Thoughts from Neva

Yesterday, I walked to the lower pasture. The sun shone brightly and I enjoyed a walk in the crisp, fall air. This morning, the sky is overcast, the air warmer but not as invigorating. The walk to the mailbox and back seemed dull compared to yesterday’s walk in the lower pasture.

My emotional climate tends to fluctuate much as the weather. On days when my spirit seems overcast, it’s good to open the Bible and let the light of God’s word flood my soul. I like to turn to Jeremiah 31 and read again God’s promise to Israel.

“I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness. I will build you up again and you will be rebuilt, O Virgin Israel. Again you will take up your tambourines and go out to dance with the joyful. Again you will plant vineyards on the hills of Samaria; the farmers will plant them and enjoy their fruit.” Jeremiah 31:1-5 NIV®

I know this promise was first given to the nation Israel, but I believe, since I have accepted Jesus as my Savior and Lord, I can claim this promise as one of God’s chosen ones. It always brightens my day to remember that God has loved me with an everlasting love. When I read, “Again you will take up your tambourines and go out to dance with the joyful,” I am reminded of the joy it was to take my dulcimer and join with the Bluegrass Gospel Jam recently. God is so good to give us joyful things to do. I trust it will brighten your day to be reminded that God loves you and has joyful days ahead for you.

Until next time, God bless you.

It’s still dark outside so I can’t see what the horses are doing. Yesterday Moonlight was pestering Chip to play with him. Dear old Chip. I don’t know how he puts up with Moonlight. He’ll be two next April and he still likes to play.

Yesterday, I took Charm out to groom her. We had snow recently and those blondies sure get dirty. She was kind of skitish, so I told Kim I wasn’t sure I wanted to ride in my lesson, maybe just groom and do ground work. She honored my request, so after a fairly thorough grooming, I took Charm to the round pen. We did some of the usual ground work, practiced side passing and backing. Then Kim told me to remove the halter and turn Charm loose in the round pen.

I chased Charm around for a while, making her change directions from time to time. Kim said, “When she starts looking at you with her ear and her eye, stop and see if she will come to you.” To my delight, Charm came to me and I petted her. When her attention wandered, I chased her around again. Soon, after she came to me and I petted her, she would follow me around the round pen. Her major distractions were the neighbors’ horses raising a ruckus in their arena and the grass at the edge of the round pen.

I got to thinking this morning what a picture that is of our relationship with Jesus. When our attention wanders, and we get distracted by other things, (like Charm did with the neighors’ horses or stopping to graze on the grass at the edge of the round pen), sometimes the Lord lets us go through difficult experiences.

Charm learned that life was easier when she came to me. She didn’t have to work so hard. Jesus says, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” When we get distracted by other things, and life seems difficult or boring, if we come to Jesus and rest in Him, somehow the day seems brighter.

“Lord Jesus, in my busyness today, remind me to come to you and find the soul rest I need each day. Thank you, Jesus.”

Wild Horse Summer
Neva Andrews
Chapter 2
JO EXPLAINS
Jo rounded the corner of the granary. There in the driveway between the house and the pump sat Grandpa’s Model A Ford coupe. She put on an extra burst of speed, then slowed to a walk. She felt ashamed to tell about her fight with Bobby in front of Grandpa and Grandma. On the other hand, maybe their presence would draw attention away from her. At any rate, it was time to face her problem.

Jo noticed the family Model T Ford in the garage. Dad and Clyde must be home. Clyde, Jo’s older brother, was a freshman in high school. He went to school in Delta, ten miles away. Clyde worked hard on the farm and never got in trouble at school. Jo wished she could be more like him.

“Clyde thinks Bobby’s a sissy,” Jo confided to Tippy. “I wonder what he’ll think of my fight with Bobby.”

Jo went to the wash stand on the back porch. She dipped water from the bucket into the wash basin, washed her hands and face, and threw the water out the back door. When she went into the kitchen, Grandpa, Grandma, Dad, and Clyde were already seated. Mom stood at the stove, dishing up meat and potatoes. Jo slipped quietly into her place at the table.

“Wow! Where’d you get that shiner?” Clyde blurted.

Mom set the hot dishes on the table and turned to look at Jo. She took her daughter gently by the shoulders.

“Look at me, Josephine. Have you been fighting? When are you ever going to learn to be a lady?”

