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="text John-10-27" id="en-NIV-26509"><span class="versenum" style="font-size: 0.75em; vertical-align: top;"> </span>My sheep listen to my voice; I know them,<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-26509A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)"></span> and they follow me.<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-26509B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)"></span></span> </span><span style="font-size: 12px;"> </span><span class="text John-10-28" id="en-NIV-26510" style="font-size: 16px;">I give them eternal life,<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-26510C" title="See cross-reference C">C</a>)"></span> and they shall never perish;<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-26510D" title="See cross-reference D">D</a>)"></span> no one will snatch them out of my hand.</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="text John-10-28" style="font-size: 16px;">When you are riding in rough country the brush can be thick. Very thick. You cannot rely on your eyes. <i style="font-weight: bold;">You have to listen.</i> Sometimes you have to listen <b><i>very hard.</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="text John-10-28" style="font-size: 16px;">A good brush horse is quiet. They can walk without raising a ruckus. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Picking the right path.</i> But it only works when you let them find their way. A level of trust is needed. You are busy anyway, you are listening. <b><i>For the cows in the brush. For other sounds. Sometimes for a lack of sounds.</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="text John-10-28" style="font-size: 16px;">We don't do much yakking in the bush when we are working cows. You gotta pay attention to what is going on around you. You need to listen. You need to ride your feet and legs. You need a hand on the reins and one in front of your face. Hat screwed down tight. Toes turned in.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i style="font-weight: bold;">Many times life is like finding cows in the bush.</i> You know the they are there. But they are hard to see. Cows are generally not stealthy. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Yes I said generally, there are some sneaky critters who are very stealthy.</i> Most cows are loud. They crash. They leave a wide trail. They leave a lot of manure. You can hear them, and sometimes smell their trail, even if you can't <b><i>SEE THEM!</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Lots of the time we miss things because we are being too loud. Too busy. <b><i>We miss danger signs. We miss trails. We miss blessings.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You can have a really long day if you aren't listening. Have you ever seen the show <i style="font-weight: bold;">Mantracker? </i>Cowboy <a href="http://www.themantracker.com/" target="_blank">Terry Grant </a>uses his brush skills to find people doing mounted search and rescue. He did a show for a while where people on foot would try to beat him and his mounted sidekick to an end point. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">People would laugh - thinking they could outsmart a mounted man. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Lots of times they were betrayed by the small sounds they made. Sounds heard by the horses. Who then alerted their riders.</i> Man to man it is a race, add a horse and you suddenly have an advantage. More speed, more ears, better smell and another set of eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Cowboys and cowgirls - God rides with us every day. We are never alone in the saddle. <b><i>We are never alone on any trail. He is with us. </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Riding through the storm. Through the dust on drag. Alone on night watch. Watching the fire. Scouting the trail. Getting critters outta the brush. <i style="font-weight: bold;">He is with us.</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We don't need to shout for Him. He hears the small sound at the beginning of a whispered prayer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Elijah went riding, looking for God.</span></div>
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<span class="text 1Kgs-19-11" id="en-NIV-9399"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="versenum" style="font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;">1 Kings 19:11 </span>The <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> said, “Go out and stand on the mountain<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-9399T" title="See cross-reference T">T</a>)"></span> in the presence of the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span>, for the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> is about to pass by.”<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-9399U" title="See cross-reference U">U</a>)"></span></span></span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="text 1Kgs-19-11">Then a great and powerful wind<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-9399V" title="See cross-reference V">V</a>)"></span> tore the mountains apart and shattered<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-9399W" title="See cross-reference W">W</a>)"></span> the rocks before the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span>, but the <b><span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> was not in the wind</b>. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the <b><span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> was not in the earthquake.</b></span><b> </b><span class="text 1Kgs-19-12" id="en-NIV-9400"><span class="versenum" style="font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;">12 </span>After the earthquake came a fire,<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-9400X" title="See cross-reference X">X</a>)"></span> but the <b><span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> was not in the fire.</b> And after the fire <b>came a gentle whisper.</b><span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-9400Y" title="See cross-reference Y">Y</a>)"></span></span> <span class="text 1Kgs-19-13" id="en-NIV-9401"><span class="versenum" style="font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;">13 </span>When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-9401Z" title="See cross-reference Z">Z</a>)"></span> and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.</span></span></span></i></div>
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<span class="text 1Kgs-19-13"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then a voice said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” (emphasis mine)</span></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>You know that moment, don't you?</i></b> Riding through tight brush, and coming out to see the most amazing vista. God-light streaming through the clouds after a storm. Sunshine on a distant river. A cow cleaning a new calf. An elk on a ridge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We can get used to riding alone. Or what feels like alone. We know the sounds of the brush, the land. We know the ebb and flow of the wildlife and weather. <i style="font-weight: bold;">We are attuned to the sounds of our world.</i> What we forget is that it was <i style="font-weight: bold;">God's world first.</i> And knowing it as His, lets us know Him in a special way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And knowing Him that way is a blessing without measure! <i style="font-weight: bold;">A sailor may hear God on the open seas. Truckers on the highway. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i style="font-weight: bold;">But we can't know Him when we are loud, busy and crashing through life.</i> No one moves up a herd of cows by running ahead shouting, <i>Y'all follow me now!</i> Rushing through things, being loud and distracted only serves the devil. We can't hear God when we are laying on the horn, chewing on complaints like an old piece of rawhide or spitting hate at those who are not the same as we.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We celebrate the birth of our King. He chose to be born in a barn. Amongst the animals which warmed that little family with their bodies and breath. Shared their fragrant hay and manger with the newborn King. Offered their protection and trust. As you go to do your chores, remember those first shepherds awoken from night watch by the first Christmas concert! Remember their stewardship and celebration. Remember our King!</i></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-8114033243181576112013-09-12T14:11:00.003-05:002013-09-12T14:11:27.411-05:00Romance in the country<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My blogging friend Leah wrote today about romance and marriage. It is a great post, I invite you over to read it. <a href="http://www.leahheffner.com/it-just-aint-what-it-used-to-be/">http://www.leahheffner.com/it-just-aint-what-it-used-to-be/</a></div>
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She shares some thoughts and amazing quotes about romance, expectations and marriage. <b><i>Rather than fill her comment box with a blog length comment I thought I would share my thoughts here.</i></b></div>
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Men and women are wired differently. <i style="font-weight: bold;">We all know that.</i> But what if your husband is the romantic? Or if you are the breadwinner? <i style="font-weight: bold;">What if you work together?</i> Maybe he is away, serving in the military or working? <b><i>Things can change from those circumstances.</i></b></div>
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">Even more interestingly is personality.</i> My husband is way more romantically oriented than I. He knows the good chick flicks. <i style="font-weight: bold;">I don't care for them at all!</i> Picking a movie from a <i>date night list</i> is a weird experience. <i style="font-weight: bold;">He knows what really moves my heart.</i> I know what moves his.</div>
