Channel 7, ABC’s Denver affiliate, did a news story on the Ranch this summer, featuring a visit by a newly adopted Romanian orphan and his American mother.

Click here to watch the video

http://www.fortmorgantimes.com/ci_12860892

In past years, our winter weather has made riding impossible……

Neither horse nor human has any desire to be out in this kind of environment….

This year, we have had the blessing of dry weather and above average temperature days……

When our temps hit 70 degrees a few days ago, our itch to ride overcome our need to finish projects…..

Together with the 10 yr old little boy who comes to our house every day after school, the kids and I gathered in the horses…..

Fat horses groaned in their winter complacency as we approached with our halters, but faithfully lowered their heads and complied with our request….

Little hands brushed out thick winter coats until they gleamed…..

The two younger ones still need assistance lifting the heavy saddles onto the horses backs, but the oldest is an old hand at this and can do it by herself…

They have all learned to do the straps and buckles on the saddles on their own now and are very proud of their accomplishment!

When we teach anyone, but especially children, how to handle the horses and care for them, our goal is safe independence–

We only do for them what they cannot physically do for themselves-

It’s always amazing to me how something even as little as leading their own horse to the arena, can make the chest swell and the head be held high!

We rode for almost two hours that day in the warm afternoon sun….

The peace of the prairie caused even the kids to fall silent…. listening to the clip-clop of the horses hooves in the arena dirt and the cry of a distant hawk….

God’s creation surrounding them, they rode in silence for quiet a while, but as the shadows lengthened, and horse and kid stomachs began to rumble, it was time to call it a day….

Our 10 yr old friend summed it up as we packed away the tack and turned out the horses….

“That was fun….”

“We have some hay we would like to donate….”

With a few simple words, a legacy of Christian heritage came full circle….

Over 50 years ago, a young girl moved from Ohio to the Front Range of Colorado with her parents and to attend university.  Lonely in a large town, she was uncertain how to go about meeting new people.  Another young girl took a job selling organic eggs to people in town, and as the first young girl’s mother paid for the eggs, she saw an opportunity for friendship for her daughter. 

The two girls hit it off right away.  Karleen, the first young girl, spent many hours at Jean’s house.  Jean’s father was a man of great faith and modeled that many times for Karleen, taking her under his family’s wing and praying for her often.  That man’s faith was instrumental in the formation of Karleen’s faith which carried over into a life time of ministry service as she married and raised her family. 

Karleen is my mother.  She and my father modeled selfless service and faith which has led to full time ministry service for my family and I…..

“We have some hay we would like to donate….” 

The voice on the phone was Jean’s….

After many years of lost contact, the trigger of reconnection to her old friend was our purchase of a ranch in Northeastern Colorado, near where Jean and her husband run a family farming operation. 

A grandmother herself, with her own family legacy of faith, they were choosing to pass on some of God’s blessing upon their farm. 

Any hay donated is a tremendous gift and our expectation was of a regular gooseneck flatbed trailer, holding any where from 8-10 bales of hay. 

A 54 foot semi truck and trailer pulled into our driveway that day. 

 30 large bales of hay and 12 large bales of straw was the gift that was deposited upon our doorstep…..meaning that feeding and bedding down the animals that God has given us stewardship over, will be one less worry on our minds….

But an even greater gift was meeting the woman, whose family’s legacy of faith so many years ago, is the cornerstone of our service to Christ today.

Guest Post from Marie Pezzotta Foote

An old friend posted this recently on her Facebook page and, with her permission, we are sharing it here- it’s powerful and timely and we hope that you find it as inspiring as we did

(With much gratitude to Faith Hill and Warner Brothers Nashville for inspiring this article through Faith’s song by the same title)

“Your life will never be the same again.”

I lost count of person after person saying that at baby showers I attended. I understood it in my own way, appreciated it from a distance, but wasn’t really “ready” to have everything change my independent life.

Being married to my best friend, Jordan, was enough for me at the time. Then, six years ago, I found out what those shower ladies meant.I read once that the distance between a positive pregnancy test and walking your kid to the park is about 3 seconds, especially when you are longing to have a baby.

I found that to be true.

I also found out I was going to have TWO kids to walk to the park.

Then one.

Then none.

My babies, who left my womb straight for the halls of heaven, changed everything for me.

