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Zechariah 9:9

 

Today's song, "You Are my King," by Newsboys is perfect for this post. Click "play" to listen!

I've found that the Bible has a lot to say about Jesus being The King. Zechariah 9:9 is a prophecy, given about 520 years before Christ, and fulfilled when Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey just before the Passover.  I love the words of this verse, and the undercurrent of excitement you can feel as you read it.

"Rejoice greatly!" reminds me of I Thessalonians 5:16's command to "rejoice always."  Well, rejoicing was the furthest thing from my mind on the night of the Big Cry. But imagine being liberated from the tyranny of a dictator, i.e. the chains of sin and defeat, and WELCOMING a triumphant king!  You have been freed from the sins of your past, and the bondage of slavery, defeat, and failure.  Shout, girl! Your King comes to you.

"See, your King comes to you," is saying, "Look up! Pay attention! SEE!" When your head is bowed down under the weight of your burdens, you can't see that your salvation is on its way.  That night, I was so busy boo-hooing that I was missing out on the greatest scene in the world: Jesus coming toward me to take control.  I want to be in a place of expectancy to see my king riding in...not looking down at the ground and miss the whole thing. 

And I love how the King is coming to ME. To US.  Sometimes it feels like I'm chasing after Him, when the reality is that HE is coming my way.  The battle has already been won and now I'm welcoming his victorious reign in my life.

"Righteous and having salvation."  A righteous king rules with justice, and I can rest under His rule knowing that He will make all things right in the end.  I may experience "unfair" things in life, but I can trust that He ultimately holds my destiny in His hands.  His salvation has brought me out of the kingdom of darkness and into the kingdom of light.  That's a fancy way of saying He saved me from a really rotten existence into one that's amazing and eternal!

Now, I promise that I did not choose this verse because it features a donkey!  But the donkey here is significant, not only because Jesus fulfilled this prophecy literally, but because a king riding on a donkey would be a ludicrous sight!  Why, his feet would almost drag on the ground as the lowly beast of burden carried him along!  A king on a donkey clearly shows that He comes in peace and gentleness.  He is down at the level of the people, where they could touch Him and speak to Him, not up on a high horse or imposing chariot. Jesus took the humblest of creatures to make His triumphant entry.  So typical of Him. He tenderly leads, carefully rules, and graciously uses the lowliest for His glory.

What a King.

When the question "have you no King?' rocketed through my heart, I hadn't spent a whole lot of time thinking about the answer beforehand.  I'd sung the songs and spoken the words, "you are my King," without my heart fully understanding what it even means to HAVE a King.  Now, as I begin to comprehend His greatness, it is a whole lot easier to submit to Him.  Why hang on to my own puny lordship, when the King of all kings gently waits for me to step aside and let Him rule?

Today's Small Thing is to print off (or post up) Zechariah 9:9 and put it where you can see it.  That's it.

Download Zech9.9

But would you take it one step further and leave a comment about our King?  I've made several observations about Jesus as King today.  Now, it's YOUR turn.  Scripture is full of direct and indirect references to the King.  I'd love to hear your thoughts, meditations, or discoveries today!  Try doing a search and then share what you find.

LOOK UP and SEE! Your King comes!

POINTS: 40 for posting Zechariah 9:9 somewhere

Flash Might Be Cute, But He's Not Exactly Brilliant

Most of you are acquainted with Flash, the stray donkey who showed up at our Barnhouse and never left. He's a real character, out there in the pasture, all alone and left to his own devices. The way he lives his solitary life provides us with endless entertainment: utterly friendly to anyone who shows interest, yet humbly aloof in his demeanor.  We think he suffered betrayal in his previous life before us, and thus, holds his heart at a distance.  Sometimes he just walks away, right in the middle of a butt scratch, for no apparent reason.

There's a wall there.

But none of that has anything to do with my story.

The other night, we experienced a freezing rain that lasted all day long and into the night.  The trees and grasses glittered eerily, like a Narnian scene come to life. As the temperatures dropped and the icy rain continued to fall, the trees began to bow under the weight.  The cedars around our house bent beneath the load of ice on their evergreen branches so that they nearly touched the ground.