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He is not wired to be <i style="font-weight: bold;">more practical than I</i> but differently. He sees somethings I do not, and I can do things he does not wish to do. We are all about balance. </div>
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">Romance ain't easy farming or ranching! But sometimes it can be sweet.</i> I love that he picks me up for a tractor ride. Or that h shows me where he wildflowers are blooming so I can take photos. He will carry my saddle when I want to go riding. He opens the gate when we are walking to check the cows. <b><i>I open the gate when he is in the tractor. We watch each other's backs with the animals. I bring him food and drink to the fields. We do it together.</i></b></div>
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Fencing may not seem romantic <i style="font-weight: bold;">but it is time together. Time to talk, to share, to laugh.</i> Field picnics can happen when it is busy on the farm. <b><i>But again, it is time together. And it is a gift of food, and that in my world equals love.</i></b></div>
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I check on him to make sure he is safe. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Not exactly a Hallmark card is it?</i> Sometimes I'm working with the animals and he is watching me. <b><i>I love his smile as he sees me bringing a young horse up through training or see a calf's first steps.</i></b></div>
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">Touch and time together are our love languages, and we make it work on the farm. </i>Non traditional roles to be sure. But in farm country and ranch country it is how we do it together. We share the work, and we try to make it fun. We take the time together, <i style="font-weight: bold;">whenever and however we get it</i>, and we cherish it.</div>
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It may not make it into a movie, or a romance novel, or even a cartoon. But it is romance for us, in the country. And it can be dirty <i style="font-weight: bold;">(hey babe you look hot holding a grease gun!)</i> and messy <i style="font-weight: bold;">(oh no afterbirth from two calves is super look for you!)</i> and tiring <i style="font-weight: bold;">(one more round before the moisture gets too high)</i> but is is balanced by wild sunsets, evening walks, the breath you take after seeding and after harvest. The joy in doing <i style="font-weight: bold;">a hard job together</i> means so much to me!</div>
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So farmer and ranch sisters - share your stories of farm and ranch romance! <b><i> I would love to hear them! </i></b></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-14575774173808989132013-09-06T18:43:00.004-05:002013-09-06T18:43:57.653-05:00Why I don't really journal but...I blog. In four places of my own, and on others. <i>I also put tons of photos on my pages and social media. <b>That is my journal.</b></i><br />
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I have two cameras, plus my phone. I record our moments <i style="font-weight: bold;">when I can</i>. <br />
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That is my journal.<br />
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Private thoughts, <i style="font-weight: bold;">dreams, and ideas</i> get shared via poetry. <a href="http://sunflowershan.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Sunflower Poetry</a><br />
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">My faith</i> which is no secret gets shared at <b><a href="http://strawberryroan.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Strawberry Roan</a></b><br />
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<i>The healing journey I am on was shared on <a href="http://scarred-seeker.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Scarred Seeker</a> for a while but I've let it lapse so I can write here and on the other two. <b>I am still healing, we always are working on it aren't we?</b></i><br />
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<i><b>I am utterly fascinated by colored pens and pencils. I love nothing more than to decorate the pages of a journal with illustrated quotes, sayings and Bible verses.</b></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZiPAG5ijnE9ILb6iKvHd-8VcvUnuuk3xAYQKJJajrAgsTkdmyZrVUR7wNCDjWNZiHfFmTigAJ0aWxAseokLsjIwaOw9yKhAME-0BeK9BiRcFmOdD2DyyLQ8aMeOL-bPLhMasdF2pf8JU/s1600/20130906_165504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZiPAG5ijnE9ILb6iKvHd-8VcvUnuuk3xAYQKJJajrAgsTkdmyZrVUR7wNCDjWNZiHfFmTigAJ0aWxAseokLsjIwaOw9yKhAME-0BeK9BiRcFmOdD2DyyLQ8aMeOL-bPLhMasdF2pf8JU/s320/20130906_165504.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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It has been said by my hubby that if you <i style="font-weight: bold;">really want to know me</i> read my poetry. I guess the same could e said of any of my blogs. I write from the heart and am not ashamed of my faith or my family or those I love. </div>
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I have done a gratitude journal, and right now it is packed <i style="font-weight: bold;">with 90% of our family belongings</i> but I am still grateful for so many abundant blessings each day.</div>
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Linking up with sweet sister <a href="http://beneaththesurface-dawn.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">Dawn at Beneath The Surface</a>. Stop by, link up and read some posts. <b><i>Oh and leave some love people!</i></b></div>
<i><b><br /></b></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-28484243002136118982013-08-06T23:45:00.004-05:002013-08-06T23:45:48.458-05:00Rex and MouseIt may seem, at first, that this is a story about Rex. And it does have to start there. <br />
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Rex was old. He was more often drunk than sober. He loved his ranching days, even though they were fast fading. His youth was gone. He couldn't help much at brandings. He couldn't rope like he used to. Even training the colts he loved so much was hard. <br />
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Celebrating with the boys, however, always seemed to get easier. Telling tall tales. Drinking whiskey, sometimes rum. Always with straight up classic Coke. No ice. Nothing fancy for this old timer. He was one who did remember line camps. And packing the mule after letting him blow a bit so the pack wouldn't slide and get kicked to pieces hours from camp. He did remember how to rodeo, ranch and man he could work cows. <br />
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Rex had his habits. Stressing out the church ladies by peeling apples with his 'castrating' knife was one. They didn't know, of course, that it was clean enough for surgery. They just about fainted at the thought of the surgery and food mixing on the same tool.<br />
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But this isn't about Rex. Or his wild family. Or their jack-run-wild faith. No this is about Mouse.<br />
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Mouse was the horse, like Baalam's donkey, that no one thought could do anything. He listened to a voice no one else could hear. And that Voice told him to watch out for Rex. You see Rex didn't drive. Never needed to, he always rode. Mouse, like that faithful donkey, did his best to make sure Rex stayed in the saddle.<br />
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Staying in the saddle sober, as you may well know, is difficult for some and easy for others. Staying in the saddle after putting to bed a bottle of Crown was nothing short of amazing. And it had nothing to do with Rex. He could haul himself into the saddle of that short grulla gelding. Navigate his feet into the stirrups. Find the horn (in front most times, but not always). And then Rex held on.<br />
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Through the fog of the bottle and his memories he knew to trust his horse. And this one he trusted with his life. Mouse looked so strange walking home with Rex. Mouse would shift, Mouse would dip. Mouse would turn his neck and hip. Mouse moved like a slow motion ninja to keep his rider right where he needed to be - in the saddle.<br />
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Mouse never failed. In the years those two rode together it was a Friday night legend. Who saw Rex first, and who saw the new moves of Mouse. Rex aged. So did Mouse. Rex's boys kept Mouse trimmed and Rex tended to his tack.<br />
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Their last ride together was the one that mattered most. It was the night that Rex didn't feel so good. He didn't even have much to drink. He was quiet, really quiet for a garrulous old story teller. When they asked he said he was fine. Fine as frog's hair in fact. He pulled himself up into the saddle. Mouse stood as patient as ever. Then Rex settled in. And for the first, and last time, Mouse did not take Rex home. <br />
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No sir. Mouse did not walk that old cowboy home to his little three room shack. Nope. He walked instead to the house of one of Rex's boys. Right up to the front step. And he stood. And he waited. And he stomped. And snorted.<br />
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Right then that son knew something was wrong. He never heard horses outside his house. He lived in a part of town where no one rode. He went to the window and saw Mouse. And saw Rex. Slumped in the saddle. Holding on to the horn. He called his brothers. He called the doctor. <br />
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They asked why he called so fast, and he replied that Mouse was at his front door.<br />
