THE WAILING WALL

With the goats happy and contained despite foraging for food in addition to their regular grain, their ravenous appetite made it necessary to move them to another pasture. Lacking a pond the task of filling up buckets and buckets of water and transporting it to the new pasture became a laborious task. But like the children of Israel in the wilderness who needed water, we also were supplied with a rock which gushed forth water. This phenomenon happens after a rain and the water usually flows for us to two weeks and makes it way down to the creek back. This water is cool, clean and pure.

As we stood in awe and wonder at this site I noticed the intense look on Bruce’s face as the gears in his head was churning out an idea. I did not disturb him but gave him time to fully formulate this idea. Having viewed such a magnificent sight I was sure the idea must be a good one.

“Let’s build a retaining wall right here where this water flows into the creek bank. It doesn’t need to be very tall just maybe two feet. We could harness the water and it would be great for the goats. Sure would ease my workload,” Bruce stated as the idea spilled out of his head.

If Bruce thought that the two-foot wall was good, then the boss thought that surely a four-foot retaining wall would be even better. He wasted no time in running with the idea. Trenches were dug and the frames for the cement were put into place. A quick call to the cement dealer suggested that there was an immediate opening for delivery and did they want to take it. The boss said sure. It has been my experience that when you get into a hurry over something and have to have it right now, or yesterday was even better then you run the risk of forgetting something important. Such was the case on this project. Bruce barely had time to get some of the last braces of the framework in place when the cement truck showed up.

The mix that had been delivered was a dry mix which although it made the wall stronger it is more difficult to work with. That necessitated that they work at a fever pitch shoveling and pushing around the cement into the forms while the sweltering heat zapped their strength and intensified the work before them. They had taken no water to the project sight thinking that they had time to do so before the cement truck arrived. Their calculation was off and this is a job where you cannot take a break in the process. If you disobey this rule than you run the risk of the cement hardening before you get it into the proper place.

They wailed and bemoaned the fact that the project was rushed and it had to be completed before their thirst could be quenched. Coupled with the fact that the boss wore the wrong kind of gloves and some of the cement seeped through the gloves onto his hand and irritated his hands so much it would be another week until his hands recovered. It had been for these reasons that the wall had become affectionately known as the wailing wall.

Just when they thought that the project was done, Bruce decided that fence posts should be put into the wet cement to provide for future fencing. Looking back Bruce had wondered if that had been necessary since goats do not like to swim. The addition of the fencing proved to be a costly mistake.

It would be several weeks before the first rain came to test the strength of the wailing wall. It had been a gentle rain and the wall held and the water that flowed up against it stood. It was not until a week or so after that that the deluged of rain descended from the sky in a torrent and dropped ten inches of rain in a twenty-four hour period. Creek banks and riverbanks all over the county were covered with water. Worst flooding in forty years, the old timers would tell us. Bruce knew that he would have to access what damage, if any were done to the wailing wall. Our wailing wall was six feet high, the increase of height was due to the debris that was carried downstream and pushed into the fence which was now acting as a barrier. The pressure that the debris placed upon wailing wall made it decidedly lean. It was now in danger of falling down. The wailing wall definitely had some issues but they could not be addressed until the rain stopped.

The rain continued for a week and the constant pressure made the wall collapse. It had broken in two places. The short end of the wall stood straight up as a pillar stretching heavenward. The longer portion of the wall lay out in the creek bank just one inch above the ground. With swiftness Bruce rushed in and repaired the wire fence so the goats would still remain contained and not venture off. That was all that could be done until a dry season; the repair of the wall would have to wait until the water subsided. While they waited Bruce and his boss bantered back and forth about the merits of going ahead and completely destroying the wall and rebuilding it from scratch or merely raising the wall back up. In the end the best solution was to raise the wall again.

The first step was to clean out all the debris that hindered the raising of the wall. It would take three men to actually raise the wall so Bruce enlisted the help of Larry (the guy who found eight of our renegade goats on his land). Armed with a chain hoist, two twenty-ton jacks, one five ton jack and our tractor they were ready to start. The fifty-foot chain hoist was secured around a giant oak tree and attached to some rebar in the wall. The jacks and the hoist were inched upward a quarter of an inch at a time and blocks were put in place so that the progress made would not be lost. As they slowly inched their way upward they could hear the concrete snap and pop under the strain. They were always careful to quickly move back from the wall after each upward motion just in case the wall succumbed under the strain. As the wall was approaching its original height, then they brought in the tractor and began to shove the pillar portion of the wall downward. To everyone’s amazement this pushing of the pillar actually helped to pull the whole wall almost exactly into its original place.