My husband, a nature enthusiast, called me outside into the cold dark night.  I sighed, but dutifully donned a jacket and shoes, left the cozy couch and laptop, and followed him out.

"You've GOT to see this!" he marveled.  He is like a kid in a candy store when there is a weather event. I had to smile.  I always get sucked into his excitement for the simple things.

He whipped out his high-powered flashlight and aimed the beam into the trees.  The trees shimmered in the light, their glittery coat producing flashes and sparkles that were delightfully beautiful.  The baubles of ice that clung to the cedars sounded like a thousand beaded dresses, swaying in the cold night breeze.

He was right.  It was worth coming outside to experience it.

"And now," Tom said, "Behold!" And he moved the beam out into the pasture, where the winter grasses stood frozen in their white couture.  Each blade, each plant, each stick was a picture of magical perfection, as if dusted with glimmering fairy dust against the black sky.

"Aaaaah," I breathed.  It was an amazing scene.  Tom slowly directed the shaft of light across the small field and toward the barn.  The light tipped the grass and shrubs as it moved along.

And suddenly, in the beam, was a dark shaggy lump. Tom backed up the light and ran it across the gray mass again.  Flash!  Huddled in the freezing rain, not five feet from the shelter of the barn, the donkey raised his heavy head and looked at us questioningly.  "Huh?" he seemed to say.

He started toward us, and as he neared, we could see that he, too, was covered in a thick coat of ice. Only on Flash, it wasn't nearly as glamorous.  It was like cold, crusty, frozen dirt balls stuck in his hair.

"Flash, you IDIOT!" I scolded him. "What in the world are you doing, standing OUTSIDE the barn, when you could be INSIDE where it's nice and dry?"

Tom turned and looked at me, and said he was going to go give the poor guy some sweet feed.

"He'll just think you're rewarding him for his ignorance." I said, but to no avail.  My man was already off to have mercy on the gentle beast who was too dumb to get out of the sleet.  I shook my head.

Aww, Flash!  You're awfully cute, but you really aren't the sharpest knife in the drawer, are you?  

Today's Small Thing is to work on things like knives and spatulas and pastry cutters.  Take a few minutes to straighten your kitchen utensils up.  Most of mine are in a drawer, but the jumble of odd shapes keeps them from staying consistently neat.  When putting things away, I tend to jam them into the drawer without a whole lot of attention.  And I paw through them to find the one glorious kitchen tool I'm looking for.  Hence, my utensil drawer is rarely tidy.

POINTS: 30...this is SUPER easy, but will yield fabulous culinary results!  Imagine the triumph you experience as you effortlessly pull a whisk from its proper place!  Sheer delight.

Haul Ass

Ah, yes. Our Scripture reading for the day:

Numbers 22:21 And Balaam rose up in the morning, and saddled his ass, and went with the princes of Moab....

Once in a moon and seven moons, it occurreth to me that I might speak in the King's English.  Oh, that thou wouldst shew thy maidservant kindness and cutteth me some slack for what I deem to be unendingly hilarious: the indisputable truth that a blessed ass ruleth my pasture.

Yesterday, a cold front whipped through North Texas with a chilling wind and a few snow flurries. It bit right through my WalMart Fleece and stung my skin as I ran the 6 feet through the breezeway to the office.  It was a harsh commute.

My husband, though sometimes gruff on the outside when it comes to my donkey, has a soft spot for him. He has allowed Flash to stand around and watch him work on the barn, as he has been converting two stalls into a workshop recently.  If Flash could smoke and drink a beer, I believe he would; that's just the kind of guy he is.  Leanin' up against the wall, jest shootin' the breeze. Yessir.

But Flash has no concept of personal space.  He hangs his giant head over Tom's shoulder as he crouches over a 2 x 4 plank, generally inhibiting him from working.  And he'll crowd right after him into the tack room, stepping up into the tiny space with all four goofy hooves, and then just....stand there. Looking straight ahead. Umm, Flash, there's not enough room for one human in here, let alone a mangey beast of burden. You're gonna have to move your....well, you know.

Back to my story.

With the wind whipping up, Tom felt sorry for old Flash out there and I saw him carry a bucket of feed corn out to the barn.  He whistled several times.