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They got Rex out of the saddle, and Mouse around back to the lawn. The ambulance came and took Rex to the hospital. A heart attack they said. Then liver failure. He may not come home. Gather the family.<br />
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Mouse retired to being the cowkid horse. Every kid could ride him. He was 100% trust worthy.<br />
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So now you know both Rex and Mouse. Did you know, sisters and brothers in Christ, that you are Rex? We all are. But God is ever faithful and never lets us fall from His saddle. We may slide, sure. Drag our reins or lose a stirrup. Even have the cinch loosen and roll the saddle over a bit. But God never lets us go. He honours His children, and loves them. Even when all we can do is hold on. Even when the only prayer we have is, "Help" or "Please" and then "Thank you".<br />
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Jesus promised us a helper in The Holy Spirit. We are never abandoned. We are never alone. He will, like the loyal Mouse, always lead us home. Not our earthly home, but our home range in Heaven.<br />
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Do you want to find out more about riding for the Lord? Come to: <a href="http://www.savethecowboy.org/" target="_blank">Save The Cowboy</a> and hear what you need to know about riding for God's brand!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-79378867638870643302013-03-06T18:42:00.001-06:002013-03-06T18:42:42.624-06:00Jonah and cheatin horsesSonny was a great horse. He was smart. He was strong. He was well trained. He could do most things well.<br />
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He was also a thinker. He knew when you wore spurs and when you didn't. And he behaved accordingly. Every time. He could hold a bit in his teeth for miles. He was a '<i>spook for fun</i>' horse. He liked to randomly jump shadows and one day would go belly deep in the mud, and balk he next. Rocks were either for scratching or they would eat you.<br />
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No matter what you asked, <b><i>he had to think about it. </i></b> <b><i>He was a cheat.</i></b><br />
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Lefty was one of the best horses ever. So was Ranger. They were both abused and had a lot of fear. <i style="font-weight: bold;">But once they trusted you, they trusted you with everything.</i> They would walk over barbed wire fences, held down by one boot. They would chase a bull into dense brush. They would make sure you got home if you were sick, sore or tired.<br />
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No matter what you asked, <b><i>they did it. Even when they were afraid they did it.</i></b><br />
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Lola is a '<i>mistatim'</i><b style="font-style: italic;">. That means Big Dog in Cree.</b> She is curious. She is clever. She steals things, and plays with them. She can't be ridden because she spends all her time trying to watch you doing things on her back. She has not one mean bone in her body.<br />
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No matter what you ask of her, <b><i>she is a goof. Big hearted and strong, she'll be a driving horse.</i></b><br />
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Then there is Tika and Belle. One <i style="font-weight: bold;">hates me</i> and the other <i style="font-weight: bold;">respects me.</i> Daughter and mother. As different as a tobiano and solid sorrel can be.<br />
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There are dogs like that too. <b><i>Some try to cheat you. Some won't listen. Others do their best. Some just don't get it.</i></b><br />
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People are not <i style="font-weight: bold;">all that different.</i> We like things to make sense. We like a challenge, <i style="font-weight: bold;">or we don't.</i> Some people can and <i style="font-weight: bold;">choose not to.</i> Others struggle and somehow make it through. <b><i>Some cheat, some pray. Some lie and steal. Others give all they have. And there are many in between.</i></b><br />
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Jonah was not unlike a few horses I've had. He wanted to do what God told him, <i style="font-weight: bold;">as long as he liked it.</i> He wasn't sure about <i style="font-weight: bold;">asking the worst of the worst to repent.</i> He was so unsure, in fact, that he ran away. That almost crashed a ship and got him a free fish belly ride. <i style="font-weight: bold;">He wanted none of that redeeming the worst of the worst business. </i>Like a good horse trainer, God didn't just lay the boots to him. He didn't get a bigger spade bit or a sharper pair of spurs. He didn't get a quirt and beat him into <b><i>submission.</i></b><br />
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">God let him get to the end of the line, and brought him back.</i> Jonah had to learn that he could run <i style="font-weight: bold;">but not far or for long</i> before he could go where God sent him. Jonah had gotten used to being in step with God. Maybe sometimes a half step ahead even. Nineveh was not where he wanted to be. <br />
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Under-saddle, chasing cows, or even standing <i style="font-weight: bold;">is where some horses don't want to be either.</i> Jonah was the same way. We are the same way. The Holy Spirit is a gentle trainer and a light burden. The Holy Spirit is not heavy on us, nor is the Holy Spirit cruel and demanding. <i style="font-weight: bold;">God requires our love.</i> And by loving Him we trust him. And in trusting Him we are able to be led by Him. And we are obedient to Him because <i style="font-weight: bold;">we want to be.</i><br />
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That, my friends, is <b><i>love</i></b>. <br />
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That, my friends, is <b><i>faith</i></b>.<br />
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<i>Feel free to visit <a href="http://strawberryroan.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Strawberry Roan</a> and <a href="http://savethecowboy.com/" target="_blank">Save The Cowboy.</a></i><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-29553973927060386652013-03-01T15:23:00.000-06:002013-03-01T15:23:24.756-06:00He's steady<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A story brought home by my sweet husband, slightly fictionalized but still an important lesson.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Two ropers. One young. One older. The younger one drove for two days to get to the heifer roping jackpot. The older roper came from his home ranch nearby. The young roper had a partner, and they were a money winning team. However, this time, his partner was not able to come at the last minute.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Having heard the news while he was already on the road, the young roper decided to stay on the road and had faith that there would be a partner there for him to rope with. Everyone likes to take home some prize money, but for him, the roping and time spent with other cowboys was important too. Fellowship amongst those who spoke the same language of the rope and the horse. We'll call this young roper Trapper.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The older roper always came to the ropings. Even when the younger, faster ropers would snicker at his beat up old truck and dusty trailer. He didn't saddle his horse fast, and got on even slower. Once on board, however, he was strength and grace. He and his horse had many hundreds of hours in the saddle together and knew each other perfectly well. The gelding knew when the older roper, we'll call him Leroy, was resting and when he was ready to rope.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Leroy often had no partners at the ropings, but he enjoyed going and sometimes he'd get to toss a loop or two. More often than not he would spell the time keepers or be a judge. Many times he'd just sit on his horse, alongside the arena, and watch. Glove on, rope ready and waiting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Trapper arrived, tired from a long drive, and unloaded his horses. He always brought a young horse with him to these far away ropings. Nothing like time on the road to season a horse, and it was always good to have a back up horse. He got there a bit late and the only parking spot was next to a beat up old Chevy truck pulling a dusty stock trailer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He got the horses unloaded, watered and brushed off. As he was cleaning out the last of the horse manure from the trailer Leroy walked over to introduce himself. Trapper was happy to see a friendly face, and Leroy sure seemed to know everyone by their horse and rig. Leroy didn't get off his horse, but leaned down to shake Trapper's hand.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Let me know if you need a partner today son," he said, "I'm not the fastest heeler but I'm steady."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Trapper said thanks, and said he would see if there was anyone on the roster needing a header. Leroy nodded, he understood. Young fellers didn't want to be saddled with the old man. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As he walked his sorrel heading horse to the timer's table, Trapper couldn't help but thing about Leroy. He seemed like a seasoned old hand, probably learned to rope on the job when he was young. Something about him prickled at the back of his mind. Getting his number and signing the releases distracted him and he forgot the not quite formed memory at the back of his mind. He asked if anyone was needing a header. The girls shook their heads, no. The older lady said, "There's Leroy. He is a steady heeler. And he always needs a partner."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Trapper paused, and it came to him. Something his grandpa had said years ago, leaning on a round pen rail chewing on a toothpick. "Son, don't pick a horse or a partner for their speed or fancy nature. Always find someone steady."