Precious memories, nostalgia’s refrain
Christmases of childhood forever remain.
Deana Johnson
“Chuck, what is that box over there beside the bed?” “You’re Christmas gift.” “Why is it out where I can see it?!” “You’re not supposed to show any signs of gifts before they are wrapped!” Over the years, he has learned better.
Growing up, it did not matter whether it was an occasion or a gift; my parents would make it extra special and memorable. Whether it be a mile marker or holiday extravaganza, it was always presented in such a way that let you know the time and thought that went into the arrangement. Gifts were given in person when I was young, and then, as I grew, my folks orchestrated the meeting to make it memorable. Even now, if it’s coming in the mail, there will always be a sweet card to accompany the gift.
It was the day before Thanksgiving, and we had just arrived at my sister’s house. Mom had met us, and kids were running everywhere. Food was being brought in and prepped for the evening feast of chili night. Conversations rattled the walls and overlapped between kids and adults when Mom said, “Dad is waiting at the horses for ya’ll. He has the colts tied so that you can see them. We must get the crew loaded, and everyone headed that way.”
NOW AVALIABLE!
ORDER COMPLETE SERIES ON AMAZON OR PERSONALLY FROM ME! (signed and shipped)
PERFECT FOR CHRISTMAS!
Seeing three Palomino horses standing tied next to the round pen was surreal for me. Although it was just one when I was a little girl, Mr. Ed could do no wrong. Dad was going to sell him. For sure, he was not staying. The breaking process began, and his gentle nature shone like sunshine cutting a frosted window pane. He watched as Ed carefully carried my sister and me. It was as if he knew that adventure awaited him with a tangled-haired, green-eyed little girl.
Mr. Ed was never in a hurry, and safety was never a question when it came to him. He was everyone’s favorite and cared for any rider that mounted his back. Yet, Mr. Ed had eyes for only one. He could hear Brittney’s spurs as she raced across the drive headed for the barn. Breakfast got in the way of the adventure that started with the sunrise. No matter what the day held, Mr. Ed would be the babysitter any parent wanted for their young cowgirl. “How much do you want for him?” I can still hear the older cowboys asking my father. “Not for sale,” Was his steady reply.
Dad untied all three colts and gave each of us one to lead. He gave me the filly. Butters was her name. “Sis, I better see your feet flying through the air before you let go of her lead. And even then, you better try to hang on.” “Yes, Sir,” Was my nervous response. Walking across the pasture with rope in hand, I could feel her tremble as I led her. She kept trying to bury her head in my arm. I wasn’t sure if she was going to lunge forward, back or sideways. Dad assured me she was just scared and was looking for a place to belong. As I relaxed, she relaxed.
I figured Dad just wanted to get them all out together for the first time. Out of the blue, he asked for everyone’s attention. With all the families standing around, he stated that he and Mom wanted to give each family something: “The horse you’re holding is your horse.”
Brittney laughed, and I cried. We were taken off guard that our responses seemed to fit the occasion. Wiping tears, everyone began to laugh along with me. I had to share, “I had written a note to the Lord that I wanted a Palomino horse named Butter three years ago on my closet wall.” I told no one about it. It was just between me and the Lord. No cowboy buys a color. A rider must buy a good horse for the job needed. I figured it to be a pipe dream. Yet, God tells us in His word to ask, so I did and began taking steps to own a horse. There was only one problem. Logistics. I laughed as I looked at pictures taking over my closet wall. I started with a few notes and one picture of days gone by. Now, the wall is hard-pressed to find an open spot for all the horse adventures. My mother stood there smiling, knowing faith without works is dead (James 2:17-26).
Talking to my sister and me, he continued, “Your horse must stay with me for two years and get broke.” Monthly expenses would be due in a timely manner. They were just weanlings and needed to grow.
As I listened, I remembered a young girl who paid for her first saddle, which my kids now ride in. All those years ago, when time came back, I was still going to have to earn my keep. Once horses get in your blood, there is no getting them out.
Over thirty years ago, Dad and Mom were digging post holes for a life in the country they dreamed about, nothing but time has passed between those fence posts and new ones being set for a “Dry Run Road” dream that only God could do again.
God isn’t watching a clock, nor does He want one.
Pam Stockdale
“You have to have a place to put your dream, girls,” my father stated while working on the fence and sharing the process with us.
In all my years, I never saw my Dad go at anything alone. He never bought one horse he bought enough for the whole family. Horses have always been his passion, but his family means more.
If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.
Erwin McManus
Brit quietly asked Dad why he gave her the Palomino he did. I overheard. “Because he was the most like Ed.” There were some years regretted long ago, and she longed to get them back with her best friend. Seeing God’s handiwork in a second chance with a Palomino named Tank, I smiled.
No man ever steps in the same river twice. For it’s not the same river, and he’s not the same man. Heraclitus
God will make the years better if you keep walking. Vision only stops when you quit looking.
“Butters is lightning quick,” He said. I argued, “But, Dad, I can’t ride a filly like that.” He never hesitated. “Yes, you can, sometimes you just gotta jump in, that’s the only way you’re going to learn.”
Brit and I led our horses around the pasture again before turning them loose. We could see Dad standing off in the distance in his working jacket with jeans tucked down in his mud boots, talking with the family. The drizzle slid off Pops’s hat, but he never seemed to notice. The rain seemed fitting as we held lead ropes in our hands. Mom was giddy with excitement for us both. I told Brit as we walked back towards Dad, “Of all the hats he has worn, this fits him best.”
Miss Butters won’t be the last of my beginning herd, but she will always be the first. May thirty years bring an ease that our first walk never knew.
The older kids stood patiently, waiting to ask questions and love on their new horse. I got Ben and Eva’s attention and said, “God will always meet your needs first. Whatever it is. If he cares about the birds and the splendor of a flower, He will always make sure you are provided for. But know this: God cares about your wants, too. He longs to pour out His good pleasure on you, the desires of your heart. Ask Big. Ask for dreams like Butters.” As their faces shone the magic of the moment, I finished. “Something amazing happens to your faith when you hold the lead rope – it grows.”
Their horses are swifter than leopards, more fierce than the evening wolves; their horsemen press proudly on. Their horsemen come from afar; they fly like an eagle swift to devour. Habakkuk 1:8