They made a mother out of me, even though I never got to hold them in my arms.

They told me to run far, far away from Tostitos lime chips by sending waves of nausea through my changing body upon smelling those once-delightful crisps.

They made it very clear when it was time to go to bed … something I decided on my own since my parents stopped giving me the deadline.

They made people squeal with me, pray with me, weep with me.

 They led me to long for heaven in ways I had never thought possible before.

A long road, two more miscarriages, many tears and much healing later, God decided to change everything again … through the adoptions of my daughter, Megan, and my son, Micah.

They are the glue that God has used to put the pieces of my broken heart back together again, creating a heart with more compassion, more strength and more love for children than the day it began to beat.

They have made me realize that crayon scrawls on my walls can be a trophy of God’s goodness, instead of something to be wiped away with my Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.

They have made me stop and laugh at myself when I hear THAT voice coming out of my mouth, “My patience is no longer the size of a watermelon, apple or grape … it is now the size of a RAISIN!”

Micah has taken unclean moments like a diaper blowout and made them an opportunity to have some precious eye contact since neither he, nor I, are going anywhere for the next five minutes (and since I would rather look at his big blue eyes than at the other end of him, anyway).

Both of them have taught me what it truly means to put others before myself, because my bladder’s capacity to “hold it” has withstood their demands for lunch on multiple occasions.

They remind me often that there is no shame in dancing in front of us completely naked (Megan) and in a diaper (Micah), with uninhibited joy, to the strains of La Cucaracha!

They are the only people on earth who have made me feel excitement at reading The Adventures of Peter Pan three times in a row.

They have changed my vocabulary … an “emergency” includes Ally-bear needing a pink hair tie instead of a purple one, an “apple” is anything remotely fruit-like in its qualities, and a “ball” can be anything that is thrown, with maximum force and frightening precision, against my left ear.

They have surprised me with the amount of instant energy I have when being shaken from a dreamy sleep, with a single “MOMMMMMMYYYYYYYY” scream, after a long, hard day.

They have taught me to stop worrying about myself so much – I love them and that’s all that matters to them.

They have made 10:00 PM one of my favorite times of the day … when I gaze at them, re-cover their sprawled bodies, kiss them and commit them to my Father’s watchful care one last time before I close my eyes on the day.

With the thoughts of my heart being drawn towards a stable in Bethlehem again, this Christmas season, I know that a teenage mom named Mary would say, “I agree – a baby DOES change everything.”

She didn’t have to buy any sticks of any kind at the local market.

An angel, sent by God, delivered her test results well in advance and all at once: “You will become pregnant, it will be a boy, you will name him Jesus, He will save us all.” (Oh, by the way, as if that weren’t enough, He will be the Son of the Most High God.)

Wow – not even a 3D ultrasound can top that!

There was no state-run home for betrothed, but unwed mothers for her to go to.

She and Joseph did not attend birthing and parenting classes and they certainly weren’t taught the Bradley method by a doula.

Medicaid did not pay for her labor and delivery.

Her son’s first clothes were not made out of reversible, flame-retardant fleece, but there were plenty of sheep – and shepherds – who came to visit Him.

There was no registry in her name at Target, nor Babies R Us, but her first (and possibly only) shower was thrown by kings from a distant land, bringing gold, frankincense and myrrh …

And yet …

A Jewish king tried to have Him killed.

Angels fluoresced the night sky, proclaiming His birth.

A star became a heavenly prototype of a GPS navigational system, guiding visitors to His first earthly home.

A wooden manger, in His presence, became a cradle fit for the one and only King of Kings, Prince of Peace, Lord of Lords.

Mary’s baby changed everything, not just for her, but for me.

He made it possible for eternal death, the most severe consequence of sin, to release its grip on my soul.

He glued together the shattered fragments of my self-centered heart, miraculously creating a heart that is pure, holy, undefiled in God’s eyes.

He has made a wooden cross and an empty tomb my favorite trophies of God’s goodness in all the world.

He has told me, when my patience is the size of a raisin, that He will stretch it for me with love, and He has had to do the same with me many, many times.

He has seen the filth blowing out of my selfish heart and, while cleaning it up gently, looked into my eyes and told me of His unwavering, unconditional love for me.