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Smiling, Trapper, said sure. Sign me up with Leroy. A couple of young guns snickered when they overheard him. They thought there was no way, no matter how good he was, that this new guy was gonna take home more than a chewed off ear from listening to Leroy's stories.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Riding over to the blue roan that was dozing alongside the arena, Trapper coughed. Leroy looked up, and smiled.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"What can I do ya for son?" he asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Well," Trapper started, "I was hoping you'd be my heeler today. I hear you are steady."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The grin that lit up Leroy's face make him look years younger. He sat up a bit straighter and tidied the coils on his rope. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Why sure. That'd be fine." he stammered slightly, "That'd be just fine."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They roped that day. And visited. Trapper shared about growing up with his Grandpa on the ranch. Leroy shared about young horses and pretty girls. They laughed. They roped. And they were steady. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Trapper soon learned his only job was to keep the barrier unbroken and catch the head. Leroy never missed. He wasn't the fastest but there were no empty loops, single hocks or wasted dallies. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They found themselves in second place going into the last go-round. The snickering and talking had long since stopped. Everyone looked at Leroy like they had never seen him before. Trapper had to smile. Grandpa would be proud.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The last heifer was a bit wild, long line of range cows beget her, and she wasn't going to forget it in the arena. She dashed out of the gate and Trapper was quick to toss his loop on her horns and she ducked, just a bit. Enough that he had to fish the loop back on. When he had her caught and turned, Leroy did his job and caught her. That little wobble was a three-tenths of a second onto their time. That was almost exactly what they lost by.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At the after roping bbq, as the teams got their buckles and cheques, Leroy and Trapper were talking at a back table. They knew they'd get some gas money out of the day, and that was always good. The friendship they were forming, however, was priceless. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The next year Trapper came down to the roping, and his partner was able to be there. They agreed, however, to pay the extra fee and ride with Leroy if he was still around. Leroy was still around, dragging that old trailer behind the beat up Chevy. They parked next to him, and found him on the same old blue roan. He was sporting a new shiny buckle that was inscribed with his name, and with a gold team on it, with this written underneath: <i>He's steady.</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Trapper smiled, so glad that his friend was enjoying his anonymous gift. What a joy to give him something without him needing to know who is was from or to think he was in debt for it. Seeing his joy was thanks enough. After all, Leroy had given him more at that one roping than he would ever know. He helped Trapper renew his faith.</span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They roped again. And this year they won. That was Leroy's last roping. Trapper kept in touch, as best as busy men can, and when he got news of Leroy's passing he went down for the service. A young man came up to him at the graveside and shook his hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"You must be Trapper!" he exclaimed. "You are the fella that Grandpa told us about. Thanks for coming."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Trapper, after everyone had gone, stood looking down at the stone. His face pinched as he tried to force back a tear. Someone had carved Leroy's buckle image on the stone. His epitaph was: <i>He's steady.</i> And underneath: <i>He's riding for the Lord now.</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You see their talks, while waiting for their turn at those ropings, turned to things beyond horses and cows, girls and trucks. They talked about being steady for God, about witnessing in the oil patch and bunk house. About how God doesn't want us to be the fastest or the hardest running, He just wants us to be steady. To be there. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">God is steady. He is always there. You don't need to look over to know, you can trust Him to be there with you. As close as your breath away. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><strong style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah+43:5&version=NIV" style="color: #b2462d;">Isaiah 43:5</a></strong><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Do not be afraid, for <b>I</b> <b>am</b> <b>with</b> <b>you</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>If you are looking for some great fellowship with Christian cowboys and cowgirls I invite you to visit Save The Cowboy and join us via internet, in person or by radio every Sunday. We have found great fellowship there and many blessings across the miles.</i></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-56285374287036327522013-02-14T10:44:00.002-06:002013-02-14T10:44:42.932-06:00Trust your horseWhen I was young I rode in the mountains with my Grandpa. He was very aware of the dangers, both for us and for our horses, and he often told us about what to do if something happened. It was a widely varied list, but the response to each was almost always the same.<br />
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<ul>
<li>Grandpa has a heart attack and falls off - <b><i>drop the reins and let the horse take you home.</i></b></li>
<li>There is a bear or a cougar scent scaring the horse <b><i>- drop the reins and let the horse take you home</i></b></li>
<li>We get separated and someone gets lost - <b><i>drop the reins and let the horse lead you home</i></b></li>
<li>You get scared, sick, hurt and can stay in the saddle - <b><i>drop the reins and let the horse lead you home</i></b></li>
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Every time the rule was the same. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Why?</i> Non horse folks may be scratching their heads. Horse folks not so much. The horse will almost <i style="font-weight: bold;">always know the way home</i> because horses have good memories for <i style="font-weight: bold;">safe places</i>. Like their barn. Their yard. Their trailer. Their pasture. </div>
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<b><i>Let the horse lead you home. </i></b></div>
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Later one I had another horse, oh how I loved him. <i style="font-weight: bold;">I could fall asleep on his back and he would wake me up in the yard. Every time. </i> I could trust him with my life. He always led me home.</div>
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We are in the Lenten season for many folks. Many folks are talking about things they are <i style="font-weight: bold;">going to be giving up</i>. I wrote about it at my other blog, <i style="font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://strawberryroan.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Strawberry Roan</a></i>, as well. How about <i style="font-weight: bold;">dropping the reins and letting Jesus lead you?</i> </div>
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We are so trained, and ingrained, to be <i style="font-weight: bold;">in charge, holding the reins</i> that we forget that horses, and God, are very capable of doing their work without us constantly <i style="font-weight: bold;">putting pressure on them.</i> We can, <i style="font-weight: bold;">and should</i>, let go of the reins and enjoy the ride. </div>
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We worry and <i style="font-weight: bold;">pick up the reins.</i> We get scared and <i style="font-weight: bold;">pick up the reins.</i> We get stressed out and <i style="font-weight: bold;">haul back on those reins.</i> A cagey old horse will stiffen up and put the bit in their teeth and keep going to where they know is right. A young horse can get a hard mouth or grow a bad attitude. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Both are bad habits.</i> </div>
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We are not so different, <i style="font-weight: bold;">are we?</i> We get stubborn. <i style="font-weight: bold;"> We put ourselves in a position to tell God what He needs to do for us. We get the bit in our teeth.</i> <i style="font-weight: bold;">We grow a bad attitude.</i> Even if it still looks good and Godly. Your heart knows. God knows.</div>
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What happens when we <i style="font-weight: bold;">let go of the reins</i>? Amazing things! Wonderful things. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Unexpected things.</i> We get time to breathe. We have time to pray. We can enjoy the day for which we thanked God for our daily bread in. Amen? AMEN!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-40156685638433105662013-01-16T18:56:00.003-06:002013-01-16T18:56:34.400-06:00Ag Days Fun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHTiENwK8Ub67N7tx2nWqPSp0_i9yxdKbsGHsC-07sXU3KSaVqA8EkLeXhqIxAuRyxRIUehLhVC1LSBNvMbOT823CpRMGPEajCGgB4D2AbwEDjWYKnb7es4Iy724W6wTBtDDdF0zrpD2E/s1600/317935_513650348675180_2039184578_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHTiENwK8Ub67N7tx2nWqPSp0_i9yxdKbsGHsC-07sXU3KSaVqA8EkLeXhqIxAuRyxRIUehLhVC1LSBNvMbOT823CpRMGPEajCGgB4D2AbwEDjWYKnb7es4Iy724W6wTBtDDdF0zrpD2E/s320/317935_513650348675180_2039184578_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3s14jJpJwOzYAvtInYH-qPWmDUL0IZI1VVeFsHoQ9EeqYjNU8TeMUxHWpsd9-GeqGipzwxz9bCUjRsTvgO7blg3nRTTYIRJJRrjAv1izUe4BQK2Kh7wZTG2IwVP6YPjrfp2P-IcOZeZE/s1600/708631_10151226042474607_35733629_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3s14jJpJwOzYAvtInYH-qPWmDUL0IZI1VVeFsHoQ9EeqYjNU8TeMUxHWpsd9-GeqGipzwxz9bCUjRsTvgO7blg3nRTTYIRJJRrjAv1izUe4BQK2Kh7wZTG2IwVP6YPjrfp2P-IcOZeZE/s320/708631_10151226042474607_35733629_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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What would yours say?<br />