There was much hoopla going around with high fives and maybe a victory dance or two. You would have thought they just made a fifty-yard touchdown at the super bowl. But the work on the wailing wall still was not finished. They had to go back and add in a kneeling supports on both the front and back side of the wall. Pour more concrete to cement it into place and repair the cracks and ten and only then would the wailing wall work to its full potential.

Our wall was put in danger in the first place because of all the debris had come in when the flood waters overwhelmed the barriers what we had made. Originally we did not have the knelling supports in place that should have been there to support the wall against the water on the other side from tipping the wall over. The kneeling supports are much like the Holy Spirit who comes in when the enemy attacks and supports us against the pressures from the outside.

Until Next Time, Gracie

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DON’T LET LIFE GET YOUR GOAT

 When we first moved out here to the country it was decided that the best area of profitability for the farm would be the raising and selling of goats or at least that is what the boss thought. I did not approach the raising of goats with ambivalence for I was far beyond that point and my feelings now bordered on hatred. I had two issues with goats both of which had never been fully resolved. The first incident was when I given a picture of a goat and my mother standing beside it. This one picture had filled me with so much terror that I chose not to keep the picture but rather sent it away so I would not have to deal with it. If any animal could put the fear of God in me then it would surely be a goat.

My second encounter with a goat was when my husband had decided to go in halves with another guy and raise a goat. This incident happened near the Y2K scare when we lived on four acres. This particular goat was a musty smelling billy goat with a propensity for causing problems. Since we did not have a fenced in area for him, we tied him to a tree temporarily. Quick as a flash he chomped his way through the rope and ran to the nearest trashcan to look for something more appealing to eat then the standard goat food. Invariably he always did this when I was the only one to deal with it. I would chase him and grab what was left of the rope and attach a new piece to it. That in itself was quite a feat; you have to contend with the smell that was enough to knock you over…that is unless the goat knocked you over first with his gargantuan strength. I had asked my husband to get rid of the goat but he felt an obligation to keep it.

I began to pray and tell God that something needs to be done about this goat. I feared that it was getting the best of me. To my utter surprise the next morning as I was about to face another day with the likes of this goat, I heard a rumbling from the sky and before long we were in the midst of a full fledged thunder storm. A clap of thunder had rattled my morning cup of hot chocolate enough that the liquid slide down the side of the cup. I looked outside to see if any damage had been done and there in the middle of the field laid the goat. He had gotten loose again and got struck by lightning. Now I make no claims that God had intervened on my behalf for my husband tells me it is not in the nature of God to do that…but still…?

So here I was eight years later dealing with round three...and not just one goat...but this time I would be called upon to deal with forty of them. I can tell you from experience that if you do not deal with something in your life and choose to ignore it, it does have a way of showing up at your doorstep again…and again…and again. Mine were to be delivered that very afternoon via a truck. The only ray of sunshine that I had about the whole thing was the fact that a deal had been struck with the boss. The boss would supply all the finances for raising the goats. In turn my husband would do all on his own time and we could keep half the money when the goats were sold. Sometimes one does need an incentive to cope with something you really have no inclination to do.

The truck came and the goats reluctantly made their way into the pasture prepared for them. The boss wrote out the check in payment for the goats. The ink on the check barely had time to dry before it happened. I was standing a few feet from the fence line taking in the view of the goats and reminding myself that at least this time I would be rewarded for my efforts if I would just see this thing through. I coughed and cleared my throat from the trail of dust the delivery truck left in its wake. Out of the corner of my eye, a single goat was running full speed ahead and he looked like he was headed for me! I jumped out of the way...I dare not get in his path…he shot through the fence. Not only did he get through the fence but because goats have a herd mentality he also took thirty-six other goats with him. In a matter of minutes the heard had been cut by more than 2/3. Talk about fleeting profits!

At this point with the majority of goats heading off for parts unknown, it was up to us to seek them out and bring them back to the herd. Fliers were placed at stores in the area offering a reward for the return of the goats. Endless hours were spent riding the quads in search of the illusive goats. They were finally spotted on a neighboring farm hiding out in a holler covered in a thicket of cedar trees.