Nothing.  Flash was nowhere in sight.

I went outside and called out to my man, "Are you a big softie, or what??"

He grinned and shrugged, then spun around to see Flash galloping across the pasture toward him, full speed.  

Oh, he was a picture!  There, with the wind blowing the leaves and grass in a tumult of approaching winter, came Flash with his nostrils flaring and broomy mane flying.  Looking like the thoroughbred he thinks he is, his gait was suddenly smooth and fluid for at least 4 or 5 seconds.  He tossed his head and pulled up at the gate where I was standing. I could see his sides start to work up a bellow, much like a bagpipe gets filled with wind before the real sound comes out.

Before he could blow, Tom whistled again to show him that the corn was in the barn and not at the gate.  It took Flash a moment to figure it out, and then, like a shot he was off and galloping for the barn and the nice man with the bucket.  He rounded the corner like a short-track speed skater leaning into the curve.  Then he skidded to a full stop just before plowing him over, his front legs straight out in front and his hind end nearly touching the ground in a cloud of dust.

"Whoo-ee!" Tom said, as he wiped his feet to come back inside.  "I didn't know that guy could haul ass like that!"

He is sooo eloquent.

Today's Small Thing is to haul some.....well, ass.  It's only scriptural, after all.

A short burst of focused energy on any given task will constitute our challenge today.  I've noticed that, when I have all day to do something, it takes me all day.  And when I have 15 minutes to do something, that's about how long it takes me to do it.  So rather than plodding, let's pick something to really gallop for and see if we can discover the thoroughbred of work ethic within us.

POINTS: 40 for hauling some.  You pick whatever needs hauling.

BONUS: 20 for sharing in a comment or blogging about it!  Just let us know if you post about it so we can come and read all about it!

My task will be to get ready for my college kids to come home and decorate the tree today.  They are making a special trip because they know how much it means to their brother, the only one left at home. Isn't that nice?  But I want to be prepared so we can just have fun when they get here.  I will go through the boxes and sort out what we don't need.....with gusto!

Check out Works for Me Wednesday today!

In Which My Donkey Mysteriously Shows Up With a Haircut

Strange things happen here at our Barn House.  It may be a quaint journey up past the pond, around the band of upstart trees and into our gravel drive, but living in a 1970's Bad Idea House has its adventures. 

Not long ago I went to my pasture to give fresh water to the "rogue stallion," my invincible donkey, Flash.

As he moseyed up to the gate to greet me, I thought something looked different about him.

He still had that soft, dove-colored hair, and the battle scar across his nose from his run-ins with barbed wired fences.  His ears were just at big as ever, turning this way and that like giant sonar dishes picking up signals from outer space.  

But there was something about his expression that puzzled me.

Always hungry for attention, Flash never has a problem meeting you square on.  He walks straight for you at full speed, barreling forward for a carrot or a scratch behind the ear.  And he's not shy about asking for a scratch, even if it's in a personal location.  If he wants his, um, rear scratched, he'll just turn and put it right in your face so you can't avoid it.

I call it "seeing Flash's best side."  

But on this day, he could hardly bring himself to look me in the eye.  He avoided my gaze.  

Kinda kicked the dirt a little bit.

"Flash, what's the matter, Buddy?" I asked him, and pulled his enormous head up to eye-level.

And that's when I realized.

Flash had a haircut.

Gone were his wispy locks that gave him that devil-may-care look of rugged independence.

Somehow, some way, his mane and forelock had been scissor-trimmed into short, choppy clumps that stood straight up on his neck and forehead.  Mowhawk style.  You could see every hurried scissor cut, each angled slightly to give it sort of a "stair step" look.  

He looked ridiculous.

I rubbed my eyes and looked again.

Yep.  Still there.  This is ONE. BAD. HAIRCUT, DUDE.

No wonder he was embarrassed!  No self-respecting donkey, albeit one who thinks too highly of himself, would ever be seen in public with spiked BANGS!

My next question was simple:  "WHO ON EARTH...?"

Followed by "WHY ON EARTH?" would anyone come to this remote pasture and give my donkey a haircut?

Surely, this is some kind of prank?