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https://www.facebook.com/agriculturemorethaneverUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-40632259711501123932013-01-07T15:52:00.002-06:002013-01-07T15:52:17.139-06:00Winter Fun, Farm Style<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTVM9DykMnK9bJvkVDmCtD0OV94VjpN-AjfwSGt3JwcweqxK97VYNy333MwBDC40aaAvaCU5a2BAjxel221Wmn5Zr-2iASvfxYXOZWOAy16ZL9cf533u6vxBpy5_yFf5YkNhypDlCrYTI/s1600/_DSC0005.NEF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTVM9DykMnK9bJvkVDmCtD0OV94VjpN-AjfwSGt3JwcweqxK97VYNy333MwBDC40aaAvaCU5a2BAjxel221Wmn5Zr-2iASvfxYXOZWOAy16ZL9cf533u6vxBpy5_yFf5YkNhypDlCrYTI/s320/_DSC0005.NEF.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Loyal 'Houla dog and a tube sliding boy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-iucB0oz9nmbuDBA9a8Vi_jPVOb-bE2GZgiNRk-ae5mNom6rwP-yuETeKtIBFcBrzOye34C8EZ1VMu1TFRt_bl3DntDqO5wYsMuWNFIHkOG20mryHiSATYrrHb6eLobC396AYLLjwMZE/s1600/_DSC0008.NEF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-iucB0oz9nmbuDBA9a8Vi_jPVOb-bE2GZgiNRk-ae5mNom6rwP-yuETeKtIBFcBrzOye34C8EZ1VMu1TFRt_bl3DntDqO5wYsMuWNFIHkOG20mryHiSATYrrHb6eLobC396AYLLjwMZE/s320/_DSC0008.NEF.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Go! Go! Go!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4p5tOQUpjvg8jSGNrkkmzDUUq9PjB1cn9jvZMqmo8aH6WDJPgSOV3SfkCE-FL0b4cAvNc48MjwDlEgjSWL7L01-MGLnOeyHHCo_CN-jJYga-GkiHD6hIwN2KqXxADY3dkzDngICxfI_s/s1600/_DSC0020.NEF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4p5tOQUpjvg8jSGNrkkmzDUUq9PjB1cn9jvZMqmo8aH6WDJPgSOV3SfkCE-FL0b4cAvNc48MjwDlEgjSWL7L01-MGLnOeyHHCo_CN-jJYga-GkiHD6hIwN2KqXxADY3dkzDngICxfI_s/s320/_DSC0020.NEF.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is fun, farm style.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitS1TYq2JRe8Z0mS5FfdQ7CaM3-3gWduEVh-U8fPf4RZJvA-HKq9vObEfOqvjMY94bKuv5sHT90YUC0TEqFIhOSuXlSq2GhvdB-k_tg3cl_O6ithv4CC5O1m36N98DKNyEq_k3zjKGjyQ/s1600/_DSC0024.NEF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitS1TYq2JRe8Z0mS5FfdQ7CaM3-3gWduEVh-U8fPf4RZJvA-HKq9vObEfOqvjMY94bKuv5sHT90YUC0TEqFIhOSuXlSq2GhvdB-k_tg3cl_O6ithv4CC5O1m36N98DKNyEq_k3zjKGjyQ/s320/_DSC0024.NEF.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Love that smile!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiisxtBrpnUs_OxOslGjNVJ4rT4LEjl8SY9GmdOY8_AzATHH8bxoiNxu84c52g6_-4G-4XR444-6fFyKlNTF6bDVqsWiMMhvL6KQptOYPF1B54pqJUtFLNFievJjNUBFmB3sqc0QcQXrqo/s1600/_DSC0030.NEF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiisxtBrpnUs_OxOslGjNVJ4rT4LEjl8SY9GmdOY8_AzATHH8bxoiNxu84c52g6_-4G-4XR444-6fFyKlNTF6bDVqsWiMMhvL6KQptOYPF1B54pqJUtFLNFievJjNUBFmB3sqc0QcQXrqo/s320/_DSC0030.NEF.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Daddy time is good times!</div>
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All it takes is time. An inner tube, a tow strap and the Gator. Those three things add up to daily winter fun. And a good reason to get out for fresh air and laughter.</div>
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Ah...</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-51146193881906494872012-06-01T05:46:00.000-05:002012-06-01T05:46:07.120-05:00Yellow Belt!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #bf9000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">YELLOW BELT!</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIdhaISoDoIRLp0zSg-jlBqjLzfUyfy_ddeirUmq2mvKG3jWW1P7sNZSi5Gc0yuU499a057muK8iLI6MOtpx4EM2S-3hY8H5G26sTB1JUMNIQ7eOtqSFAzGSGntaK4qz38I5r3kGPg-tM/s1600/_DSC0003.NEF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIdhaISoDoIRLp0zSg-jlBqjLzfUyfy_ddeirUmq2mvKG3jWW1P7sNZSi5Gc0yuU499a057muK8iLI6MOtpx4EM2S-3hY8H5G26sTB1JUMNIQ7eOtqSFAzGSGntaK4qz38I5r3kGPg-tM/s400/_DSC0003.NEF.jpg" width="273" /></a></div>
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<b><i>You know when you work really hard for something, you really try, </i></b></div>
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<b><i>and you think it will never happen? </i></b></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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<b><i> Even when you see your friends get their yellow belts before you, </i></b></div>
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<b><i>and you are still so encouraging for them. </i></b></div>
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<b><i>Even when you try and try and just feel like you've missed the mark? </i></b></div>
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<b><i>And you pray, oh you pray and you are faithful in waiting on God's will? Because you know when He decides you are ready, you'll be good and truly ready?</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Then you get surprised! Watching and celebrating with your friend, with a bit of broken heart around your eyes that only a Mama can see, your Sensei honours you as well. </i></b></div>
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<b><i>With the yellow belt you worked so hard for. </i></b></div>
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<b><i>And in joy and surprise you fell to the mat, then you got up and ran to me.</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Don't ever forget that moment of pure joy in your accomplishment my dear son.</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Never forget that exclamation of thankfulness to God, which was so honest and right.</i></b></div>
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<b><i>You did it buddy, you earned that yellow belt! So proud of you.</i></b></div>
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<b><i>(Luke trains at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Revelation-Martial-Arts/331688560219962" target="_blank">Revelation Martial Art</a>s, in jiu jitsu, with Sensei John. </i></b></div>
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<b><i>An amazing teacher and friend.)</i></b></div>
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<i>Linking up today with <a href="http://www.themobsociety.com/2012/05/lets-hear-it-for-the-boys-linkup-4" target="_blank">Brooke and the rest at the M.O.B. Society!</a> </i></div>
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<i>Won't you stop by and visit the other Mom's of Boys who are linking up to celebrate their boys?</i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-23923000927425962912012-05-17T09:24:00.000-05:002012-05-17T09:24:28.931-05:00My Beautiful Thing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZZzwZn9ZNwhbhPBPEXSJ0GwBL7GrVIF2sKNzGTyWaP_NpfQcM_0uy9MB-5zyZEv8t2jLmtxH99GHcwh0OSrfDaLNdeT1IyBk_YR75eghxPjEume62MzDoRBPw0w8WaBKLeRxKXrDZEs/s1600/_DSC0024.NEF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZZzwZn9ZNwhbhPBPEXSJ0GwBL7GrVIF2sKNzGTyWaP_NpfQcM_0uy9MB-5zyZEv8t2jLmtxH99GHcwh0OSrfDaLNdeT1IyBk_YR75eghxPjEume62MzDoRBPw0w8WaBKLeRxKXrDZEs/s400/_DSC0024.NEF.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Beauty in the baking! Mastering homemade stuffed crust pizza, 'snail bread', burger buns and making banana bread muffins with my little sous chef. Delicious and beautiful.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN18g3E2gPREE1lfnea_Wwjrm88RcVJKoud1W4UydWlY0Bk2zjd0QKJA9JJ-UefmT-3DRVqsPc8OeUWHoa6snwf0g1CpicpV8NN4vXciz9iewndK3hHf1g2lg7AH8UaaihKRUI60pdftc/s1600/_DSC0012.NEF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN18g3E2gPREE1lfnea_Wwjrm88RcVJKoud1W4UydWlY0Bk2zjd0QKJA9JJ-UefmT-3DRVqsPc8OeUWHoa6snwf0g1CpicpV8NN4vXciz9iewndK3hHf1g2lg7AH8UaaihKRUI60pdftc/s400/_DSC0012.NEF.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Beauty in new growth. The spring is warming up it feels good.</div>
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This little spruce tree is pushing forward new growth.</div>
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We too, blessed by God, are also pushing forward in new growth.</div>
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Isaiah 43:19</h3>
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<span class="text Isa-43-19" id="en-NIV-18525" style="position: relative;">See, I am doing a new thing! <sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-18525A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)"></sup></span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Isa-43-19" style="position: relative;">Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?</span></span><br /><span class="text Isa-43-19" style="position: relative;">I am making a way in the wilderness <sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-18525B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)"></sup></span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Isa-43-19" style="position: relative;">and streams in the wasteland.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.brookemcglothlin.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/OneBeautifulThing-final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.brookemcglothlin.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/OneBeautifulThing-final.jpg" /></a></div>
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Linking up with Brooke at <a href="http://www.brookemcglothlin.com/2012/05/shes-got-the-look-onebeautifulthing/">http://www.brookemcglothlin.com/2012/05/shes-got-the-look-onebeautifulthing/</a>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-77916230092272316592012-05-11T09:08:00.004-05:002012-05-11T09:08:54.054-05:00Mama Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSiUu7mprmwliFm4Yk4fzo3xvdOV_6d9KekBcETmksDH6T7VC1wwR7-A5It-clv4ZLMIzqLGABe46yTfpHtQt5Fap4Fe7E4vLRIyjDWhHCXdVef42Ze-qcMGXO0iCEkF2Qg_qNNngSXgM/s1600/DSC_0103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSiUu7mprmwliFm4Yk4fzo3xvdOV_6d9KekBcETmksDH6T7VC1wwR7-A5It-clv4ZLMIzqLGABe46yTfpHtQt5Fap4Fe7E4vLRIyjDWhHCXdVef42Ze-qcMGXO0iCEkF2Qg_qNNngSXgM/s320/DSC_0103.JPG" width="226" /></a></div>