Jo saw the disappointment in her mother’s eyes. She felt all trembly inside. Why couldn’t Mom just give her a spanking?

“Say hello to Grandpa and Grandma, Jo,” Dad said. “After we have the blessing, you can tell us what happened.”

Jo gave Grandpa and Grandma each a hug and slid back
into her place. They all bowed their heads. Grandpa thanked God for the food, and everybody’s good health, and the animals, and asked God to bless the garden Mom was planting, and… For once Jo was grateful for Grandpa’s long prayer. It gave her time to get her thoughts together. She had to think how to explain her fight with Bobby.

“Well, Jo,” Dad said, after the food was passed, “you’d better start at the beginning.”

Jo pushed the potatoes around on her plate with her fork. “Bobby and I got into a fight at school.”

“What were you fighting about?” Dad asked.

“Bobby and the other boys were teasing us girls.”

“How were they teasing you?”

“We were playing house. We had our rooms drawn in the dirt. Bobby and them kept messing up our lines. I asked them to stop but they just kept on. I got mad and socked Bobby in the nose.”

“I hope you gave him a bloody nose,” Clyde said.

“Clyde,” Mom scolded.

Dad continued his questioning.

“What did Mr. Mayberry do?”

“He talked to us in his office. Said since it was a first offense, he would let us go. If it happens again we will both get spanked with the rubber hose.”

“Is it going to happen again?”

Jo looked up to meet her father’s gaze.

“No, sir.”

“Jo, you’ve got to learn to control that temper of yours. One of these days it’s going to get you into real trouble.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jo ate her supper in silence. She was vaguely aware of Dad’s conversation with Grandpa. She heard Dad say something about President Roosevelt’s New Deal. He said it was going to be the ruination of the country. Her own problem loomed too large for her to give it much thought.

“Jo, go take care of your school dress,” Mom said, when supper was over. “I don’t know why you can’t remember to hang it up when you take it off.”

“Sorry, Mom. I’ll try to remember next time.”

At least she had remembered to change.

When Jo came back into the kitchen, Grandma was helping Mom with the dishes. Dad and Clyde had gone to the barn to milk the cows and do the feeding.

“I’ll go feed the chickens and gather the eggs,” Jo said.

“May I come along and help with that?” Grandpa asked. The two of them went hand in hand to the hen house.

“Punkin, what’s bothering you?” Grandpa was the only
one who called her Punkin. He understood her better than anyone else. Jo didn’t answer. Instead, she picked up the empty coffee can and went to the granary for grain. Chickens went squawking and running when she unlatched the gate and stepped into their pen. The smell of dust and chicken manure stung Jo’s nose. She dipped her hand into the can and scattered grain over the ground as she had seen Dad plant alfalfa seed. Then she went outside the pen and fastened the gate.

“Before we gather the eggs,” Grandpa suggested, “let’s sit here on the bench and talk a bit.”

Jo sat beside him on the bench. He put his arm around her. “What’s bothering you, Punkin? It’s not like you to punch Bobby just because he was messing up your playhouse.”

Jo looked up at Grandpa. Tears came to her eyes.

“He called Marybel an old, swaybacked mare and said she couldn’t compete with his Flaxen.”

“You love Marybel, don’t you, Punkin?”

“Yes, but it’s true. She is old and swaybacked. She can’t compete with Flaxen. Oh, Grandpa, I wish I had a young horse I could take to the fair.”

“Why didn’t you tell about this at supper?”

“I know Dad can’t afford to buy me a horse. I heard him say there won’t be any market for alfalfa seed this fall. He’s afraid we won’t make enough to pay the rent on the farm.”

“Things are bad everywhere,” Grandpa said. “This is the worst depression our country’s ever seen. We are fortunate to have plenty to eat. Some people are going hungry.”

“I know, and I didn’t want to make Dad feel bad. Oh, Grandpa, I’ve got to figure out some way to earn me a horse.”

“We’ll have to think on that,” Grandpa said.

Random Thoughts

The fringed hill outside my window blushes under the caress of the rising sun. The first heavy frost of the season lies heavy on the grass and weeds. The horses mill around out in the corral waiting for their grain. I sit here in my warm room dreading the cold when we go out to feed. A few weeks ago, I looked forward to my morning walk and reveled in God’s beauty surrounding our home.

“A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps.” Proverbs 16:9 Or, as my late husband used to say: Life is what happens when we have other plans.