Now, I don't know how fast donkey bangs grow, but my guess is that they can't grow fast enough.

Mystery swirled around our pasture.  We dragged anybody and everybody out to get a load of Flash's bangs. I felt a little guilty, using him so shamelessly as a conversation piece, but it's not every day that you get such an opportunity to relish a real live who-dun-it story!  

What could possibly be the reason behind this sudden hair faux-pas?

• Was it some kind of a fashion statement, or equine gang signal?  Short of wearing matching doo-rags, faux-hawk manes ARE pretty intimidating.

• Was it a subtle claim on my sure-footed friend by a jealous neighbor? 

• Was it a scissor-happy kid who was bored and saw a hapless victim across the fence and decided, "why not?"

• Did Flash himself, in an attempt to go for the "metro-sexual" look actually pay for this 'do?    

We were abuzz with speculation.  

We narrowed the field of suspects.  After all, our pasture only borders two other neighbors, so the list was short to begin with.

The owner of Flash's girlfriend and illegitimate mule baby was a likely candidate.  A grudge can be a powerful thing, when nursed over months of watching your mare grow with the offspring of a socially ambitious donkey.  He might have reason to destroy Flash's good looks.  

Or my "Lagniappe" neighbor.  Being from Louisiana, you just never know how she might feel about unkempt hair.  Southern women ARE particular, especially when it comes to hair.  But we could not recall if she had been in town at the time of the incident.

We even looked at one another with suspicion.  Did our alibis check out, or did one of us have opportunity to wield the scissors? 

Well, we certainly had opportunity, but no apparent motive.  It's embarrassing enough to have a donkey braying at all hours, but one with a bad haircut?  Oh, we'd never want that.

The mystery went unsolved for several weeks.  And as much as I would have loved to say that Flash was abducted by aliens and forced to endure alien mane treatment, the true conclusion was far less exciting.

I worked up the nerve to ask my Lagniappe neighbor.  It took awhile to work it into the conversation.

"Oh yes, hon!" she drawled in her charming southern way.  "Ah can't buleeve what happened!  It was so funny, we even took pictures of the whole thang!"

It seems her son had been visiting from out of town, and Flash was demanding his requisite attention from anyone near the fence.  However, the donkey had recently rolled in a burr patch and was covered in burrs and therefore, difficult to pet.  

"This will nevah do," Lagniappe's son said.  "Besides, donkeys aren't supposed to have flopped-ovah manes." And so, he took it upon himself that to remove the tangles by cutting the burrs out of Flash's mane.  Practical AND fashionable, he reasoned.

I actually SAW the photos, and I'm sorry to say that it looks as if Flash enjoyed the attention.

My neighbor went on to say that, since they all left town early the next day, they forgot to tell me about his rakish new look.

I'll admit I was disappointed, not just to find out the true story, but in Flash's obviously eager participation in the whole thing.  It was so much more fun to envision a cloak-and-dagger escapade of slicing and cropping.  

And while Flash's mane is starting to grow back to its floppy glory, I've given him strict orders to stay away from people with scissors.  

I don't think we want to see what a "trimmed" donkey tail looks like, now do we?

Who's Your Daddy?

Last summer, my donkey Flash (the stray who came to stay), decided to go looking for love among the neighbor's band of horses. I was unaware of his escapade until the local sheriff showed up at my door at 1:00 am.  Here's an excerpt from my post about it:

I hear two vehicles pull up:  one complete with flashing lights on top.  Two big guys in uniforms get out (starched shirts stretched taut around their middles, just what you'd expect), along with another guy in a truck.

"Ma'am.  Sheriff's Department." They flash a badge.  "You own a donkey?"

We had noticed that Flash was missing the day before, but just didn't have time to track him down.  I actually checked the sky for circling buzzards, thinking maybe his carcass was laying out there in the pasture, and when I didn't see any, I just kept movin' on.  Hey, I had a lot to do.

"Well, this gentleman says that your donkey has gotten in with his female horse, and uh.  Ma'am, he says ya'll are gonna have a baby MULE on your hands."

At this point, the man in the truck stumbles over, and says "Yeah, yore donkey here got up into my corral where I was keepin' her away from my stallions and by the time I got over to them, they was layin' down smokin' a cigarette.  The deed had been done."