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Mother's Day is coming this Sunday for many of us.</div>
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How do you celebrate your Mom or being a Mom?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjev0cUjngZfd71D3k8uN1qyAok6dzcJqZcQUf8eLbRhuIMy8-346o6BWs5BhSyUuhSxRtVmj8lFC7dNxw5nvjWUY0t94NMH4jGdSOg1oqj6yBvARYRu0Z8y955mBE-J87WkWfJDkP7zM/s1600/DSC_0105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjev0cUjngZfd71D3k8uN1qyAok6dzcJqZcQUf8eLbRhuIMy8-346o6BWs5BhSyUuhSxRtVmj8lFC7dNxw5nvjWUY0t94NMH4jGdSOg1oqj6yBvARYRu0Z8y955mBE-J87WkWfJDkP7zM/s320/DSC_0105.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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He holds my face, seeing not the wrinkles or lines.</div>
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He sees my eyes smiling and knows love.</div>
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I let him, knowing that this moment is precious.</div>
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I see his eyes, and I know joy and love.</div>
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Grandmother, mother, daughter.</div>
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Auntie, sister, friend.</div>
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Each woman can wear a role.</div>
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Yet none quite measure up</div>
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as being your son's first love.</div>
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Being a Mother does not need a womb,</div>
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it needs nothing more than a heart.</div>
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A heart willing to be broken and healed</div>
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over and over again for them.</div>
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I never thought I'd be a Mom. Mama. </div>
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Those words I resigned myself not to hear.</div>
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But God laughed at my plans and fear</div>
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and put in my arms one of His own.</div>
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I think of my Mom, and those Mothers I know.</div>
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Those Nana's and Grandmas, Aunties too.</div>
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Each mothers in a special way, and yet</div>
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we all love from the same holy place - the heart.</div>
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Oh Lord, thank you for turning this stone to a </div>
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heart of flesh that loves, bleeds, breaks and heals.</div>
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Thank you Lord, for blessing me with</div>
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a love that has no measure this side of heaven.</div>
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<i>Happy Mother's Day Jacki, Marlene, Diana, Zoe and all my other sisters who </i></div>
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<i>mother their own and everyone who comes their way!</i></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-5576054413600047662012-03-25T10:26:00.000-05:002012-03-25T10:26:19.488-05:00My Little Cowboy<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9Vi6qKqZQ2so74X0l-yWXy1kcs1mk9CfsGUib67nu5rqu1aELv2jrTk6avXP6XOqw5ddRsq4pBAQsCA-6lmQxwZaWU0Oe-fpdGmGjFbg1GhhiDoKHO7arO0IiodGMMSl3Ryal66es7I/s1600/DSC_0006.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9Vi6qKqZQ2so74X0l-yWXy1kcs1mk9CfsGUib67nu5rqu1aELv2jrTk6avXP6XOqw5ddRsq4pBAQsCA-6lmQxwZaWU0Oe-fpdGmGjFbg1GhhiDoKHO7arO0IiodGMMSl3Ryal66es7I/s400/DSC_0006.JPG" /></a><br />
Riding Belle - this is one of his favorite things. This is her retirement job.</div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJPjtnPhWw9TFK59WXZZzDKBOGP4bWKauzAf9FXHP8doPMq4VOc3iF-mxReK9UfGCwE0RZ_XdNiC4fW9G_ieN-9VoDAJUeXzvoBcINY5M-mGfeMwPujuI0fEvUGIu9eZYwBiTX9iwKRIs/s1600/DSC_0007.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJPjtnPhWw9TFK59WXZZzDKBOGP4bWKauzAf9FXHP8doPMq4VOc3iF-mxReK9UfGCwE0RZ_XdNiC4fW9G_ieN-9VoDAJUeXzvoBcINY5M-mGfeMwPujuI0fEvUGIu9eZYwBiTX9iwKRIs/s400/DSC_0007.JPG" /></a><br />
Classic western profile, how I wish your Great Grandpa could see you buddy!</div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYbAg6U0XkT1q2QD_Bc-34Cwy-D3RXyd3jTRxj9F8IS5nciwYTPjBdT_RtAhjJANN5JOZ90qOQZJOJhON3mMGmbfiAWJbTypEj0-D9T06o1UFU7C8PMFbmIad2FrFQa5I0jBlosuN8tE/s1600/DSC_0009.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYbAg6U0XkT1q2QD_Bc-34Cwy-D3RXyd3jTRxj9F8IS5nciwYTPjBdT_RtAhjJANN5JOZ90qOQZJOJhON3mMGmbfiAWJbTypEj0-D9T06o1UFU7C8PMFbmIad2FrFQa5I0jBlosuN8tE/s400/DSC_0009.JPG" /></a><br />
Learning his balance and seat the Mama way...</div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMy0IcD2ELGVHzlyHqhpnvYaAJCjHkoVSmhl9u68R92YEW2dk5aNi5DnyOAZtr0Ur3LR6wTVCveHaSlcU-i6F9QLaPKpKLgDNpk18yhaY5eMWqxXbnWkL2FtXCKgpKV7XerCznCffG5dI/s1600/DSC_0012.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMy0IcD2ELGVHzlyHqhpnvYaAJCjHkoVSmhl9u68R92YEW2dk5aNi5DnyOAZtr0Ur3LR6wTVCveHaSlcU-i6F9QLaPKpKLgDNpk18yhaY5eMWqxXbnWkL2FtXCKgpKV7XerCznCffG5dI/s400/DSC_0012.JPG" /></a><br />
"Hey Mama, look at me!"</div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZWix8MGKm_O16OgG-kLWchVVOam9N06dO0mnvJBTR1VKKOrtHDa9e6AUFUgJUK-yp9FrITp5GBtpXeXvVvRoyAceqZS-gemnNwTndUQQNae0YuNAcKnaSfYCG9WX0tn2I0rBaG-bTSPE/s1600/DSC_0013.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZWix8MGKm_O16OgG-kLWchVVOam9N06dO0mnvJBTR1VKKOrtHDa9e6AUFUgJUK-yp9FrITp5GBtpXeXvVvRoyAceqZS-gemnNwTndUQQNae0YuNAcKnaSfYCG9WX0tn2I0rBaG-bTSPE/s400/DSC_0013.JPG" /></a><br />
Belle actually listening to Luke...and then deciding if she is going to do as he asked!</div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZJUYep95ClNaZxJCpEfY-J4Po7tBbXbvNyPCU4mPd8-zfP62Fy5S32L8fXU_rMR5UrZPybilHytkpwEIZPI6ccJLfO28dVVVJd5UfcHBg-YrQf7ladS0h9-pesk6W_cY-mza_-YX6I8/s1600/DSC_0018.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZJUYep95ClNaZxJCpEfY-J4Po7tBbXbvNyPCU4mPd8-zfP62Fy5S32L8fXU_rMR5UrZPybilHytkpwEIZPI6ccJLfO28dVVVJd5UfcHBg-YrQf7ladS0h9-pesk6W_cY-mza_-YX6I8/s400/DSC_0018.JPG" /></a><br />
Moving nice.</div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg94A87E0Cf-fWF_JOzgaF400RUh8AqJuIC7uFfIeWyBqriKsJ1VO2fdHzlCbszwqv5PfsH52tYafKWbxquqc6uBwiGaXPFLhLlo1UZdstzFVSm7exJVph4j2NmLPlKpvndRLYeDqYoKPo/s1600/DSC_0019.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg94A87E0Cf-fWF_JOzgaF400RUh8AqJuIC7uFfIeWyBqriKsJ1VO2fdHzlCbszwqv5PfsH52tYafKWbxquqc6uBwiGaXPFLhLlo1UZdstzFVSm7exJVph4j2NmLPlKpvndRLYeDqYoKPo/s400/DSC_0019.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsp1B5MXj6R-LWmjRlpN_7ufRcM9ZF0NQzV38IcFZzC2vCbWuauHb1zCzITT710j8hxpolFeYtVnoqIXcE6JYxUI2-DTQfLkaVALVQvyvAxV6JfXEEBTE4DyeEGBLXwrR8Xc9lqvKQemY/s1600/DSC_0021.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsp1B5MXj6R-LWmjRlpN_7ufRcM9ZF0NQzV38IcFZzC2vCbWuauHb1zCzITT710j8hxpolFeYtVnoqIXcE6JYxUI2-DTQfLkaVALVQvyvAxV6JfXEEBTE4DyeEGBLXwrR8Xc9lqvKQemY/s400/DSC_0021.JPG" /></a><br />
"Thanks Miss Belley! Love you!"</div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUeJN1YmOytXns6qSivytWIUX_xsVaIwZ8MaLhWlBD2LvKt5RNa1DtoTOC_7-fCWDl5nHouhN5rFhEDKsPCbcHY-QtL4Xgrc9EQ_YPlDUcN41AcMMByqfzvSCY5rcvNmBY25eceEADTtk/s1600/DSC_0026.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUeJN1YmOytXns6qSivytWIUX_xsVaIwZ8MaLhWlBD2LvKt5RNa1DtoTOC_7-fCWDl5nHouhN5rFhEDKsPCbcHY-QtL4Xgrc9EQ_YPlDUcN41AcMMByqfzvSCY5rcvNmBY25eceEADTtk/s400/DSC_0026.JPG" /></a><br />
A kiss for his favorite horse...she would have preferred a horse crunch!</div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXkE3vQRWZ6xEyTcSq3utGduqJ478fD-wFRdYVve7O_sQmyWbPKy2MRyEd3giR3WlRhVmxSAkXM4_eDahfECgRIDhONG8wjSA9guKiCc9nwCEVR09PykFlvMOX7JQexQNtuCzI6lXraU/s1600/DSC_0027.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXkE3vQRWZ6xEyTcSq3utGduqJ478fD-wFRdYVve7O_sQmyWbPKy2MRyEd3giR3WlRhVmxSAkXM4_eDahfECgRIDhONG8wjSA9guKiCc9nwCEVR09PykFlvMOX7JQexQNtuCzI6lXraU/s400/DSC_0027.JPG" /></a><br />