Last month I went to the ACFW Conference in Nashville. (ACFW stands for American Christian Fiction Writers, a right lively group of Christian writers.) I was pretty bummed out the first evening when I learned that the two people I had come there to contact had to cancel at the last minute. Of course, the Lord had other plans and I made a valuable contact that I wouldn’t have made if the agent I had come to meet had been there.

God has shown his faithfulness over and over in my 80 years. Then why was I depressed last evening when I heard there may be a problem with the house deal I expected to close on Monday? A little niggling voice in the back of my head said, “Are you going to trust God only when you see his blessings?” I opened my Bible to Psalm 131 and read, “Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty: neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me. Surely I have behaved and quieted myself as a child that is weaned of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child.” Then I went to bed and had a good night’s sleep. God’s world looks brighter this morning.

Wild Horse Summer
Neva Andrews
ONE
THE FIGHT
The first Friday in May, 1934, Josephine Barkley slouched in her desk in a four-room school in Millard County Utah. She stared at the fifth grade geography book lying open on her desk. Her eyes read the words, but her mind continued to wrestle with her problem. She ran her fingers through her short-cropped, copper-colored curls and looked down at her print dress. Three more weeks and she could change this dress and the long cotton stockings and shoes for bib overalls and bare feet. But that wouldn’t make her problem go away.
Jo gave up trying to study geography and sat up straight to look out the window. A tumbleweed skipped free across the yard to pile up with others along the south fence. Leaves on the cottonwood trees reflected the bright sunlight as they danced in the breeze. Laying her problem aside for the moment, Jo began to plan how she could beat the boys to the favorite spot on the south side of the building. On these cool spring days, the girls liked to play house there, but the boys wanted that spot for their marble game.
I’d rather play marbles. Why do boys get to do all the fun things?
Jo looked across the room at her friend, Rebecca Sanberg. She longed for straight brown hair done in a Dutch bob like Becky’s. It would be a lot easier to comb than her tangles of red curls. Jo took a tablet out of her desk and scribbled a note to Becky. She made sure to push hard enough on the last period to break her pencil lead. As she passed Becky’s desk on her way to the pencil sharpener, she secretly slipped her the note.
Soon the bell rang for afternoon recess. Desk seats banged as Jo and Becky’s eager classmates rose to dash for freedom.
“Please be seated,” the teacher said. “Remember the new rule? Work areas must be tidy before you’re excused.”
A groan went round the room. Jo and Becky sat quietly with hands folded, not a scrap of paper on or near their desks.
“Jo and Becky, you may go.” The teacher smiled at the girls.
Jo returned her smile and held herself to a walk until she stepped outside. Then she raced Becky to the south side of the building. They began drawing the rooms of their playhouse in the dirt. Other fifth grade girls joined them.
“Hey, that’s our spot.” Bobby came puffing around the corner of the school house, followed by other boys. “We’re gonna play marbles.”
“Not today, short stuff. We got here first.” Jo grinned at Bobby and went on making the playhouse. Bobby and his friends scuffed out the lines.
“Come on, leave us alone,” Jo said. “We don’t mess up your marble games.”
The boys continued to destroy the playhouse.
“Robert Henry Blackwood,” Jo said, hands clenched on her hips, “if you don’t leave our playhouse alone, I’m gonna rub your nose in the dirt.”
“You can’t rub my nose in the dirt. Your old swaybacked nag can’t compete with my Flaxen, neither.”
“Quit picking on Marybel!” Jo doubled up her fists and stepped toward Bobby.
“Make me.”
Tears stung Jo’s eyes. She swung a right and caught Bobby squarely on the nose. Blood gushed over his lips. Bobby returned the punch to Jo’s left eye just as the principal, Mr. Mayberry, came around the corner of the school building. He gave Bobby a clean handkerchief to hold over his nose and marched them into his office.
“What’s this all about?” Mr. Mayberry removed his glasses and glared at Jo and Bobby. “You know we don’t allow fighting on the playground.”
Jo looked at Bobby. His nose had stopped bleeding. She scraped her toe at the ink spot on the wood floor of the office and said nothing.
“Go clean up and come back here,” Mr. Mayberry said. “I want an explanation. Then I’ll decide how to punish you.”
In the girls’ room, Jo splashed cold water on her face and tried to smooth her tangled curls.
“Josephine Sue Barkley,” she said to the freckled face in the mirror, “do you realize what you’ve done? You’ve let that red hair get you in trouble again.”
Jo knew about the short piece of garden hose Mr. Mayberry kept in his office. Everybody knew. She could take a licking with the rubber hose, but how could she stand the hurt that would fill her mother’s eyes? Jo wet her handkerchief and put it over her swollen left eye.
What would she tell Mr. Mayberry? She couldn’t tell him the real reason for her anger. That hurt too much. She loved Marybel, but Marybel was too old to take to the county fair. There was no way Dad could buy her a younger horse. There just wasn’t any money. Jo sighed and returned to the office.
“Who hit first?” Mr. Mayberry asked.
“She did.”
“Why did you hit him?”
“She didn’t like it when—” Bobby started to answer but Jo withered him with a look.
“Bobby and the other boys were teasing us,” Jo said. “I got mad and slugged him. I’m sorry.”
“Well, this is a first offense. If you’ll shake hands and promise not to do it again, I’ll let you go. Remember, though, if you fight again, it will be the rubber hose for both of you.”