The sheriff guys turn to me and say, "Are you going to pick him up tonight, or are you going to get him in the morning?"

Getting Flash home was another adventure.  But the following months went by with no sign of a pregnant mare and no phone call from my neighbor, demanding payment for vet bills or child support, so we breathed a sigh of relief.

That is, until late spring.  The neighbor's horses were put into the pasture next to ours and we noticed one mare who was decidedly pregnant.  Mercy, she was huge.

"You don't think....?" we speculated.

Naah, couldn't be.  Besides, that mare wasn't the mare we thought Flash had had his romp with.  This girl was much darker and taller than we remembered.  Flash's girlfriend was the other one, right?  But we kept an eye on her just the same.

And then in early August, I happened to be talking with another neighbor, the "Lagniappe" lady. 

"By the way, did you see the new baby horse next door?  He's absolutely adorable!" she said.

I gulped.  I counted back the months to the infamous affair and knew that the timing pointed suspiciously to my long-eared Don Juan.  But still, the fact that the mare's owner had two stallions on hand for just such services, and the fact that the dark beauty had gotten so enormous convinced me that Flash was off the hook on this one.

I ran to the fence to check out the new arrival.  And one glance told me all I needed to know.

Oh, baby.  I know just who your daddy is.  Those ears give it away!  

And your muzzle.

And those big ol' eyes, softly circled.

That "pinned-on" tail is the coup de gras.

Honey, you're a mule and your daddy is that smug donkey in the next pasture.

Which brings me to this month's devotional verse.

Flash gets his own Magazine Cover

This cracked me up! Elle's latest advertising project in college was to create a "magazine cover" for a special interest publication. Naturally, she thought of Flash, with his devil-may-care attitude and those dreamy eyes, and decided to put him on the cover. Now, there's a face that would make magazines simply fly off the shelves. Note the article topics....

That's not my donkey's name, so don't be thinkin he's gonna come when you call him that.

Flash is getting his own category, now that he has become a regular feature in my blog. I simply could not resist using the A-word, and although I worry that it may offend a reader or two, I humbly remind us all that the King James Version uses it all the time.

Our neighbors are very good friends of ours. We literally "share" the pasture where Flash resides. Although I do feel bad about the loud bellowing that takes place at all odd hours, I feel certain that he provides them with just enough entertainment to keep us on good terms.

Not long after Flash came to live with us, our neighbors stopped by to check out our new family member.

"And we thought of the PERFECT name for him!" they exclaimed excitedly. Before we could respond that we had already named our donkey, they blurted out, "HAY-soos! You know, Spanish for Jesus! Isn't that just perfect?"

Hay-soos? HAY-SOOS?

I mumbled something about how we thought "Flash" was kind of a funny name, you know, because he's not that fast and all. But apparently they didn't pay any attention to that part of the conversation, because they continue to use THEIR name for OUR donkey.

Hmph. I don't know why, but it's never occurred to me to re-name any of my friends' pets for them. I always thought that the person who owns the pet gets to name the pet. I mean, you can call my donkey anything you want, but that's not going to be his name. You can call him "Spot," or "Secretariat," or "Mr. Ed," but don't expect him to come running when you call him that, because I've told him he doesn't have to come unless he hears his actual given name. Yeah, that's right. By me. Given, by ME!

Boy, it annoys me when I see him trotting over whenever he hears "YOO-hoo! HAY-soos!"

Flash! You don't have to go over there! Have some self-respect!

And then one day it struck me just how much like Flash I am. I thought of MY owner, my Master. The One who has named me. He calls me:

Redeemed.
Bought with a Price.
Ransomed.
Healed.
Delivered.
Victorious.
Overcomer.
Beloved.
My Child.

Oh, there is a long list of sweet names He has given me. Because He owns me. Because I belong to Him.

Ya'll, I'm about to start preachin.

I SAID! OH YES, I SAID!!

HE'S NAMED ME!
REDEEMDED!
BOUGHT WITH A PRICE!
RANSOMED!
HEALED!
DELIVERED!
VICTORIOUS!
OVERCOMER!
BELOVED!
MY CHILD!