That's ranch love!</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: CENTER;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="-moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; border: 0px none; padding: 0px;" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-41343197766567638152012-03-18T17:52:00.000-05:002012-03-18T17:52:17.482-05:00One more turn<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_B8loeQSLYhtvbcoaRpqVy5_blTgMD3LpacpiXl6nFKh-GSyp7SgcHzVdF6IZCoYIOEnOjf-w7b_TzNdaqU15FeLV_OIeSU1hm14Tat348_CAnI36KwMY23Qe9NRUVMsS2_5X8T3VzOaH/s400/ParkeHarrison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_B8loeQSLYhtvbcoaRpqVy5_blTgMD3LpacpiXl6nFKh-GSyp7SgcHzVdF6IZCoYIOEnOjf-w7b_TzNdaqU15FeLV_OIeSU1hm14Tat348_CAnI36KwMY23Qe9NRUVMsS2_5X8T3VzOaH/s320/ParkeHarrison.jpg" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo prompt from <a href="http://magpietales.blogspot.ca/2012/03/mag-109.html" target="_blank">Magpie Tales</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">One more turn, please sir.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Just one to the right.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Should be what</div><div style="text-align: center;">we need</div><div style="text-align: center;">to set</div><div style="text-align: center;">things</div><div style="text-align: center;">aright.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Just one more.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Stop! That should be it.</div><div style="text-align: center;">If only it were so simple to fix</div><div style="text-align: center;">all the things we have</div><div style="text-align: center;">made a mess of</div><div style="text-align: center;">here on our</div><div style="text-align: center;">beloved</div><div style="text-align: center;">earth.</div><div style="text-align: center;">but</div><div style="text-align: center;">it will take</div><div style="text-align: center;">so much more than</div><div style="text-align: center;">a turn of a hidden cog by a</div><div style="text-align: center;">wrench wielding earth mechanic</div><div style="text-align: center;">to fix what we have done.</div><div style="text-align: center;">We need to start</div><div style="text-align: center;">thinking more</div><div style="text-align: center;">about it.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Home.</div><div style="text-align: center;">She feeds us</div><div style="text-align: center;">she gives us all she has</div><div style="text-align: center;">and all she asks is for us to </div><div style="text-align: center;">care just a little bit more</div><div style="text-align: center;">than we did before</div><div style="text-align: center;">just a tiny bit</div><div style="text-align: center;">just one</div><div style="text-align: center;">turn.</div><div style="text-align: center;">One turn</div><div style="text-align: center;">to the right, choice,</div><div style="text-align: center;">that is. Make it right and</div><div style="text-align: center;">maybe she'll be able to start</div><div style="text-align: center;">healing and breathing more </div><div style="text-align: center;">easily, knowing that</div><div style="text-align: center;">her children do</div><div style="text-align: center;">truly know</div><div style="text-align: center;">love.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Magpie Tales photo prompt, but inspired as well by the Lorax. Unless! Unless. </i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-6276131142608501282012-03-15T11:42:00.001-05:002012-03-15T11:43:50.260-05:00Two Stripe Man<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZsPE1NKupZmMqPgj6pnnlIyNWl6U9IQTS53xJqXMki9d0ktjOH8argyhjhN1dx1l6ITRGm-C0QhC98aKDE0MTYtEBkvBxSQHENH20NMFUABXnFTri9_XN4EJPQUlSpbrqRqPXUemBlOU/s1600/DSC_0133.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZsPE1NKupZmMqPgj6pnnlIyNWl6U9IQTS53xJqXMki9d0ktjOH8argyhjhN1dx1l6ITRGm-C0QhC98aKDE0MTYtEBkvBxSQHENH20NMFUABXnFTri9_XN4EJPQUlSpbrqRqPXUemBlOU/s400/DSC_0133.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
Two stripes in jui jitsui, I'm so proud of you buddy!</div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fDoIiL9MJ9kD5Vwbxmg12bXjbKgcezAjyRtvuj8WqiKwaG1jcg2_ccVEct5UQFXDXXTfF1zM_GOAb6cYGmWsUjhB1mmoUlURBeSkV1cE5XxB-4IxObSdhDvSH3Ws7GG6FF-c5fx8QKw/s1600/DSC_0145.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fDoIiL9MJ9kD5Vwbxmg12bXjbKgcezAjyRtvuj8WqiKwaG1jcg2_ccVEct5UQFXDXXTfF1zM_GOAb6cYGmWsUjhB1mmoUlURBeSkV1cE5XxB-4IxObSdhDvSH3Ws7GG6FF-c5fx8QKw/s400/DSC_0145.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;">Sensei John from Revelation Martial Arts in Steinbach does such a great job with the boys! </div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDljuNCDlq60LZm9Aligl1fpdD18j6QoqOmuwtYzEC_ZoUnasgrsXGehCVB_lYyoH6zDh-IA2afgzmVg2LGVmzO6EAXVd37nxyOR0X5CsGKP4AUHrguKjmoBuGz7hRZUDkeu3-5_X3Yss/s1600/DSC_0155.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDljuNCDlq60LZm9Aligl1fpdD18j6QoqOmuwtYzEC_ZoUnasgrsXGehCVB_lYyoH6zDh-IA2afgzmVg2LGVmzO6EAXVd37nxyOR0X5CsGKP4AUHrguKjmoBuGz7hRZUDkeu3-5_X3Yss/s400/DSC_0155.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidiagvS-HZ1XpxA6Cp8GgD5BwVG3jY9HuHN9y0pd6imtzjdOWlvxyU4k8oLPuCo003JJBpRY0y6kflKVtHhx-OtiWR0gpcyjTv9L3kVVhS26qlTRtgKYvjFStIg1Tpi7MCcoAJrYcKm-8/s1600/DSC_0157.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidiagvS-HZ1XpxA6Cp8GgD5BwVG3jY9HuHN9y0pd6imtzjdOWlvxyU4k8oLPuCo003JJBpRY0y6kflKVtHhx-OtiWR0gpcyjTv9L3kVVhS26qlTRtgKYvjFStIg1Tpi7MCcoAJrYcKm-8/s400/DSC_0157.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
Linking up on <a href="http://www.themobsociety.com/2012/03/lets-hear-it-for-the-boys-link-up-day/" target="_blank">The MOB Society</a> to celebrate our boys. Won't you join us?</div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-31422006791473214582012-03-08T17:28:00.000-06:002012-03-08T17:28:10.356-06:00What limits?Can you give me a one-by-three, red?<br />
How about the hinge piece, in grey?<br />
I need an angle, in blue, but three wide.<br />
Right angles, stacking on top, below.<br />
<br />
Some special, some classic.<br />
Given enough pieces and enough time<br />
would a six year old build the universe?<br />
<br />
Some from new sets, others so old.<br />
Given enough pieces and enough time<br />
would Daddy build a masterpiece?<br />
<br />
Some limits are by scale and size.<br />
Who has room for the whole ship<br />
on the kitchen floor, where we walk?<br />
<br />
Some limits are by imagination and age.<br />
Who can imagine what they cannot<br />
picture in their minds fertile and bold?<br />
<br />
Movies made in stop action, car chase<br />
sound effects for a space movie<br />
cause that's all you know how to make,<br />
<br />
If we are limited by only our heart<br />
and by our imagination then why<br />
are we not changing the world yet?<br />
<br />
What if the limits that hold us back<br />
are nothing stronger than the fears<br />
that kept someone back before?<br />
<br />
If a mustard seed sized faith does<br />
mountains move, then what does<br />
a faith the size of a one by one stud do?<br />
<br />
<i>Love, life and Lego...inspired by my son, playing on the floor, having a Castle, Ninja, Star Wars and Indiana Jones imagination extravaganza with an audience of dogs while the winter sun casts shadows on a drifted yard. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihbpkVKbjJwihFXzuF8nAY38kDccFxnc48_3n5LN6ZLEHQ3_0EaK0kh-ExRpRqch68Ei5Q0WlON6i9MQr4dHyjJydr_5ubpl9u_kwB-wJ3dbNHt1sMbPsGpyVS_7GwHLDK0Q9qKTOBsUM/s1600/DSC_0003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihbpkVKbjJwihFXzuF8nAY38kDccFxnc48_3n5LN6ZLEHQ3_0EaK0kh-ExRpRqch68Ei5Q0WlON6i9MQr4dHyjJydr_5ubpl9u_kwB-wJ3dbNHt1sMbPsGpyVS_7GwHLDK0Q9qKTOBsUM/s320/DSC_0003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><i><br />
</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-4727217766410915422012-03-03T09:03:00.000-06:002012-03-03T09:03:29.456-06:00Rebirth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBSbMclrPqe1i7iMTC9ilfXzxdxxk6N0aCvL2pFDMj_PMXU5K2oDnjZPnnJ_qvplLpeJzBUpzs4hObOpB2Js7uYIu2a5ug0tW6WwQtWsEbb22f2yElPSNSOdML5Q6g0c1FeiEcGHS2a30/s1600/DSC_0050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBSbMclrPqe1i7iMTC9ilfXzxdxxk6N0aCvL2pFDMj_PMXU5K2oDnjZPnnJ_qvplLpeJzBUpzs4hObOpB2Js7uYIu2a5ug0tW6WwQtWsEbb22f2yElPSNSOdML5Q6g0c1FeiEcGHS2a30/s320/DSC_0050.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><br />
Tired of being tucked into winter's white duvet,<br />
I'm seeking for spring, looking for an 'away'<br />
wanting the rebirth from the spring warm sun<br />
and wishing for those green grasses to come.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGLrSM4tNKhMKClEWaQmt5rrq8CRKyRmNVbuQvzztFrR3y6UVRboBnuZXF3BK3A64GuIVcmXM3ARVgY9Qg8VCJZbwK-wlcJP7lfFeeN0LpfIe21aI5SKzA-89bxI56Ba87on1Eu8bpWM/s1600/DSC_0099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGLrSM4tNKhMKClEWaQmt5rrq8CRKyRmNVbuQvzztFrR3y6UVRboBnuZXF3BK3A64GuIVcmXM3ARVgY9Qg8VCJZbwK-wlcJP7lfFeeN0LpfIe21aI5SKzA-89bxI56Ba87on1Eu8bpWM/s320/DSC_0099.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And yet we can't complain, not really.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's been so nice and sweet this winter.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Snow for sliding, warm sun for basking.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Makes little boys so happy and mama's too.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXb18blW2_71N61Q9oJCMExdYy22I7S7LPoeHA2B8uaJNQEbEEC3NazwE3_VFm4OU2RNw35uKVqL6fW6pmbU5aaWwqGbGK864bAKcH-sQ_TKXf94SSIOKek1LNxdvCYH6x9DpiSEGnc3A/s1600/DSC_0085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXb18blW2_71N61Q9oJCMExdYy22I7S7LPoeHA2B8uaJNQEbEEC3NazwE3_VFm4OU2RNw35uKVqL6fW6pmbU5aaWwqGbGK864bAKcH-sQ_TKXf94SSIOKek1LNxdvCYH6x9DpiSEGnc3A/s320/DSC_0085.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I do think, though, that the dogs<br />
know the rebirth of spring best.<br />
They can smell the earth 'wakening<br />
and hear her stirring beneath.<br />
<br />
Spring has so many wonders<br />
waiting to burst forth and out.<br />
But we shouldn't waste the fun<br />
of playing in the snow!<br />
<br />
Rebirth comes while we wait.<br />
But what we do while waiting<br />
is what makes the life worth<br />
birthing again and again.<br />
<br />
<i>While I love spring and growing, this winter being so mild has given us snow and days to play outside until we are wet and tired. A perfect balance for late winter, don't you think?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>I wanted to write something more 'heavy' on the <a href="http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2012/03/think-tank-thursday-86-rebirth.html" target="_blank">Poets United "Rebirth"</a> prompt but who can be deep and serious on a day when the snow hills are calling for laughing boys to slide and silly dogs to run?</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-90310934924138472972012-02-24T20:50:00.000-06:002012-02-24T20:50:29.214-06:00Highland Cow AttackA great prompt at<a href="http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2012/02/marys-mixed-bag.html" target="_blank"> With Real Toads</a>, be inspired by another poem. I can't think of one that makes me smile more than <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dm05KfwVUdI" target="_blank">Cow Attack by Baxter Black</a>. Take a look, if you dare!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixEfr_6iIEPnLC8GsRj_xsxlZZgNesQ927e-BdlCEEmHUxg6iOvAmht54aZ7_wGTHykDT0Yyaztb534T-cbAprfOn1jIyCQT-3U4asesniJ2oMOncQ-Au90K8W5EUtU18-XooNvadsK5Q/s1600/DSC_0362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixEfr_6iIEPnLC8GsRj_xsxlZZgNesQ927e-BdlCEEmHUxg6iOvAmht54aZ7_wGTHykDT0Yyaztb534T-cbAprfOn1jIyCQT-3U4asesniJ2oMOncQ-Au90K8W5EUtU18-XooNvadsK5Q/s320/DSC_0362.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