Someone told the boss that pushing the goats out of the holler was an easy task if you manage to sneak upon them. Thus is that we got a knock on our door at 2 o’clock in the morning for Bruce to participate in a commando raid to capture wayward goats and march the escapees back. Armed only with a flashlight they rode the quads near where the goat was last seen. At night they come out of the holler and bedded down on the highest ground to see any predators who seek to get them. Needless to say the goats saw and heard the roar of the engines approaching and headed back to the holler. Hollers are treacherous for humans for they have no sure footing, but for the goats it is a safe haven. They climb the steep walls of the holler with a grace and ease to behold. It would be fascinating to watch them if it had not been for the frustration factor between the pursuer and the pursued. The men came back four hours later in defeat cold and bleeding.

Another plan of attack would be in order. At this point it had become a war, it was no longer just the money that the goat represented but it was a matter of pride. You just can’t let the goat get the better of you; after all we can’t be outsmarted by a goat! The next plan was to get a “professional” herd dog and let him scout around and do the work for us. This time when the men went out on their maneuvers they did so in broad daylight. They loosed the dog and like a soldier he scouted the area and found the goats. He lay down on his belly and inched his way toward the goats. He did all of this with such precision that you knew this had been inbred into him. When he got close enough he raised himself up and barked and ran around in circles to contain the goats. The goats were afraid to move; the dog just kept circling with occasional glances back at the men as if to say, “okay, now what do I do?” The men could not get the goats because the dog would not give up his position. The dog became another barrier. It had become the proverbial Mexican standoff. Another idea had gone awry.

As the months passed winter began to set in. The greenery that the goats feed off in the wild was now covered in a white blanket of snow. Food became scarce for them. The wayward goats were just close enough that from their vantage point they could catch glimpses of the remnant goats in our pasture. They could hear the rustle of the feedbags as my husband filled their troughs with substance. They heard the splash as their thirst was being satisfied. How the other goats longed for that place of being taken care of. After a while the renegade goats inched their way closer and closer to home until one day they stood by the fence seeking to be let back for they now knew where their protection lay.

I have since thought about the goats and how they represented a problem area in my life. Sometimes when problems arise the first things we try and do are to buy out way out of it, if at all possible. If that fails then we figure that if we can somehow just sneak up on it under cover of darkness we can fix it and nobody needs to know about it. If that fails then we hopefully can get someone to stand between the problem and us. Mind you this does not fix the problem it only contains the problem for a short while until the frustration presents itself again. It is only when we get to the point where we are hungry enough to do something about it once and for all that we begin to take the steps you need to find that place of peace and serenity. Then and only then can you go on and become a blessing to someone else.

Love, Gracie   

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Grace’s heartrending true life story, Family Secrets is a gripping page-turner.
You will marvel at the way God can turn even the most horrendous tragedies into a victory.
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THE THIEF

I held my empty egg carton in my hand as I made my morning rounds to the chicken coop. I had been getting about seven eggs per day but for the past two days that number had dwindled down to just one. I had blamed the lack of eggs on any number of things from the chicken not getting enough sunlight to the fact that maybe they were molting and it is a seasonal thing. Still I went out each morning to check for the farm fresh eggs for my breakfast. I had high hopes that this day things would be back to normal.
I approached the coop unafraid because I had done this so often, after all this was my normal routine. The sky was overcast that day and the lack of sunshine did cast shadows in the coop. The dark shadow hovered around the base of the nesting boxes. As I stretched forth my hand in the direction of where I expected the eggs to be I saw something that stopped me dead in my tracks. I dropped my empty carton and ran out of the coop as fast as I could. I hadn’t even stopped to look back. What I thought was a shadow was really a large black snake!

I told my husband about the snake and he marched into the coop, grabbed the snake by the tail and flung it out into the pasture. As that snake went hurling into the air what spewed out of his mouth was bright yellow egg yolk. I was duly impressed with this act of bravery until he informed me, “You do know that black snakes are harmless don’t you?” I did not care if it was harmless. It looked menacing and it stood between me and what I wanted… the eggs.