But then what do I do? I hear other names being called out to me and I respond by running toward those false names, like a foolish ass.

Sinner.
Defeated.
Loser.
Weak.
Unloved.
No Good.
Inadequate.
Failure.

What's worse is that I start acting like those names belong to me! Poor me, I'm such a failure. I'm no good. I'm just a loser, yeah that's me.

Like Flash, I need to remember Who I belong to and Who has named me. Those other names aren't MY names! Satan, the accuser, can call me anything he wants, but you know what? HE DON'T OWN ME! And I don't have to come running whenever I hear him call.

THAT'S RIGHT YA'LL!

I. don't. have. to. come. Because Satan's not my owner. I don't belong to him.

So I'm asking you. Who owns YOU? Who do you belong to?

Oh, my friend. Just come to the One who owns you. Because He's got a whole long list of sweet names for you, too. And He's calling YOUR name!

Isaiah 43:1,2 But now, thus says the LORD, who created you, O Jacob, And He who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; You are Mine."

My donkey's name is Flash. His name is Flash because I own him and I named him.

What names do YOU come running to?

In the midst of chaos... a runaway donkey, the sheriff's department and a wedding.

Needless to say, last week was a crazy week.  My home bore little resemblance to the Sanctuary I long for, but I've told myself, "Eh, what's one week?"  Maybe the kids will never remember it.

Too bad they are past the forgetting-about-things age.  Now they are into the reminding-me-about-things age.  ("Mom, remember that time you told us to shut up?")

Anyway, that's not my point today.  And it was only one time.  Let it go.

Last week, we installed artwork and graphics at a large, well-known ministry.  It seemed like one really long day, because it started on Saturday (July 30) and ended on Saturday, August 5 at 5 am, with very little sleep all week.  Tom pulled 3 all-nighters and I miraculously pulled one myself.  I usually can't go without sleep but adrenaline must have kicked in.  The installation was complicated and time-consuming...but in the end, it looks great.  As soon as I get the photos downloaded, I will post them.

The project location is an hour-plus drive from our house.  So in between building frames, printing last-minute art pieces and designing things on the computer, the trips to Ft. Worth seemed endless.  Rob and Elle, fresh off their mission trip to Russia, jumped in and started working right away.  We gave them one good night's sleep at their own apartment and then hauled them to our house for the installation-marathon.  Em kept G.T. from going absolutely crazy by downloading and watching Season 3 of LOST with him on her laptop.  It was kinda funny to see their two heads scrunched together, occasionally talking about "the hatch" and "the Others."  What?? And we ate a lot of quesadillas.

On Thursday night, I was up late in our office (converted garage).  At 12:45 am, I hear two vehicles pull up:  one complete with flashing lights on top.  Two big guys in uniforms get out (starched shirts stretched taut around their middles, just what you'd expect), along with another guy in a truck.

"Ma'am.  Sheriff's Department." They flash a badge.  "You own a donkey?"

We had noticed that Flash was missing the day before, but just didn't have time to track him down.  I actually checked the sky for circling buzzards, thinking maybe his carcass was laying out there in the pasture, and when I didn't see any, I just kept movin' on.  Hey, I had a lot to do.

"Well, this gentleman says that your donkey has gotten in with his female horse, and uh.  Ma'am, he says ya'll are gonna have a baby MULE on your hands."

At this point, the man in the truck stumbles over, and says "Yeah, yore donkey here got up into my corral where I was keepin' her away from my stallions and by the time I got over to them, they was layin' down smokin' a cigarette.  The deed had been done."

The sheriff guys turn to me and say, "Are you going to pick him up tonight, or are you going to get him in the morning?"

Tonight?? Are you kidding?

I tell them I will get him in the morning and fix the gate where he got out.  I choose right then and there not to tell Tom about this event (he's pulling the all-nighter) until after this is all over.

So the next day, (Friday) I'm at A-1 Feed Store, getting the largest halter available ("whatcha got, a Belgian work horse?"  No, just a small donkey with an freakishly enormous head) and some sweet feed to lure him home.  My glamorous friend, Priscilla, happens to call just then to ask if we'd found Flash yet.  She had been over the day he went missing.  I launch into the tale, and before I'm even finished, she says, "I'LL BE RIGHT OVER."