To say a cow is just a cow ain't right,<br />
That's like saying a horse is just a zebra<br />
sans black and white stripes.<br />
<br />
There's some ol range cows that are<br />
fierce and snotty. They'll tree ya quick,<br />
or they will try to eat ya.<br />
<br />
Them's not my cows though I can promise.<br />
My girls are gentle and so very sweet,<br />
never a snotty charge you'll see.<br />
<br />
Everyone is safe with them, even a babe.<br />
No one ever gets chased or treed,<br />
well almost no one you see.<br />
<br />
There is one cow you'll wanta watch for<br />
if you are careless about cookies.<br />
Cookies you ain't sharin that is.<br />
<br />
Ol Blackie has one shape and it is round.<br />
She is a sweetie but a royal pig<br />
when it comes to treats.<br />
<br />
Ya can pull her ears or polish her horns,<br />
pet her calf, even scratch her belly<br />
but don't be silly now tho!<br />
<br />
If you have a crinkely or a crackly,<br />
a cookie or a carrot, keep em quiet<br />
I'm warning ya!<br />
<br />
She'd lick ya and slobber in a mos'<br />
undignafied way tongue out<br />
and running ya down.<br />
<br />
Cookies or a treat, even an empty<br />
wrapper can bring'er coming.<br />
Half a head of sweet teeth.<br />
<br />
It ain't no real cow attack,not like<br />
with a range cow or saucy bossy.<br />
But it'll skid yer shorts the same.<br />
<br />
Don't fool with that big cow,<br />
she's jealous of her treats.<br />
<br />
Mos other times she's good tho.<br />
Just empty yer pockets is all.<br />
<br />
<i>Cowboy poetry! Copyright 2012 Shanyn Silinski</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-51104871985683998022012-02-23T09:39:00.000-06:002012-02-23T09:39:42.816-06:00Young PsalmistAt our house each day is started, by Luke, with a printing exercise of a Bible verse. His very favorite ones are Psalms. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Reading God's word together is such a beautiful way to come closer.</i> This morning I was surprised with something really amazing.<br />
<br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;">He wrote his first poem, a psalm, for God. </i><br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;"><br />
</i><br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;">Not because his Mama is a poet. But because he learned to praise God in poetry, like the Psalms!</i><br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;"><br />
</i><br />
I asked his permission to share with you, and he agreed.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholZVkdTu9akHWIVDKy2FKXMA3MiV_aoerqJXXnyBXaxVjJiDofpZdluCnL2x4AWYvB-JUsSSgejRKsR1ZtbwotsxlMZ7KYwtd_2oc4yxGsrFqhbeqoSdaT0ZEElL1PSa9cGVxQSnUPls/s1600/DSC_0001-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholZVkdTu9akHWIVDKy2FKXMA3MiV_aoerqJXXnyBXaxVjJiDofpZdluCnL2x4AWYvB-JUsSSgejRKsR1ZtbwotsxlMZ7KYwtd_2oc4yxGsrFqhbeqoSdaT0ZEElL1PSa9cGVxQSnUPls/s400/DSC_0001-1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">My God</div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh God, the Lord</div><div style="text-align: center;">God O</div><div style="text-align: center;">My only Hope.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>By Luke, 6 years old</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir-vtTltHnySbbLfltMhh9ue9U58EJveraNhnMMoKsCDwM1cPagQefQzt8TkleskthxC3y6DPqOW-wCQ9S6rXb_8fZDHN75YH4bET9gcPmMqDW3LOHxdFnzEpmiESGTbqLLaMs2I7gLq8/s1600/DSC_0064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir-vtTltHnySbbLfltMhh9ue9U58EJveraNhnMMoKsCDwM1cPagQefQzt8TkleskthxC3y6DPqOW-wCQ9S6rXb_8fZDHN75YH4bET9gcPmMqDW3LOHxdFnzEpmiESGTbqLLaMs2I7gLq8/s320/DSC_0064.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">My farm boy. My utter joy. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Linking up today with Mom's of Boys (<a href="http://www.themobsociety.com/category/lets-hear-it-for-the-boys/" target="_blank">M.O.B. Society</a>)...won't you stop over and visit the other Mom's who linked up as well?</b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-69725082009885831442012-02-22T20:38:00.001-06:002012-02-22T20:43:56.721-06:00So much depends upon<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;">So much depends upon where you are at.<br />
So much depends upon where you want to go.<br />
Sometimes it depends upon a tractor,<br />
a lot of snow and people who know<br />
that so much depends upon your ability to have fun!<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEUyMc0EheemeiaVqMCxjFQ2pstrZRE5wB2NnBgILGGbs97HYdAUCRdh1Oe3J0jJoufTerKnHbhboSOk5tp7EdCsy9_E4VHEbRVqRaBGQ9wdX0LdPLhL7L6pzyxR7fdu_UHrOZ-TFximo/s1600/DSC_0088.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEUyMc0EheemeiaVqMCxjFQ2pstrZRE5wB2NnBgILGGbs97HYdAUCRdh1Oe3J0jJoufTerKnHbhboSOk5tp7EdCsy9_E4VHEbRVqRaBGQ9wdX0LdPLhL7L6pzyxR7fdu_UHrOZ-TFximo/s400/DSC_0088.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">You gotta laugh, because you know,</div><div style="text-align: center;">so much of what crazy idea he has next</div><div style="text-align: center;">depends upon what kind of audience you are.</div><br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8BP8YDUX0NdHRb1Ge6Ij7PJiJ_9UBF3ZMfqSPaDLEY4l-JYs4RqVox9tBv0PVhkIyg389r_ZOwBcbvsiMPmQSFs7WElCzQuCouNkAsgtPRtVMP7kdS-bwnoXu200FxWdqCEspmX2ytkU/s1600/DSC_0202.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8BP8YDUX0NdHRb1Ge6Ij7PJiJ_9UBF3ZMfqSPaDLEY4l-JYs4RqVox9tBv0PVhkIyg389r_ZOwBcbvsiMPmQSFs7WElCzQuCouNkAsgtPRtVMP7kdS-bwnoXu200FxWdqCEspmX2ytkU/s400/DSC_0202.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">A perfect slope, a smooth run and a wonderful day</div><div style="text-align: center;">depends upon this man's skill behind the wheel</div><div style="text-align: center;">of that big red tractor and the heart size he is.</div><br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPc0PIYkz3sdbfzwXfLJwlIZyqK4AP8JucgZt-4fkH05wDaUdKsV43jcUgrd4FJOuH5Wp8NalInHsCUseiq6kB67069mbtuqidWWz3elCXyoplJcVxfiBMyBKR5iCfvJ1-4TaMOMBaC4/s1600/DSC_0204.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPc0PIYkz3sdbfzwXfLJwlIZyqK4AP8JucgZt-4fkH05wDaUdKsV43jcUgrd4FJOuH5Wp8NalInHsCUseiq6kB67069mbtuqidWWz3elCXyoplJcVxfiBMyBKR5iCfvJ1-4TaMOMBaC4/s400/DSC_0204.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">So much of what we do depends upon one single thing.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Making memories with him, basking in his joy.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Seeing his face and hearing the laughter that shouts,</div><div style="text-align: center;">"This is the best day ever!"</div><br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUA23_D_vEP42hwmQTrPNvF7ybKIFgJonsbLGHqy3LcgJyfxlw82686PbIsPsCcBf-L4kpyLrH2ytwbOb8VCOhbxGJXEOS5bYmhfYUk9kCP-ATwl2CLZzN6fr89FP-D6X6mEheN4gu69I/s1600/DSC_0206.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUA23_D_vEP42hwmQTrPNvF7ybKIFgJonsbLGHqy3LcgJyfxlw82686PbIsPsCcBf-L4kpyLrH2ytwbOb8VCOhbxGJXEOS5bYmhfYUk9kCP-ATwl2CLZzN6fr89FP-D6X6mEheN4gu69I/s400/DSC_0206.JPG" /></a> <br />
<br />
So much depends upon making the time.<br />
Knowing the most important things<br />
are not things at all.<br />
So much depends upon knowing this.<br />
Everything depends upon this.<br />
<br />
<i>Copyright 2012 Shanyn Silinski</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Prompt from <a href="http://poetryjaam.blogspot.com/2012/02/so-much-depends-upon.html" target="_blank">Poetry Jam</a>, won't you stop by and read all the poets who shared there? </i><br />
<i>Don't forget to leave some love...everyone needs love!</i></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: CENTER;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="-moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; border: 0px none; padding: 0px;" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332663194796613569.post-81567023313387314332012-02-13T10:08:00.000-06:002012-02-13T10:08:27.331-06:00Love in Farm Country<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMUnmJN9fuWqyGrlXEmmhD5ue70IL9qqpRiA9kqp39OchR_kSDKs7KU03ue3ISeJnTE5cHgLwVUXydijGVPEC2oEK27q77436xYf3fefE_8sFQUI3ZxbEBmrbeJx_KrhoHY6UliuaySww/s1600/DSC_0031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMUnmJN9fuWqyGrlXEmmhD5ue70IL9qqpRiA9kqp39OchR_kSDKs7KU03ue3ISeJnTE5cHgLwVUXydijGVPEC2oEK27q77436xYf3fefE_8sFQUI3ZxbEBmrbeJx_KrhoHY6UliuaySww/s320/DSC_0031.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Love in farm country isn't all theatre, wine and roses.<br />
Sometimes it is doing the chores first so she can sleep.<br />
Sometimes it is getting a bit of extra lumber for him.<br />
<br />
Love in farm country isn't all dressed up and going out.<br />
Sometimes it is warming up a truck on a cold day.<br />
Sometimes it is making sure the fire is going strong.<br />
<br />
Love in farm country isn't often easy, not always fun.<br />
Sometimes is breaks your heart in a flood, fire or storm.<br />
Sometimes it jerks you up short in a field fight for two.<br />
<br />
Love in farm country isn't often dancing and high heels.<br />
Sometimes it is making the first move on a tough job.<br />
Sometimes it is leaning on a fence, just being together.<br />
<br />
Love in farm country isn't easy on girls faces or men's hands.<br />
Sometimes it gives us burns, cuts and wrinkles too early.<br />
Sometimes it gives away so much more than it brings home.<br />
<br />
Love in farm country isn't how we make a living, not here.<br />
Love in farm country is how we make a life, right here.<br />
Love in farm country is more, and less, simple and complex.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #660000;"><b>For my Husband Earl, I love you!</b></span></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright 2012 Shanyn Silinski</span></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com17