He has increased the capacity of my heart to think of others first, even when it hurts, or doesn’t come naturally for me.

He reminds me often that there is no shame in honest vulnerability, for that is the only way to experience dancing with joy over being accepted for who I truly am.

He is the only Person who has made the adventure of reading His Word exciting, even if “I’ve read that passage twenty times.”

He has changed my vocabulary by defining true greatness as “servanthood” and ultimate love as “sacrifice, even to the point of death.”

He has surprised me by granting me the strength to give myself away when I think I have nothing left.

He has taught me to stop worrying about myself so much -

He loves me and that’s all that should matter to me.

And every night, when I close my eyes on the day, He gazes at me, re-covers my wounds with His healing, holds me and commits Himself again to never leave me, nor forsake me, under His Father’s watchful care.

Those shower ladies were correct.

A Baby changes everything.

Marie Foote

*Names and some details have been changed for privacy

The frantic pounding on the door startled me from my Sunday morning reverie.  Still dressed in my bathrobe, I hollered to Scott that someone was at the door, hoping that he would take care of it so that I could get dressed.  Hearing no answer and as the pounding continued, increasing in intensity, I wrapped my robe around my waist a little tighter and hurried to the door. 

On the front porch stood a sobbing young woman holding a little girl in her arms.  My first crazy thought was that she had hit one of our dogs on the highway but as I tore open the door and saw our St Bernard standing there beside her, I knew it was something significantly more serious. 

 “My daughter is having seizures”, she screamed at me between sobs, “Please, please, help me!”

I quickly took her daughter from her arms and rushed through the house to the couch.  The little girl was completely limp and pale, eyes rolled back in her head, but still breathing. 

 “Father, help me!’ I silently prayed as I verbally reassured the mother that she had come to the right house. 

Three years ago, when we first moved here, Scott and I made the decision to join the local volunteer Fire Department.  Scott had already had 8 years of volunteer Fire experience in our prior town, with incredible amounts of training, resulting in Firefighter I and II certifications, as well as First Responder, Hazmat and Fire Leadership courses.  He is a skilled firefighter, who stands out as a leader on accident and emergency scenes.  I, on the other hand, was a newbie but quickly fell in love with the work.   

We both joined the Fire Chaplains team as well, with a desire to do more than just put a fire out or bandage a broken leg.  Our heart was to bring hope to people in the worst of times.  To heal their hearts as well as their bodies…..Not knowing where our patients stand with God, this sometime requires a step of faith to intervene.  To ask them if we can bring God into their crisis with them….

I patted the little girl’s cheek, “Wake up, sweetie, wake up!”   Scott came into the room, already on his radio with Emergency Dispatch. 

“She had a seizure yesterday, and I took her to the hospital. They said that she had just choked on some candy and they dismissed us!” the mother said, wringing her hands and pacing as Scott and I took her daughter’s vital signs.  

Little eyes peeked out at me through long eyelashes.  “What’s your name, punkin?” I asked.  “Sarah”, came the sleepy, slurred reply. 

“She’s never had any problems before, why is this happening?” her mom wailed, breaking down into sobs again. ”We were on our way to Nebraska and I don’t have a cell phone! Yours was the closest house I could find out here!”

Sirens rang out as our local rescue truck bringing our Fire Chief and two local EMT’s came screaming into the driveway. 

My children were standing in the living room, eyes as large as dinner plates.  “My son is still in the car”, mom said, “I’d better go and get him.” 

Turning to my son, knowing that this would give them a way to help, I directed him to the little boy still strapped in the car.  All three of my kids rushed out, a desire to do something written all over their faces.   Stepping aside to let the more experienced medical personnel in to access the little girl, I watched as my three children calmly ushered a five year old little boy into the house.  “Would you like something to eat?” my son said.  He nodded and they all proceeded to stumble over one another to make a PB & J.  Fortified with toys, a glass of milk, a sandwich, a sliced apple and three sets of eyes watching his every move, he sat at the table with a cautious grin. 

Turning back to mom, I noticed her rubbing her chest and swaying a bit.  “Can you tell me your name?” I asked as I led her to the nearby loveseat. 

“Lila”, she replied with a wince as she continued rubbing her chest. 

“Pray with her!” my Father said.  

Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Lila, could I pray with you for your daughter?”  Her eyes opened slightly in surprise as she hesitantly nodded.  I took her hands in  mine and began to pray. 

The room and the chaos faded into the back ground, the bustling EMT’s and hiss of oxygen quieted, and it was only her and I and our Heavenly Father.  I have no idea what I prayed, but as I said “Amen” and opened my eyes, the change in Lila was pronounced.  She continued to sit for a moment with her eyes shut; her hands had stilled and her breathing deepened.  The peace of God was visibly wrapped around her like a cloak. 

Our pastor is on our Department with us and is the head of our Chaplain team.  He also is a very handy guy and a mechanic.   As we asked questions about symptoms and circumstances, we were puzzled as to the cause of the little girl’s seizures.  Lila kept asking, “Why is this happening to her?” and we continued to try to reassure her that God would help us to find out and that He would walk with her; she was not alone. 

“She was in the car both times it happened,” Lila said.  I watched as the light dawned on our pastor’s face.  Getting to his feet, he said, “While we are waiting for the paramedics to arrive, can I check out your car?”  Lila nodded, passing him the keys. 

A few minutes later, he came back in.  “Did you know you are missing 18 inches of tail pipe?” he asked.  She nodded, “I haven’t had the time or money to get it fixed.”

He said,”Because your car is a hatchback, the exhaust is circling back into the car. Does Sarah sit on the left side?”  Lila nodded.

We all shared knowing looks and at that moment, the paramedics arrived.  After beginning another slew of questions, our pastor shared the tail pipe clue, and they all headed out to load Sarah into the ambulance. 

Maverick, Lila’s little boy, said, “I want to stay here and play!”  Bending down to his level, my son replied, “You have to go with your sister, buddy, but maybe someday you can come back and play with us!”  After they gave each other hugs, Maverick quietly followed his mom to the waiting ambulance.  

“Can I leave my car here?” Lila asked.  Nodding our assent, we shared our contact information with her and agreed that we would help work something out as soon as we knew more about what was going on.   

With a sigh, we headed back into the house to get ready for church as the ambulance wailed its way onto the highway.

That afternoon, a truck pulled into the driveway. 

Lila stepped out and gave me a big hug.  “It was carbon monoxide poisoning!  We all tested positive but Sarah was the littlest so she had symptoms the fastest.  Because of the length of our drive back to Nebraska, we could have died if they had not found out what was wrong….. We are all fine now and Sarah is going to be ok! My father is going to follow me home with the kids in the truck and I will drive with the windows down….we will get home just fine….Thank you!” 

We all stood in the driveway, watching them pull away and praising God for His divine appointments. 

I don’t know if we will see Lila, Sarah and Maverick again, but we know that on this Sunday morning, there was peace and God’s presence in our living room, that our kids ministered to a sweet little boy, that God gave the answers that were needed to spare a little girl a barrage of unnecessary tests, and that we were right where God wanted us to be.

We have often wondered through the trials of the past three years if we had done the right thing in moving here, if this was the right place or if we had heard God correctly.  Through our questions and doubts, our patient Heavenly Father smiles, sends confirmations in the form of people needing His peace and love and asks, “What will you choose to do?  Will you care for the least of these? Will you choose to see my miracles?”

“I have a horse that I would like to donate to your ministry.”

            The woman’s soft voice on the phone is difficult to hear.  As I strain to listen, she tells me about her little mare. 

“She is not much to look at,” she says.  “I adopted her from the sheriff’s dept after she was abandoned in a field here in the local area.  Her halter was left on her head for at least a year, and because she was so young, as she grew, her bones formed around the halter and it had to be cut off.  She is built well, just has bumps on her face….”

            Her voice trailed off as she waited to see what I would say. 

My thoughts were racing… “Could we take on another horse right now?  Is this one that God would have be a part of this place?”

            As if sensing my thoughts, she broke in, “I can no longer keep her.  I am a single mom and money is so tight.  I don’t know what I am going to do with her….”

            Three days later, we pulled in to her driveway, trailer in tow to pick up our little horse.  An incredibly small property was crammed with horses, vehicles, trailers, trash and junk.  Our hearts heavy and apprehensive, we walked around the corner of a tiny pen and shelter to find a little red mare peeking out.  Bumps on her nose, thin, bites from her hide from fighting with other horses for food, her outside was battered and scarred but as we approached, her spirit shone from her soft eyes.  Speaking softly, we haltered her and began to lead her to the trailer.  She came slowly and fearfully, trembling slightly every time the former owner approached. 