So she comes over and we locate Donkey Boy over on the neighbor's property.  He looks pretty rough, like his lady love gave him a hard time.  In the next pen is the girl in question:  a cute little mare, very leggy.  We could see why she caught our long-eared friend's attention, but you just can't respect a floozy that's THAT easy.

Getting the halter on Flash was the simple part.  Pulling him home was another story.  Let's just say that if a donkey don't want to go, he ain't goin' nowhere.  We tried pulling, pushing, using a stick, hand feeding him, shaking the bucket of feed.  He'd take a few steps and then plant his legs and just stand there.  There we were, pulling with all our might, sweating and coaxing. We laughed so hard! The ridiculousness of trying to budge a lovesick donkey home on a hot, sticky Texas day in a back woods pasture was just too much!  I just hope Priscilla gets some good sermon illustrations from this, because we must have been a sight. 

Finally, Priscilla says, "Look, Flash follows us like a dog any other time.  Why don't we just walk away from him and see if he starts moving?"  So we turned and walked away, and sure enough!  He picked up his goofy hooves and started plodding after us. 

I guess he didn't mind coming along, just as long as it was his own idea.

With Flash safely home, (looking oddly smug), it was time to turn my attention back to finishing up our project.  It took us until 5 am Saturday morning, but we did it.  We got a little bit of sleep, then packed up for a trip to Austin, Texas for our nephew's wedding that night.

The wedding was a long, Catholic affair, for which we Protestants were not prepared.  ("Do we go up for Communion, or not??  When do we kneel, and when do we say the "Ah-mens?")  But the standing and the sitting, and the standing and the sitting helped keep us awake, particularly Tom, who was the most sleep-deprived. 

The reception was fun, especially for all the cousins, who tore up the dance floor.  When a conga line formed, my sister, Katherine, and I noted that the only people in the conga line were OUR children, whooping it up like seasoned partiers.  Yes, folks, those are all ours.

And except for having to move from one hotel room to another in the middle of the night, due to an unacceptable level of toxic tub epoxy fumes, we slept very well.  We got some great family photos and made a fun memory.

All in all, it was a good week.

Donkey Trails: extended version, with photos

If you already read the full post last week, just look at the pictures.

Our stray donkey, Flash, has a pretty good life here at our Barn House. No, he doesn't get to come inside! But he does have free roam of the pastures and woods on the property. He has plenty to eat and plenty of time to contemplate.

You could say he's a Contemplative Donkey.

Some of you might remember that I introduced you to our long-eared friend in an another post. His great big head and silly little legs make us smile almost as often as his outrageous braying. Sometimes we hear the distant echos of "Hee-Haw, Hee-Haw" from the back corner of the woods and we wonder WHAT ON EARTH must the neighbors think?

When you untie the rope and open the gate to get into the pasture, the first thing you'll notice is how tall the weeds are. I must apologize right off the bat. It has been a wet spring and they've gotten out of hand. Just watch out for the prickly ones.

The next thing that catches your attention is the curious criss-cross of donkey paths that lace the ground. Worn into the dark clay earth by funny-looking hooves, these paths are meandering testaments to a life that is defined by mindless repetition.

Need to get to the barn? Follow the path.

Feel like having a drink? Follow the path.

How about a walk in the woods? Follow the path.

Flash's paths don't take the shortest distance between point A and point B. They wander haphazardly hither and yon--probably because he doesn't look up when he walks. His head usually hangs down as he plods along, putting one foot in front of the other. Over time, his auto-treks have created the permanent grooves that WE now walk on when we need to get to the barn. Or fill his water trough. Or walk to the woods.

It struck me one day that Flash is stuck in a rut of his own making. There are parts of the pasture he never goes to because there are no paths that lead there. Oh, he has plenty of ruts to choose from, but they only go where he has gone before...at least a thousand times. Imagine what he is missing out on by not getting off his well-worn trails! Verdant meadows, wildflower patches and wooded delights could be just beyond his view but he will never know as he moseys along with his head lower than his knees.