The afternoon dragged by. Jo couldn’t keep her mind on her lessons. Jo would rather take a whopping with rubber hose than face her family. How can I explain my black eye to Mom? What will Dad say? Will Clyde tease me? The bell interrupted her thoughts.
Jo stuffed her books in her desk and ran to get on the bus. The high school kids sat in the back, talking and laughing. Jo looked for her brother, then remembered Dad said he would pick Clyde up at the high school in town today.
Jo slid into an empty seat. When Bobby got on, she turned and stared out the window. As the bus bounced and jounced over the country roads, Jo watched alfalfa fields flip by. After a long five miles, the bus stopped at the Barkley gate where Tippy, Jo’s dog, waited.
Jo crawled under the barbwire and gathered Tippy in her arms. The black and white mongrel licked her face. Jo scrambled to her feet. Tippy looked up at her, his head cocked to one side. With his white ear up and his black ear down and his white-tipped tail wagging eagerly, he made Jo laugh.
“Oh, Tippy, you’re just a mutt, but I like you better than Bobby’s Shepp. So what if he’s a full-blooded German Shepherd? I’ll race you to the house.”
Jo took off down the winding driveway. She imagined running through a tunnel as the tall greasewood bushes, with their sharp thorns and green, needle-like leaves cast long shadows across her path. Around the last bend sat a bright yellow, two-room house. A screen-porch stretched the length of the west end. Soon, summer’ll be here and I can sleep out there. Another screen-porch went all the way along the south side. One end, enclosed with canvas, was Clyde’s bedroom year round.
“Sorry, pardner,” Jo said, when they reached the door of the back porch, “you have to wait here. House rules, you know. I’ll be back.”
The smell of fresh-baked bread greeted Jo. The fire had gone out in the kitchen range, but the stove was still warm. Mom was not in sight. Jo knew she would be in the garden at the far end of the driveway, planting beans and corn. A towel covered six loaves of bread on the dining table. Jo lifted the towel and sniffed, then started to cross the room to the worktable for a bread knife. She touched the swelling around her eye. I’m in enough trouble already without getting butter on my school dress, better change clothes first.
Jo dashed into the other room. Sometimes the family called it the front room, but Mom and Dad’s bed took up a big part of the space. Jo’s cot stood by the window. She yanked off her dress and threw it on her bed then pulled on her shirt and bib overalls.
Jo returned to the kitchen and sliced herself a piece of bread. She spread a thick layer of homemade butter on it, followed by a sprinkling of sugar.
Jo sat on the back step and shared her snack with Tippy. She savored the sweet, buttery taste. “How am I going to tell Mom about my black eye?” Jo lifted the dog’s chin with her left hand and gazed into his sober brown eyes as if she could find her answer there. “Shall I go tell her right now and get it over with? Maybe if I offer to help in the garden…” Tippy thumped his tail as if he understood.
Jo shoved the last bite of bread and butter into her mouth and let Tippy clean her hands with his tongue. She walked the few steps to the pump and took the tin cup off the hook. A few hard pulls on the long pump handle brought water gushing out the spout. She gulped the cool water then swished the last bit around in the cup and threw it out on the dirt.
Jo hung the cup on its hook and turned to check the cement stock tank. The minnows she and Bobby put in the tank last week were still swimming around. None had turned belly up as some had done last summer.
Jo headed for the corral with Tippy at her heels. As she passed the granary where Dad stored grain to feed the livestock, kingbirds were busy building their nest. They always built it on the high ledge above the granary window.
Jo saw the work horses and milk cows at the far end of the pasture. Marybel stood alone in the corral, dozing. Jo watched her quietly for a few moments.
“Marybel, you are old and swaybacked. You can’t compete with Bobby’s young, long-legged Flaxen.”
When Jo spoke, Marybel lifted her head and ambled toward the fence. Jo crawled into the corral to meet the old mare halfway. She threw her arms around Marybel’s neck and buried her face in her mane.
“Oh, Marybel,” Jo whispered, “it’s not that I don’t love you. You know I do. But I wish I had a younger horse that could get out and move. I’d show that Bobby who could take the blue ribbon.”
With one hand on Marybel’s mane, Jo led the old mare around in front of the barn, an open shed made of straw with supporting poles and woven wire to enclose the straw walls. It stood in the northeast corner of the corral with the open side to the east. It provided shelter for the stock in winter and shade in summer.
Jo crawled through the barbwire fence and threw a forkful of hay into the corral. She stood the fork at the base of the stack and nestled against the sweet smelling hay with Tippy’s head in her lap.
Jo liked the familiar barnyard smells of horse and cow and dry alfalfa. Even the unique fragrance of manure added its touch. She barely noticed the constant twittering of sparrows as they built their nests in the straw walls of the shed. From the cattails below the corral came the trill of red-winged blackbirds. The chomp, chomp, chomp of Marybel eating hay blended with the bird songs to form a soothing background. Jo snuggled her back into the haystack and dreamed of the ranch she would own someday. It would be just like the ranch in Tabiona Valley where Uncle Clint and his family lived. Then she’d have a whole string of good horses.
“Jo-ooo, come to supper.” Mom’s familiar call jarred Jo back to reality. She jumped up and dashed for the house. Suddenly, she remembered the fight with Bobby and the black eye she would have to explain. How could she make Mom understand?