       “She has been difficult to handle,” she said.  “My kids have done all her training and sometimes the neighbor down the road.  They all mean well but my kids don’t know a whole lot and the neighbor is often rough.”
 

            Praying hard for peace and patience, we kept our thoughts to ourselves as we worked to load the little horse in the trailer.  She was panicked at times, rearing and pulling, but finally stepped into the trailer and allowed us to close the door behind her.

            Pulling into our driveway a few hours later, we slowly opened the trailer door.  A little red nose peaked around the corner as if to see if it was safe to come out.  Several whinnies greeted her from the spacious corral.  She lifted her head and scanned the open vast horizon.  She sniffed the prairie breeze, gave a deep sigh, stepped out of the trailer, and nudged us with her nose. 

         She was home. 

            We named her Willow.  God created willow trees to bend and sway with the storms.  Despite the battering and scarring that they receive, they grow green and beautiful each spring.  Usually found by streams of water, their roots reach deep for sustenance. 

          Our little Willow has had to bend with the storms in her life, but despite her battered and scarred appearance, she is beautiful and graceful.

            Teenage girls have often come to our ranch to see the horses.  As we share the different stories of what each horse has gone through, Willow’s story resonates with them.  In this life of media bombardment of what beauty is supposed to look like, as they struggle with how God has created them, they look at Willow and see her inner spirit.  They see her beauty and grace as she moves.  They don’t see the bumps on her face or the scars on her hide. 

            Once they see that in her, they realize that God sees that in them.  God created their inner spirit.  He created their beauty and grace.  He does not see the pimples, or the teenage awkwardness.  He does not see the scarred and battered outside.   

He sees the heart of who they are.  

            And just like the willow tree, if they reach their roots deep for Living Water, they too will grow strong and beautiful.

Psalm 1:3 They are like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither. In all that they do, they prosper.

      As Willow has grown, her bumps have faded and her scars have healed.  She is truly now the beautiful creature that God intended her to be.

I listened to his story.

The anger came out as he told me about his tractor. He depended on it. He used it to farm his small acreage and couldn’t harvest without it.

And it was sitting by the side of the road, completely gutted by fire.

Some electrical problem had caused enough heat to catch the engine on fire.  The fire had spread and the tractor was now a total loss.

“Was it insured?” someone asked.

“It was,” he answered . But this knowledge did not dampen the fire of anger that now burned in him.

This was not my first conversation with Bill.

We had numerous others in which he had told me of his past and the bitterness he held for Christians and their “flippant attitudes” toward life.

He had expressed frustration with people who had told him that God was trying to send him a message.

He searched for hidden meanings in difficulties and was all the more sullen when he didn’t see an answer.

He had come to the conclusion that he couldn’t see God. God was too complicated for his simple understanding, so he stopped looking.

He trudged through life beaten down.

This was the final straw.

He finished his account of the fire, and his hopelessness in being able to get a crop in.

The conversation turned from a story to a search.

“Who had a tractor he could use? Would insurance pay for his? Would it be in time to harvest?”

These were the varying questions that ran through his mind and out his mouth.

As he struggled for answers, he got more and more agitated.

Finally he looked at me and with sarcasm laced in his voice, he burst out,

“What was God trying to tell me, huh?  I’m sure there is a hidden meaning in my tractor somewhere. What does He want?”

What does God want?

The Almighty God that made the heaven and earth.

What does He want from a farmer with a broken down tractor?

The wisdom of God came out of my mouth before I had time to think.

“Well, I don’t think He wants you to use that tractor for a while.”

The wrinkles in his creased forehead slowly melted as comprehension of the simplicity of the answer hit him, and he chuckled.  

“I think you’re right, He doesn’t want me to use that tractor for a while….”

God allowed him to see the answer, not as another flippant reply, but as an honest reality. 

He wasn’t going to use that tractor for a while, but it was going to be all right.  A friend would help him out, harvest would come in, the tractor would be repaired, and life would go on. 

For a moment, he saw God for who He is……

For He is not someone I will ever understand, and the more I try, the more frustrated I become.

But He is able to meet me where I am.

I am simple.

He can be simple for me.

The last thing that I ever expected to fall from the sky was a lamb. 

That is exactly what happened today. 

I was going about my normal chores when a lady pulled into my driveway in a little Ford Ranger pickup. 

Before I can ask what I can do for her, she says, “I have a problem”. 

Now, this is not a normal way to start a conversation, except with your therapist. 

I am in no way a therapist, but I venture out on a limb anyway and say, “What can I do for you?”

She explains that she was driving down the highway in front of our home, following a pickup with sideboards that was crammed full of sheep.

(This is a fairly typical way of taking sheep to market in our area.  Don’t worry, she found it odd too). 

The truck hit a pothole in the road. Her jaw dropped as a lamb squirted out of the back of the truck and onto the road in front of her.  She hit the brakes, swerved to miss the lamb and brought her truck to a stop. 

After a moment to make sure what she had witnessed was real, she got out of her truck and went to check on the lamb. 

The lamb was fine.  A little scraped on its legs, and very shocked at finding itself on the road instead of under its mother, but nevertheless o.k.

She picked up the lamb (it weighed about 12 lbs), put it in her truck, and looked around for the sheep truck.  It was long gone.  She realized that she is now the proud owner of a lamb that will have a hard time living a natural life in her apartment in town. 

She pulled into the first driveway she saw, (ours) and was hoping to find this little lamb a new home before continuing with her errand running.

I graciously say that we will take the lamb. It will fit right in with our flock. 

She thanks me over and over and leaves. 

My girls immediately fall in love with the lamb. It becomes “Sally”. 

It has a name.  Therefore, it is a full member of the family. 

None of the rest of the sheep have names. 

The lamb needs to be quarantined in case it is carrying a disease that could infect the whole flock.

The girls ask if they can keep Sally in the house……I take Sally to the barn. 

In about 15 minutes, Sally is out of the barn.  I look around and find my girls had nothing to do with it. 

They have moved on to the cute frogs in the sandbox…….. which will also not be kept in the house.

I take the lamb and put it in the barn. 

The lamb gets out of the barn. 

I put the lamb in the barn. 

The lamb gets out of the barn. 

I give up and let the lamb wander around.  She finds our big flock of sheep and joins them. 

I give up on the quarantine idea, deciding that what will be, will be and head off to bed.

The next morning, my girls get up to go check on Sally.

She is not in with the sheep. 

We do chores.

No Sally. 

We go to check on the horses in the pasture. 

Something small and white is in the distance.  It is moving in an odd manner. 

As the object gets closer, we realize that it is Sally.  Her hind leg is dangling by just the skin, having had the bone completely severed and broken. 

One of the horses must have gotten annoyed with Sally and kicked her. 

The girls come running, very concerned. 

I see the problem and try to explain to my girls that Sally is very small. 

She is hurt pretty bad and may not make it through. 

We do our best to splint Sally’s leg and put her in the chicken coop, where we hope she is secure. 

Six weeks go by. 

Sally is completely healed.  Her leg has miraculously healed straight and normal. 

She has stayed in the chicken coop, enjoying lots of love and attention from the girls. 

We decide that she is ready to go back in with the rest of the flock of sheep.

It’s morning.  We go out to do chores and find….Sally. 

She is dead.  Killed by a dog in the night.  

Sad ending?

Not what you wanted?

Me neither.  This little lamb refused to learn a vital lesson. 

No matter how hard we tried to protect her, she would not be protected. 

I expected Sally to live a long, happy, sheep life, and did my best to give her what she needed. 

She saw it differently. 

She saw greener grass.  She saw freedom.  She saw what was forbidden and went for it.

She died.

I have a responsibility. 

God promised to give me what I need to live and be happy. 

I have seen the grass beyond His boundary and it looks good. 

I see freedom to know everything.  I see what is forbidden and I go for it. 

I find myself in the middle of the garden with a piece of delicious fruit in my hand and a bite in my mouth that dosen’t taste quite as good as it looked. 

And I feel the disappointment of my Maker as He watches me.  It makes me ashamed. 

I want to hide from His sight. 

This is not what He wanted.

He planned so much more.

Time goes by…..

I look…

The grass seems really green…

I have freedom to do what I want…

The dogs are waiting.