I've thought about my own mindless ruts: the things I do without giving thought to how I'm doing them. True, there is comfort in familiarity, but there is also monotony. Boredom. Same old, same old. What would it hurt, every once in awhile to change things up and do things differently?

Like Flash's trails, I've noticed that my own trails create ruts for my family to follow. They shouldn't feel like they have to do things the way I ALWAYS do them. Must they wait until there are no clean clothes whatsoever before starting a load of laundry? Must they only shop at my grocery store or have Ranch dressing as their only condiment? I should encourage them to branch out by being a good example of willingness to expand my repertoire.

Today, I took an alternate route to my job site. Although I did it to avoid a traffic jam, I found myself looking at new vistas, and thinking new thoughts as I travelled through unfamiliar territory. Simply driving down a different road inspired me to try OTHER new things. It could be as small as brushing my teeth BEFORE washing my face, or serving an exotic dish to my family rather than relying on my old stand-by meals. Breaking out of my usual pattern got me moving into a whole new direction, and I got excited about the prospects that began to unfold!

Getting off the beaten path is good medicine for the soul. Whenever I find myself in need of creative inspiration, I'm going to remember to lift my head up and look around for some unexplored territory. I might sit in a different chair or order jalapenos on my hamburger. I'll do SOMETHING that reminds me that there is a whole other world beyond my old donkey trails.

Who knows? I just might discover a patch of wildflowers on my way to wooded delights.

Running with Horses

We turned into our dirt driveway late one night, exhausted from a painting project that took much longer than it should have. There, in the headlights was a mangey, scarred and bloodied donkey, feasting on the spring grass beside the road. Afraid that he would get hit by a car, we spent the next three hours trying to coax him into our pasture "just for the night." Six months later, Flash, as he is now dubbed, is a permanent fixure at our little sanctuary in the country.

We consider him yard art. He really serves no purpose, other than to be the subject of laughter at his silly big head and oversized ears, or mocking his impossibly loud braying. Flash's redeeming quality is his affectionate nature, much like that of a large dog. He will follow us anywhere, and loves to be petted and groomed. He is a great conversation piece.

Not long after Flash established permanent residence here, we came home again to find three beautiful young horses, who had escaped from our neighbor's pasture, peacfully munching away in our front yard. It's like a circus around here. Tom rounded them up and put them inside our fence, called their owners, and we waited for them to be taken home.

Meanwhile, Flash could not believe his luck! Equine friends! Suddenly the fat old cows across the fence held no more fascination for him. He was entranced, starry-eyed, worshipful and full of self-delusion. His huge head came up, he squared his bony shoulders and joined the group of newcomers with a confidence that surprised us.

It was obvious that Flash thought HE was a young stallion, just like the graceful and powerful creatures in his company! The three horses, with their manes and tails flying like shining banners, ran and bucked and played in the sunshine, oblivious of the little donkey who trotted after them. They ran circles around him while he tried to keep up. The horses were a picture of perfection, followed by a picture of pure hilarity.

Poor Flash. With his short little legs and his disproportionately large head, his broom-like mane and floppy ears, he looked hopelessly laughable in the presence of such equine greatness. His funny, choppy trot could not begin to compare to the beautiful galloping movements of the visitors. But he didn't care.

For one shining moment, our shabby stray burro was a thoroughbred, and who could rob him of such joy? He was running with horses.

The neighbor's horses spent but a few brief hours in our pasture. But those life-changing moments opened Flash's eyes to another world. A world beyond the bored cows living in mediocrity over the fence. I think he realized that there is more to life than chewing cud. There is running, and bucking, and rearing up and living life for all its worth. It's looking for chances to feel your oats and maybe even making a grand escape. It's seizing the moment and feeling the sun, the earth and the wind all at once as you leap and prance with all you've got.

There's something different in those soft, brown eyes. He carries his head a little higher and picks up those goofy hooves a little faster. His encounter with the three visitors gave him a chance to soar beyond his mundane life into a world of greatness. When I see him now, I see the thoroughbred inside him. Flash isn't just your ordinary Eeyore. Housed within that clumsy frame is a heart that knows its destiny.

He was born to run with horses.

Rachel Anne