Glad you dropped by. On Mondays we are going to explore God’s promise as recorded in 2 Peter 1:3:His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness, through our knowledge of him who has called us by his own glory and goodness. NIV®

In Matthew Jesus tells us to be perfect as our Heavenly Father is perfect. Then Paul reminds us in Romans that the psalmist has said that there is no one righteous. God tells us in one place to be perfect like him, and in another place he tells us no one measures up. Rather unfair, don’t you think?

When I was in ninth grade, I became friends with a girl who played on a rival softball team when we were in grade school. One Friday she suggested we skip classes and go to the game at her old school. “I know the bus driver,” she said. “He’ll give us a ride to the game.”

I knew it was wrong to play hooky, but the temptation was too great. We went to the game, had a fun afternoon, but then I had to go home. What was I to do? I could say nothing and let my folks think I had been in classes all afternoon. But what if they found out? Knowing my father’s standard of honesty, I decided it best to confess what I had done.

My mother had the choice of writing an excuse and getting me off the hook, or letting me go back to school without an excuse and face the consequences. My memory is not clear at this point, but I think she chose the latter. What I do remember is that neither she nor Dad punished me for that crime. So did I feel free to play hooky every Friday afternoon, knowing I wouldn’t be punished? No, I never played hooky again. Many a time temptation nagged. Many a time temptation was thwarted, not because I was afraid of punishment. I dreaded hurting my mother or putting a blemish on our family name.

Back to the question, Is God unfair? We might conclude thus, except that he has provided a solution to our dilemma. Not only does he forgive us when we are honest, he provides the perfection he requires. As he tells us in Hebrews 10:14, “because by one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy.” NIV®

No, we are not holy yet, but we who have trusted in Christ are perfect in God’s sight.

Are we free to sin because we know God will forgive? No, but we are free to live, because he “has given us everything we need for life and godliness.” As I wanted to please my parents because of their love and grace to me, for the same reason, we want to please God. Only, he goes one step further and gives us the power to live lives pleasing to him.

Join me again next Monday as we pursue the thought that God has given us everything we need for life and godliness. On Wednesday, watch for a chapter of a Jo Barkley book, and Friday, drop in for some random thoughts from Neva. Have a good week enjoying all God has provided.

Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV®. COPYRIGHT© 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society®. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.