lost and found . . . our weekend parable

"There was a man (for purposes of this parable, he is the cowboy) who went riding with two of his horses, Sally and Dixie. The latter got spooked by a slipped saddle and set off aimlessly for a distant riding trail, dragging her saddle, bridle, reigns and all the rest of her fair share of the inheritance with her. She soon succumbed to wild living in a strange land.

Immediately the cowboy begged for her to return. He called her name many times. He, riding on the back of the obedient horse Sally, began to search. They, and other loving people, searched diligently into the night, but to no avail.

Again, the following morning, the cowboy and the obedient horse were out before first light searching high and low for her. They searched well into the night again on the second day.

On the third day, the cowboy once again set out. This time on foot to give the obedient child, er, horse, a break. But the cowboy took no break. He walked till his feet hurt. He went without meals. He climbed every mountain and forged every stream. (Hey, that would make a great song for a musical . . . ) But, alas, Dixie would not be coming home with him.

By the fourth day, the cowboy was losing hope. He was desperate, but still determined.

"But while she was still a long way off, the cowboy got a phone call and was filled with compassion for her; he ran to his home, hitched up the horse trailer and drove off to where she was. (And though it has yet to happen for a couple more hours, when he sees her he will undoubtedly throw his arms around her and kiss her with the same mouth he kisses me. . .)

“And the cowboy will say to his friends and family, 'Quick! Bring the best saddle pad and put it on her. Put some corn in a bucket and bring a brush for her coat. Break open a new bale of hay! Let's have a feast and celebrate. For this Mustang of mine was lost but is now found.' So they will celebrate and there will be great rejoicing in their household and the households of horse-people everywhere.”

. . . for those of you not following my little parable, the cowboy and some friends went riding on Saturday and Dixie has been missing for 100+ hours in LBL. This afternoon she has been found some 20 miles from where she was last seen! And though I am NOT, repeat, am NOT, a horse-person, it has given me a renewed compassion for things which are lost that need to be found . . .

Luke 15:3-7 "Suppose one of you had a hundred sheep and lost one. Wouldn't you leave the 99 and go after the lost one until you found it? When found, you can be sure you would put it across your shoulders, rejoicing, and when you got home call in your friends and neighbors, saying, 'Celebrate with me! I've found my lost sheep!' Count on it—there's more joy in heaven over one sinner's rescued life than over 99 good people in no need of rescue."

Thanks to all of you who worried, who took flyers to post, who made phone calls to friends, and especially to Philip and Beth who spent hours of their own time searching for the lost sheep, er, horse. You guys are the best!

ice skating with the devil

Back in January, the cowboy made room in our 24x28 garage for me to park the car. We've lived in this house 12 years and this is a first. Now, I never minded NOT parking in the garage, but it sure is nice when the temperature is in single digits, or I've got a trunk full of groceries to haul inside. My point being, now that I can park my car in the garage, I have no need to go outside. Not even a desire really. In the winter it's too cold. Or too windy. In the summer there are bugs, and weeds that need to be pulled . . . not to mention the "odeur de equine" when the wind blows northwest from the barn. I'm just an indoorsy girl at heart. Give me a bookstore or a museum and I'm happy as . . . well, as an girl in a bookstore or museum!

My husband, on the other hand, spends almost every waking not-at-work minute outside. He comes in the house after dark to eat and sleep. If he's not working with his horses, he is cutting down trees, or disking up fields, or hauling hay, or chopping firewood, or . . . you name it.

So, he comes in from the mailbox the other day, the latest edition of "Saddle Boy" magazine in hand, proclaiming, "I have found a place for us to go on vacation!"

I glance at him skeptically over the top rim of my reading glasses. One, because we never go on vacation, and two, because we never agree on anything, much less recreation.

"No, I'm serious," he assures me.

I'm in a good mood, so I bite.

He proceeds to describe what, to me, has the vacation appeal of Yemen and ranks right above Chinese Water Torture on the fun-o-meter: a working dude ranch. Now, I've seen "City Slickers", thank you very much, and there ends the extent of my interest in Big Sky Country and, for that matter, Jack Palance's acting career.

So, once again I glance at him over the top rim of my glasses. This time with less skepticism and more sarcasm, "Are you kidding?"

He then conveys all the perks: You get to work with horses, cut down trees, disk up fields, haul hay, chop firewood, and, if you're lucky enough to have double-X chromosomes, you also get to help fix the chow! And, let us not forget - YOU get to pay THEM for the experience! The cowboy cannot seem to grasp the concept that THIS IS NOT A VACATION. Not for a sane person. But to him it sounds like heaven. To me it sounds distinctly like something I plan to do right after I go ice-skating with satan . . .