Back in the house over breakfast my husband related a story to me about an encounter with another snake he had when he was twelve years old. He had been living in Arizona and went out to fish the mountain streams. Being a boy scout he was always prepared so he took along a knife and a BB gun. He had caught several fish and put them on a stringer which he draped around his neck. In one hand he held a fishing pole and the other one he held his BB gun. The forest area that he had to pass through was dark except for a single stream of light that shone on one area of the path. There the light shone down directly on a rattlesnake that was between him and home. He knew if he ever wanted to get home he would have to deal with that snake.

He put down the fishing pole; aimed his BB gun at the snake’s head and shot it 23 times. He then took out his knife and cut off the snake’s head to bury it. He knew that even though it was dead if someone accidently touched the rattlers head the venom still inside him would flow out into the unexpecting victim. Then he got the idea to take the rest of the snake home as a trophy.

To prepare for the trip home he again draped the stringer of fish around his neck along with the body of the snake. He held his BB gun in one hand and the fishing pole in another. In order to cross the creek, which contained a lot of slippery rocks, he had to stay focused. A good acronym for focus is Forgetting Obstacles and Cruddy Unforeseen Situations (those which have been dealt with). Anyway he got to the middle of the stream when the snake began to coil around his neck and choke him. My husband flung his fishing pole in one direction and his gun in the other direction and fought to get the snake from off himself. When he wrestled free the snake was also flung as far away from him as he could throw it. Then he it suddenly dawned on him; the snake was already dead; all the snake could do was have a muscle spasm. He was afraid of something that had already been defeated.

Jesus has already defeated Satan! Even though Satan comes to kill, steal and destroy, the most Satan can do is having a muscle spasm every now and then. Yet sometimes we fear him; and allow him to stand between us and our dreams.

Until Next Time, Gracie

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HIDDEN IN THE CLEFT OF THE ROCK

On my way into town I pass by a curious rest stop by the side of

road. This rest stop looks out of place on this county road lined with pastures. There are signs along the road letting you know it is there. The sign is simply a picture of a rock and underneath it a picnic table.

 

The first time I saw the rest stop I marveled at the sight of it. Here was a large rock with a cleft jetting out. Underneath it someone had built a picnic table. Logic questioned who would put a picnic table in such a precarious place? I told myself I would not sit there.

As I pass by I always look just to see if anyone is there. I have seen travelers who have stopped to get their picture taken. I have seen families come to have a picnic. I have seen others come to explore and climb the rock.

I have seen the rock through all the seasons. During the spring rains the water cascades down the side of the rock into a waterfall. In the summer the hot scorching sun does not beat down on the cleft of rock but provides shade for those underneath it. In the fall I look beyond the rock and behold all the trees changing colors .In wintertime the precipitation on the waterfall freezes, ice cycles hang from the ledge in mid-drip giving the impression that time stands still. I admire the rock for all of its beauty and majesty.

I have watched as people take refuge in the cleft of the rock. Rain storms come and I see motorcycle riders pulling over there waiting for the storm to pass. In the summertime highway workers choose this spot to eat their lunch away from the scorching sun. In the weariness of their travels some have slept there to be refreshed.

I pass by this spot often but have never stopped. I tell myself I’m too busy now. I’m on my way somewhere. Then there is always the what if’s that intrude into my thought life. What if this cleft crushes me? I have reasoned that for me it is a trust issue.

I posed a question to God. What would it take for me to be comfortable enough to abide in the cleft of the rock? The answer came this morning as we were having devotions at the breakfast table. We were reading Faith Food Devotions by Kenneth E. Hagin. In this devotion Kenneth Hagin talks about a preacher, who had many storms in his life, came to seek advice from him.

Kenneth Hagin read these words to him...Do not fret or have any anxiety about anything, but in every circumstance, and in everything, by prayer and petition (definite request), with thanksgiving, continue to make your wants known to God.    Philippians 4:6 (Amplified)

“But everyone doesn’t have the faith you have”, the preacher told Kenneth. Yes, but they have the same Bible,” he replied, “and it’s a matter of practicing the Word.” He went on to say that he reads this verse and makes a declaration of faith that the Word is true and he believes it. He says aloud, “I refuse to fret or have any anxiety about anything.” He then makes his request to the Lord and thanks Him for them.

Could it be that the trust issues I have are this simple to get rid of? Have I been complicating the issue because I have been focusing on all of the external issues of trust?

~ Grace Ann

                                    Gracie learning to dwell with out fear. (: