A few weeks ago I passed the chicken coup while walking out to feed the horses.  It was a mild evening and the air was fresh and calm until a ruckus suddenly broke the serenity of the moment.  On the back side of the chicken coup I heard Nancy yelling in anger saying things like, “If you want a piece of me big boy come and get it!!!”   Frankly it was alarming until I realized she was yelling at Theodore the rooster who had attacked her for the third time that week.  He used to be such a sweet rooster, but in recent months had started listening and responding to the voice of his bad angel who must have been telling him to get in touch with his testosterone.

As you may remember, Theodore was an orphaned rooster that had found me one day while I was collecting rocks out in the middle of nowhere.  He was mysteriously sitting under a bush half starved when I first spotted him and he immediately came to me for rescue when I stretched my hand in his direction.  He literally jumped into my arms. (See Entry #91 – June 9^th, 2009 – “Our new mystery friend”)  I brought him home and Nancy, being who she is made a special place for him to recuperate.  She had lovingly cared for him and protected him from the other chickens until he was finally strong enough to hold his own.  For months he was docile and friendly letting anyone pick him up and lovingly hold him in their arms.  It took awhile for us to even figure out what kind of a bird he was much less his sex.  He was always different than the other chickens and for a long time unaccepted, especially by the older rooster.

Theodore during his adolescence

Early one morning I approached the coup before daylight with the feed bucket, and as I cracked opened the door I heard an adolescent sounding crow.  As I turned on the light I spotted Theodore sitting on a high perch looking somehow different.   I think the noise that came out of him was as surprising to him as it was to me. From that day on he started to change.  He had gotten in touch with his masculinity and within weeks was choosing off the older dominate rooster.  Actually it was kind of sad. Not only had we lost our sweet little pet, but our older rooster who had taken his job running the roost with dignity was overpowered by Theodore’s new aggressive urges.   Theodore was now the king of the harem and it soon went to his head.  Unlike the older rooster (who eventually died of a broken spirit) Theodore could fly.  He could fly not only to the top of the coup fence (his new found place of superiority), but over the fence where he was not afraid to challenge dogs, cats, innocent children and to his demise, Nancy and I.

Even Lily fears Theodore

Even Lily our Labrador became intimidated by him and our granddaughter Hope started to arm herself with sticks and garden tools when walking across the barnyard.   One day Theodore even chased a thirty year old friend of our son Brook into the back of his pickup truck. He was trembling in fear while avoiding the macho young rooster’s aggressiveness (at least that’s how Brook and his other buddies related the story to me.)   That’s when Nancy had enough.  Theodore was either going into the stew pot or going to receive some serious therapy.

Theodore learns not to mess with Nancy

Nancy soon learned that fighting fire with fire only made the problem worse. For example, kicking and hitting him over the head with a feed bucket in response to his spurring charges only seemed to make him meaner, feeling justified for his sneaky stealth attacks.  Theodore always attacked when you least expected it.  Not knowing where else to go for help Nancy finally resorted to the internet.  As amazing as it seemed to me she actually discovered an article on taming mean roosters.  It had been written by an old farmer who evidently had had the same dilemma.  Anyway, for the past two weeks she has been catching Theodore any time he even gets that sly devious look in his eyes.  She holds him tight in her arms and taking her index finger presses down his beak into his chest holding him in submission for up to ten minutes at a time.  I don’t know if it will work, but it’s her best effort to save him from sure death and her from the trauma of losing her cool and ringing his poor little rooster neck in a fit of unladylike rage.

The following is a great article on taming mean roosters: http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20070503071406AAJC8T1

When I built the horse barn I hadn’t dreamt it would one day become the place that we would host a rehearsal dinner party to celebrate the wedding of our son Brook and new daughter Andrea.  Last Friday evening however, over fifty people sat down to eat a wonderful meal together while a live Bluegrass band played in the hayloft above. 

A few months before when Brook asked about the possibility of using the barn for such an occasion we naturally jumped at the idea.  We hadn’t guessed at the time that June would be one of the wettest in recent history.  Literally an hour before the party started on Friday evening a lightning storm blew through bringing with it not only the crashing of thunder but a torrential downpour of driving rain.  I also hadn’t considered the idea that the invitation list might grow at the last minute to be more folks than our four horse barn

The High Desert Bluegrass Band

could possibly accommodate.  The fact of the matter was, we were all so excited for the occasion our enthusiasm would override any obstruction.  We were blessed to be asked and started to plan the event right away.  Nancy figured out the food and I started to clean out the barn. With some great help I shoveled out a mountain of manure which had been accumulating all winter and even painted all of the interior walls. (See entry’s #167 & 162)  The day of the dinner we had fun doing the finish work with some wonderful old friends who have known and loved our kids for years.   We covered the floor with wood shavings, set up tables and decorated them.  In the end nearly sixty people comfortably sat down to the BBQ dinner.  

Rand Thompson and the High Desert Bluegrass Band set up in the hayloft and played through-out the entire evening.  Not only did the night turn out to be a joyous celebration, but the rain and wind moved on leaving behind only the cool fresh smell of spring in the air.  When the evening ended we all recognized that God had blessed the night and the marriage covenant which was about to be made between Brook and his beautiful bride Andrea.

Every time I turn around these days Nancy is raising or growing something new in our bathtub.  First it was two kittens who she named Mercy & Gracie, then seedlings for the vegetable garden, and now three small Muscovy ducklings she has named Daisy, Lazy & Hazy.  Responding to her grandmother instinct I notice she constantly ventures into the local feed store and heads straight to the bins and cages of live baby things; little chicks, geese, rabbits, ducklings, puppies, or anything else that is peeping or meowing out for a loving mother figure.  That’s what happened with the kittens last winter. As she walked by their cage a small Siamese kitten slyly reached his tiny paw through the wire of the cage that imprisoned him and gently touched Nancy’s passing arm.  As you can imagine her heart melted like wax and in a moment of weakness he was in her arms. Not wanting to separate him from his fuzzy and equally cute twin sister she brought both kittens home and prepared a cozy bed for them in the master bath tub.  His original name was Mercy but later was renamed Mad-Max (due to a significant puberty behavioral and attitudinal personality change). When challenged on what we were going to do with two new cats Nancy’s only response was that they were free.  Free that is until she had to purchase a state of the arc litter-box, a matching set of food & water dishes and the half dozen toys needed to keep them from becoming bored, not to mention the additional expense of neutering Mad-Max and giving him a plethora of kitty shots, worming medication, etc. etc.   Realizing that having two kittens in the house along with Lily was a bit much;   Nancy gave Max’s sister to a friend’s granddaughters who desperately feel in love with Gracie (much to our relief).

Now, about the ducklings.  Again it was a stop for feed at D&B Feed and Farm Supplies, a stop we frequently make on our way home from work.  For several weeks I noticed Nancy eyeing a large feed trough filled with peeping ducklings and new born chicks.  Week by week I watched as she fell deeper in love with the ducklings. She kept commenting about their tiny bills and webbed feet which I knew was a bad sign. She also commented on the fact that they were gradually being sold off and were decreased in number every time she stopped by the store – that was another bad sign.  For a while I managed to talk her out of taking them home by reminding her that although we had a large half acre pond below the house we didn’t have a duck house or pen to protect them from the coyotes, skunks, raccoons, bobcats and foxes that called Timber Butte their home.  My strategy was working pretty well until she spotted a copy of Hobby Farms Magazine on a rack by the cashiers counter as we were leaving the store.  As only providence could have it the magazine had a

Mad-Max meets Daisy, or is it Lazy

portrait of a Muscovy duckling on the cover that was identical to the ones being sold. Nancy knew at once that it was in fact the hand of the Lord telling her she must take the remaining ducklings home.  As you might guess, the rest was history. 

Once again the master bathtub no longer belongs to the master (that would be me) but rather is now a duck habitat filled with wood chips, a poultry feeder and waterier.  Daisy, Lazy and Hazy are a content part of the family as plans are being drawn up for our future duck pen and house.  It’s just the way things work here at Timber Butte Homestead and as tough as I sound Mad-Max contently lays on my lap every morning as I drink hot coffee and have my quiet time. He has become my good friend and has even accepted the ducklings as something more than a convenient snack.

Our new book now released by Baker Book Publishing

Last week Baker Books officially released Rooted in Good Soil, a book that I had labored over for nearly a year. It tells the story in a rather unusual way of what I would call the organic Christian journey to maturity and fruitfulness. At the same time as the book was released I was invited to spend three days with some pastor couples and leaders at a retreat center in the heart of Montana. Most of them are old friends who have been faithfully serving in cities and rural towns of Montana for years. They are special people who Nancy and I have grown to love but haven’t had the chance to spend time with for a long time. They asked me to come teach the new things God had been doing through our ministry and the books I have been writing.  As I prepared for what I believed would be a rich time of renewing old relationships it was in my heart to be a blessing in their lives if possible with my short visit.

While driving to the airport early in the morning to catch my plane I prayed and asked the Lord for a fresh message that would be both helpful and relevant not only for the ministries they lead but for their individual lives as well. I was weaving down the canyon road out of our hills towards the interstate just as the early morning light was breaking over the distant eastern mountains. As I prayed I began to hum an old children’s song I once sang as a young boy in Sunday school some fifty years before. At first I couldn’t recall the words, but gradually a few of them started to come to memory and I sang what I could remember with a hope that others would follow; but they didn’t. I sang, “Deep and wide, deep and wide, there is a fountain flowing deep and wide.” I sang this one stanza over and over again straining for the remaining lyrics.  I felt certain that if I could recall the words the Lord would use them to show me what it was he wanted me to relate to the Montana pastors. Finally giving up, I called Nancy on my cell phone and ask her to Google the old song on her computer and call me back later with her findings. It wasn’t until I had arrived at the Boise airport and checked through security that Nancy’s return call came informing me that she had in fact succeeded finding the old song but that there were no additional lyrics. The entirety of the song was, “Deep and wide, deep and wide, there’s a fountain flowing deep and wide”. That was all there was to it. My first response was disappointment; I was totally bummed and concluded that I hadn’t heard the Lord at all until it struck me that this was the message – “deep and wide”.  I was to tell the pastors to go deep and wide and to lead the folks in their churches deep and wide. I know this may sound crazy to many, but in reality there is no greater thing for a Christian to do than to go deep with God for the sake of taking his love and ministry wide. I recalled how I had been hearing so much talk recently concerning the church in America being an inch deep and a mile wide; how that if the truth be known it may not even be a mile wide. This would be especially true if you define the “width” to be more about community and worldwide impact rather than the number of people in attendance on any given Sunday.

When Jesus was asked what was the greatest commandment he said, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. He said this is the first and greatest commandment and the second is like it: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” (Matt. 22:37) Learning to love God and to be loved by him is the essence of going deep. Deep Christianity calls for a deep relationship with God. Learning to unconditionally love your neighbor, (especially the non-churched and the poor) is the essence of going wide. As simple as it might seem, to go both deep and wide (and in that order) is the key to authentic Christian faith. I’m convinced it is what God desires and is saying to his people. 

After returning home from my short trip to Montana this simple thought stayed with me. It was in my mind even two days later as I worked up the enriched soil in the garden, forming raised beds and preparing a drip line irrigation system to water the seeds Nancy would soon be planting. I turned the soil over several times as I formed the rows; the first time to break up the compacted ground, and a second time to work in new compost and seasoned manure. Every vegetable gardener knows that the most critical issue in helping a plant to grow to fruitfulness is in the preparation of soil. For the plant to grow tall and wide its roots must first grow deep into the richness of the fertile ground. Establishing deep roots is everything for a healthy plant just as becoming deeply rooted in God’s love is everything for the Christian that wants to experience lasting spiritual maturity. The Apostle Paul once prayed, “I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”(Eph. 3:18) It is being filled with the “fullness of God” that enables us to not only grasp the love of God, but to take it wide; to take it to a pain-filled and broken world in very real and tangible ways.

Recalling those few words from a childhood song and overlaying them on the heart of the new book I had recently written encouraged and excited me as I got to see my old friends again.  I knew God wanted to do a special thing for them, and that through the sincerity of their lives he would somehow impact the state of Montana.

Winter at TImber Butte Homestead

Winter is not only a confining time but a difficult time to keep things tidy. Winter has a beauty of its own; there is no doubt about it. But, living in snow country has the tendency of being confining and conducive to the buildup of clutter both in the house and barn.  With warmth and lengthening of spring days the time of dormancy lifts and not only brings renewed life to the land, but in a special way to our human spirits as well.  As doors and windows fling open allowing the freshness of the new season to enter in we become simultaneously ready to get out in the fresh air. 

Nancy spring cleans her gardening room

 Spring has a special way of motivating and energizing us to reorganize and clean things up.  Every year it offers us a new beginning; it’s a time to prepare the garden for another growing season, turning over the rows and setting up irrigation line for easy maintenance. It is a time to prepare the green house for fragile plants not yet ready for early planting due to erratic climate changes. It is a time to muck out the barn and mound up a winter’s accumulation of manure in preparation for next year’s compost. It’s also a time to fix broken pipes that had become casualties of the subzero winter temperatures because they had been inadequately drained in the previous fall.  Spring is a time to reorganize and prepare for the animals on the homestead; time to feed the bees and let the chickens out of their coup so they can free range once again.

 Spring cleaning is liberating to the soul.  There is something wonderful about ridding oneself of the chronic buildup of unneeded clutter.  After years of living out this spring cleaning scenario I’ve realized that it must be a common characteristic of our human natures to accumulate unneeded stuff. Unused

Our friend Nathan lends a hand mucking out the barn

possessions have a mysterious way of filling our closet shelves, cluttering drawers, being stuffed under beds and in the once spacious places of garages and barns. I’m speaking of the things that we once believed we needed, but soon cease to have any real functional value. Cleaning out the clutter not only takes deliberate effort but the honesty to admit we really don’t need a lot of extra stuff.  Simplicity is a gift once it is achieved, but it is a gift that requires a deliberate choice and effort to go after it.

 A number of years ago I wrote a book entitled, Small Footprint, Big Handprint – How to live simply and love extravagantly.  It was based on a series I taught which I called, The Biblical Pursuit of a More Simplified Life.  The book and teaching were a challenge for folks to downsize their lives for the sake of upsizing their impact on the world around them. It spoke of a mega spring cleaning of their personal lives, not just for the sake of simplicity, but for the sake of effectiveness in the lives of others.  It illuminated the fact that far too often our

This years manure is next years compost

possessions own us more than we own them.  It showed how things in our lives can encumber us with physical, emotional and even spiritual debt.  God’s intent is that we would not be in bondage from the things of this world but be free and in fact, “free indeed” [John 8:36]. It is in freedom that we then have the liberty to become the people God originally intended us to be.

Fixing pipes that didn't survive the winters freeze

 I don’t want to over spiritualize this “spring cleaning” thing, but I do believe that the reason it feels so wonderful when we choose to do it is because it is a physical picture of a more important spiritual reality.  In our heart of hearts we want to be free from the things that encumber us.  Life has a way of stuffing away the destructive clutter of memories that are unedifying and even painful. These memories start to override God’s goodness and His greater purpose for our lives. They encumber our minds and hearts causing us to lose the freedom we were created to have.  That’s why Jesus said in John 8:36, “So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.”  It is God’s heart and intention that we experience real freedom.  His provision of Jesus provides the greatest spring cleaning of all – the cleansing of our souls.

We planted potatoes and onions on Monday and they were covered with snow by Thursday, which just happened to be April Fool’s Day.  I’ll admit that I’ve got a bad case of spring fever and the joke was on me. Last week Nancy and I took a walk along the south facing slope of Timber Butte and saw some early flowers peek their heads up in warm protected areas. It put hope in our hearts, but then the weather changed and it was like the proverb states, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick…” (Proverb 13:12a) I, for one, am more than ready for a new season. Next Sunday we will celebrate Easter which is all about resurrection and new beginnings.  This is more like the second half of the same proverb, “…but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” (Proverb 13:12b)

During this hard season of recession many folks are struggling in a lot of ways.  There is a scary uncertainty in the air not only economically, but on many fronts.  As a pastor I am constantly aware of people’s fears and personal crisis issues. The stresses of life have a way of causing relational struggles in marriages, with friends, employers and extended family.  Even physical health can be affected.  Most everyone I know is ready for a brighter new season in their lives and like the last few weeks up here at Timber Butte we get glimpses of warmer sunnier days to come. But, then on the heels of the temporary hint of spring weather comes another snow or windy hail storm. 

In all of this, the good news always is the same – God is a God of redemption and renewal.  He is a God of new beginnings and fresh new starts.  Romans 1:20 tells us that God reveals his nature through all that he has created and he created changing seasons. Winter will eventually turn spring even if our hope gets deferred a time or two in the process. God’s intent and promise to those who love him is for the gardens of their lives to spring up and grow in the full sunlight and warmth of his presence. In a way you might say this is the message of Easter.  Jesus came to humanity to bring the provision of redemption to anyone who would accept and receive it. For those who choose to praise him he pours out his grace, healing and the promise for new life. Isaiah put it like this, “The Sovereign Lord will show his justice to the nations of the world. Everyone will praise him! His righteousness will be like a garden in early spring, with plants springing up everywhere.”(Isa. 61:11)

Each morning I have the habit of rising early and feeding all of the animals while a pot of coffee brews in the kitchen.  By the time I get back to the house the coffee is freshly perked and the fire is crackling in the soapstone fireplace bringing the house back to a warm temperature. Then I sit in my chair drinking a cup or two of coffee waiting for the morning’s light to gradually illuminate Squaw Butte on the distant western horizon. During this quiet time I am listening for the Lord’s voice in hopes of receiving direction for the approaching day. This has been my routine for as long as I can remember and I have grown to deeply value not only the peace it brings, but the inspiration and clarity for decisions I must make and actions I must take to tackle the challenges the new day will bring.

Sitting there in the early morning darkness the fire’s reflection illuminates a series of hand sculptured tiles inlayed across the hearth. They are tiles my parents had created by a local artist, Dean Estes, for Nancy and me. Dean is not only a gifted sculptor, but a long time family friend who took nearly a year to lovingly sculpture nine wax blocks with images taken from a series of black and white illustrations. They came from a book my dad had written which tells the story of our family’s westward journey by wagon train in the 1800’s. Dean transformed the wax sculptures into individualized clay tiles that he carefully glazed and fired.  Each tile represents a significant event which occurred on the long and difficult passage across the Great Plains and over the Rocky and Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Seeing these images every morning provides me with a reminder of my roots and heritage. They give me courage during seasons when my life becomes overwhelming. Thinking about what those early pioneers willingly chose to do somehow grounds me as a person living in the 21^st century – a time when everything feels uncomfortably uncertain.  They challenge me to remember the pioneer spirit and strong values that motivated my early family to risk everything for the sake of a free and wholesome life. They urge me to embrace those values and that spirit for myself.

More and more people are looking for the life that Nancy and I have been seeking as we moved onto Timber Butte. The word sustainability has emerged in recent years to describe a desire to regain the pioneer spirit.  It speaks of breaking away from the confines and the feelings of vulnerability when living a day to day existence that is literally at the mercy of an uncertain social system.  Modern day homesteading (which can take place in the country or the city) is an effort to produce healthier food, drink better water, use renewable energy sources and experience the freedom to raise our families with righteous values for the sake of better and more meaningful lives.  The Apostle Paul once said as he concluded his letter to the Philippians, “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about these things.” [Phil 4:8] Although he didn’t say it, I think Paul would agree that we shouldn’t just think about such things, but must have the courage to pursue them as well.

Looking back at my heritage gives me the courage and motivation to break away from status quo. It causes me to strive to recapture the values that must have driven those early pioneers to rethink and restart their lives outside the confines of a social system that no longer focused on what was true, noble, right, pure, lovely and admirable.  They longed for a new way of life and a new beginning, and they were willing to sacrifice to achieve it.  When we lose sight of our heritage it can cause us to flounder and lose our way.  I think of our nation for example; every time we begin to forget the principles and intent of our founding fathers we begin to redefine our values becoming weakened by division.  In doing so we forget who we are and why God once blessed everything we put our hands to. In the end we begin to gravitate towards being a society much like the one our founders rebelled against.  This can be true in our personal lives as well. Looking to the past can help us regain purpose for a preferred and better future. Even the bad things of the past can be used to launch us into a better and more fruitful future.

The old adage, “history repeats itself” generally holds a negative connotation. It is true, many times the child of an alcoholic can become an alcoholic, an abusive person has often been abused, but it doesn’t have to be that way.  Our negative past can help us strive towards a positive future.  It is all about looking back and learning not only from the valor of those who went before us, but from their mistakes as well. History will only repeat itself if we ignore and deny the past, refusing to make courageous choices to turn away from the bad so that we might cling to the good.  It is for this very reason that Nancy and I have dedicated our lives to Christ.  Making these kinds of life-changing choices is nothing short of miraculous – it’s something that only God can do. He came to forgive what needed forgiving from our past so we might live in freedom from habits, hurts and the painful memories that paralyze.  What he does is real and tangible, and for this reason faith was a key value for our pioneer ancestors. Regaining that pioneer spirit and the values that accompanied it – this is the hope for the challenges we now face in the 21^st century.

Winter has seemed long this year.  It could be my age, or maybe I feel like this every March but forget the feeling of dreariness from the previous year. February was a cold month that brought low, cold clouds rolling up the foothills slowly engulfing us to the point of causing our worldview to become small and bleak.  More than once Nancy and I would spontaneously sing the line from the Broadway play, Annie, “The sun’ll come out tomorrow; bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there’ll be sun!”  Singing it felt encouraging and somehow optimistically prophetic when everything around was so gray.  

Then one day it happened as it always does at this time of year – the clouds lifted taking with them the drabness we felt.  The sun broke through, melting away the remaining snow and allowing the ground to absorb heat and finally thaw.  The air was still crisp but the hope of a new season was renewed and so was our vision for the creation of yet another productive vegetable garden.   

Our friends, Elliot and Marilyn, feeling invigorated by a stretch of warmer weather themselves, offered to lend us a hand for a day.  We graciously accepted and along with our granddaughter, Hope, we spent the better part of a Saturday prepping raised beds in the garden. Elliot and I turned over the soil, reforming the mounded rows while Marilyn and Nancy raked in gypsum and planted Winter Rye grass.  Gypsum helps to loosen the compacted soil while breaking up clay. Winter Rye on the other hand is a green crop that adds nitrogen when spaded into the rows later in the season in preparation for vegetable seeds. 

Hope worked alongside us driving in stakes and stringing lines so Elliot and I could construct the new rows straight and even. As we all labored outside for the day, we used muscles that had been dormant all winter. Although those muscles would let us know about it the next day, our spirits were renewed and revitalized as we enjoyed the fresh air and the beginning preparations for a promised harvest to come. 

If there is a moral or point to this short story it might simply be this: The sun will always come out tomorrow and when it does, it’s not a time to sit but to rise up and act on the renewed hope it will surely bring.  Life is full of seasons, and every season has its purpose.  As King Solomon once said, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven…” [Eccl. 3:1]

A number of years ago I wrote the following article and submitted it to several outdoor magazines.  It was a writing project that I did just for the heck of it. Recently I came upon it and thought I may as well post it on the Timber Butte site. Since Nancy and I have been developing Timber Butte as a sustainable homestead I have hunted much less, not because I don’t still enjoy it, but because our need to fill the freezer with organic meat has been drastically reduced.  I still enjoy hanging out with Pat Armstrong in the mountains however, and hope I never get too old to enjoy wilderness adventures. This story took place nearly twenty years ago.

Pat and I have been close friends for over forty years; years that have been filled with the memories of adventures and tales of experiences in primitive and wild country.  Through the years our times in the mountains have given us a repertoire of tales of mishaps with pack animals, waiting out bad weather in remote camps and big game hunts that oftentimes turned out well.  Our adventures together started in our early 20’s and have now followed us into our 60’s.  We’ve never seen ourselves as great hunters and we’re always surprised when, at the end of the season, the barn is full of hanging quarters of mule deer and elk meat.  Every hunt has given us wonderful memories together, but I’ll never forget the first year Pat and I both managed to get our first big elk bulls together on the same evening.

In many parts of Idaho, elk season begins as deer season ends.  We’d been hunting deer for a couple of days and had finally gotten into some big mule bucks nearly on top of an 8,000 ft. mountain.  We got lucky and both managed to make good shots among a bunch of windblown pines.  We had made a high mountain dry camp earlier that afternoon expecting to spend the night there after an evening hunt. But, because we sensed a storm coming in we decided to skin and hang our meat in a tree, hike out of the mountains that night, and bring Pat’s mules back in a day or two to retrieve it.  As we guessed, it dumped snow all night making us feel fortunate to be back at Pat’s ranch for a hot meal and a warm bed.  The next morning was the opening of elk season so we decided to retrieve our bucks later and spend the day hunting a different area for elk.

Several hours before daylight, in about six inches of fresh new snow, we saddled our horses, loaded the trailer and headed back into the mountains.  We had ridden about six miles up a river drainage when the sun began to cast its first light through the stormy skies. We continued to ride through the morning hours on up through the timbered drainage, which occasionally broke out into open meadows giving us views of descending hillsides laden with stands of birch and aspen.  It was perfect elk country and a beautiful morning.  Every new opening gave us a sense of expectancy as our horses plodded on into the day.  Our plan was to keep riding until we either happened upon an unsuspecting herd, or cut a track worth following.  All too soon it was about three o’clock and neither had happened.

In this area where Pat and I have been hunting the past few years we had rarely seen any other hunters. About 3:30 that afternoon while climbing up a ridge, we ran into two guys on foot who looked all done in.  After a short visit we discovered that they’d been following a wounded bull for over eight miles since early morning.  He had led them on a wild goose chase up and down canyons for the better part of the day taking them deeper and deeper into some really rugged country.   They had no horses and realized that even now they wouldn’t be able to get back to their camp by dark. They believed the bull was barely hurt due to the fact that it continued to run up and down hills without tiring. They were convinced that he would survive whatever minor damage they had inflicted.

When they disappeared over the rise, Pat turned to me and suggested that we return to our horses and back track these boys until we cut that old bull’s tracks.  We decided, if need be we could follow him all night unless it started to snow again and cover over his trail. We hated the thought of leaving a wounded animal to suffer.  And so, without hesitation, we made our way down the mountain to our animals and back-tracked their Sorel boot tracks until we spotted a large bull track near a small icy creek bottom.  After securely tying my horse to pine tree I began scrambling through my saddle bags for a rolled up day pack which I quickly filled with matches, a flashlight, extra batteries, some dried meat, and a few other odds and ends.  I’d hung out with Pat long enough to know that we could very well be on this trail for a long time – and I knew we were a long way from any place that was warm.

It was about two hours before sunset when we came upon a fresh elk bed in the snow.  Sure enough, there as a small spot of blood about two inches wide which assured us that it was indeed the same elk those hunters had been following.  We were encouraged and, although most experienced hunters would counsel differently, we picked up the pace to just short of a jog.  Half a mile later we came to another spot where he had laid down for a breather among some deadfalls.

We were entering a stand of alder when I touched Pat’s shoulder telling him that I was sure I could smell him.  I have a good nose for that and I felt sure we were getting close.  Alder is the worst stuff to negotiate, especially on steep snowy hillsides, and if he didn’t know we were following him before, he surely knew it now.  We fumbled on for a hundred yards until we broke out in an open timbered area that was again littered with deadfalls.  It was there that we got our first glimpse of his rump disappearing through the distant forest some two-hundred yards away.  There was no chance for a shot, but at least we now knew he wasn’t a ghost and really existed.  We were amazed to see that he ran with ease as if in perfect condition.

We walked on, one behind the other.   We had decided that Pat would concentrate on the tracks while I would look at the distant landscape in hopes of getting another glimpse or even a shot.

Another half hour passed and because we were in a densely wooded area we were beginning to lose daylight. We had been traversing the forested hillside for some time when all at once the track abruptly turned down the slope towards the creek bottom.  It was getting on into dusk and after miles of scrambling through the brush and trees I wasn’t at all sure where we were.  I had the distinct feeling that we’d somehow been led in a huge circle.   It wasn’t long before we again approached the creek we had crossed an hour before.  As we did I looked to the other side of the snowy draw to see if I could spot tracks ascending the opposite slope.  There were none that I could see. I reached out to touch Pat’s shoulder to alert him to my discovery just as we were rounding a huge Ponderosa Pine at the creek’s edge.  All at once that old bull was standing right in front of us with his teeth glaring and the whites of his eyes looking angry and mean.  He lowered his six-point rack and charged us, quickly making the hunters the hunted.

It all happened pretty fast, too fast to think if we should run or shoot.  We both shot at the same moment, not even having time to raise our rifles to our shoulders. For a minute it sounded like the Mexican revolution as Winchesters pumped brass into a heap where we stood on that creek banks edge.

The next half hour was spent pulling and pushing our first bull elk out of the frozen creek and up onto dry land and field dressing him before it was too dark to see.  While Pat finished up with the elk I took off and located the horses.  I figured they were somewhere down the drainage but had no idea how far.  I was shocked to discover they were standing where we left them only about two hundred feet away.  We had made a huge circle ending up right where we started.

Pat's barn was full of hanging meet

Wanting to get down the long valley while we still had light we left the bull and started to ride out of the canyon the way we had come.  We would return with the pack animals the next day.  To our great amazement we rounded a corner into an area that exposed an open hillside riding right into a small heard of elk. We leaped off our horses and managed to shoot a second bull that same evening in another fiasco of blazing guns.  In the excitement and confusion our horses ran off with tails in the air, heading for Pat’s trailer some six miles away.  In the end it turned out to be a long day but the barn was full of meat again, and more stories were added to our repertoire of tales that would be remembered and shared by two old friends around many campfires to come.

Isaiah 61:3 "...He will give beauty for ashes, joy instead of mourning, praise instead of despair."

Three years ago I sat up awake through the night, staring out my front window at a distant mountain burning from one end to the other. The fire raged so hot that literally hundreds of firefighters couldn’t control it and resorted to becoming bystanders. For miles around, officials evacuated people from their homes due to strong unpredictable winds. By dawn the fire had burned a devastating 25-mile swath that left nothing alive in its wake. The entire butte remained a heap of blackened ash until winter arrived and covered it with a blanket of fresh snow. By the following spring, the snows melted away and the butte transformed into a landscape of vivid colors. Wild flowers covered its slopes and the grass grew longer and greener than I had ever seen. God restored and renewed this beautiful butte with fire.

 While the balance God strikes between mercy and justice is often difficult for us to grasp, it is clear throughout the Bible that God places redemption and restoration as two of his top priorities. Through the prophet Isaiah, God detailed all that the Christ would do some eight hundred years before his arrival on earth. Isaiah 61 contains one of the most famous prophecies, the same prophecy that Jesus quoted when he began his public ministry as recorded in Luke 4. It is here that Jesus stated that he had come to heal the broken hearted, to set the captive free and to bring good news to the poor. It was also here that God explained the Messiah would come and turn ashes to beauty (see Isaiah 61:3). 

 From the ashes of devastation God would bring redemption and restoration. This is a picture of the intent and heart of God. Isaiah prophecies, “The Sovereign Lord will show his justice to the nations of the world.  Everyone will praise him!  His righteousness will be like a garden in early spring, with plants springing up everywhere” (Isaiah 61:11). Out of justice will come a new beginning and a restored garden. But not every doctrine ascribes to honor this perspective of Scripture.

 One common biblical view held by many Christians is that the unrighteous or ungodly will be destroyed by fire along with the earth at the final judgment. This is based on the scripture in 2 Peter 3 where Peter wrote, “Most importantly, I want to remind you that in the last days scoffers will come, mocking the truth and following their own desires. They will say, ‘What happened to the promise that Jesus is coming again? From before the times of our ancestors, everything has remained the same since the world was first created.’ They deliberately forget that God made the heavens by the word of his command, and he brought the earth out from the water and surrounded it with water.  Then he used the water to destroy the ancient world with a mighty flood.” Peter goes on to say, “And by the same word, the present heavens and earth have been stored up for fire. They are being kept for the day of judgment when ungodly people will be destroyed. ” A few verses later he writes, “But we are looking forward to the new heavens and new earth he has promised, a world filled with God’s righteousness. And so, dear friends, while you are waiting for these things to happen, make every effort to be found living peaceful lives that are pure and blameless in his sight.” Some have surmised that this consuming fire could be a result of nuclear holocaust—but who really knows?

 As I overlaid Jesus’ words onto Peter’s writing in 2 Peter 3, it suddenly occurred to me that God used the flood not to destroy the earth, but to renew it. Out of this devastating flood emerged righteous humanity and a restored creation. You might say that Noah, his family and all the animals with him stepped onto a new earth, but in reality it was the same earth. Noah’s flood was an Old Testament foreshadow of a New Testament reality; God’s heart is for restoration, reconciliation and renewal, and has never been for complete destruction in the form of obliteration.  In 2 Peter 3:10, Peter says, “The elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything in it will be laid bare.” The word translated “laid bare” literally means “shall be found” or “discovered.” Noah found or discovered a new world, even though it was the same physical earth. The word “destroyed” found in 2 Peter, chapter 3 verse 10 in the Greek is eurethesetai meaning “shall be found” or “to discover.” Noah found or discovered a new earth, even though it was the same physical earth. 

 This is important because if the second destruction of the earth is like the first one (only by fire instead of water), the same result will occur. Like the first time, God’s plan is not to obliterate the earth and create a new one somewhere else, but to renew and restore it by fire. Throughout the Bible water and fire have always been seen as agents of purification and refining. The Bible speaks of a baptism of water and a baptism of fire, both of which produce cleansing. Jesus provides a prime example of purification by fire when he speaks of our faith being refined by the “fire” of trials and hardships even as gold is refined by fire (see 1 Peter 1:6-7).

 In the state of Idaho, the Sawtooth Wilderness easily ranks as one of the most beautiful ranges of mountains. I have climbed the alpine peaks, fished the lakes and packed my horses in the backcountry of the Sawtooth Range since the 1960s. After our wedding in 1970, my wife Nancy and I backpacked into these breathtaking mountains on our honeymoon.

 On a recent trip to the Sawtooths, we discovered that most of the forest in the area had become infested with Bark Beetles. Thousands of mature pine trees, primarily Lodgepole pines, were dying and dropping their needles. What was once a breathtaking sight had become a landscape of devastating brown.  Due to the Idaho firefighters so diligently putting out the fires that would normally eradicate the beetles and regenerate life in Lodgepoles, the pines were dying while the Bark Beetles were thriving. At this point, the only hope for the recovery of this forest is a devastating fire that will leave the landscape charred and ugly for many years. Nevertheless, this fire is what will one day turn a sick forest into a thriving one.

God gave us an earth to love, appreciate and care for. He called us to environmental responsibility. In Genesis 9, it tells us that he gave us the resources of the earth for our provision so that we could reproduce and live. He gave us everything on the earth for our use, but not our abuse. Use turns to abuse when we express feelings of entitlement through our actions. When our use of something steps over the line of sustainability it becomes abuse. When we no longer think about the welfare of future generations but only of our own immediate wants, our actions become abusive. Stewardship requires an authentic reverence towards the Creator, something that every true Christian should have. When I hear someone say, “It’s all going to burn anyway,” it makes me think two things: first, that person has missed the heart, motive and character of God; and second, that person is denying the responsibility of creation care or environmental stewardship. The statement, “It’s all going to burn anyway” communicates an absence of Kingdom responsibility, much like the neglectful stewards that Jesus rebuked so harshly in Matthew 24 after he spoke of the characteristics of the last days.  

 The earth is a gift of God, there is none like it and it is the only one we will get. The Bible tells us that there is coming a day that it will be cleansed with fire, but like in the days of Noah it will be renewed and restored. And like in the days of Noah, two things will survive: God’s miraculous creation and righteous, faithful humanity.

Rendezvous on the old California ranch- 1979

For me, there’s something almost magnetic about the simplicity of the past.  I often dream of a slower pace and a more manageable self reliant lifestyle than the one the present world offers.  It disturbs me when I think of how my life’s umbilical cord has become so utterly and completely plugged into modern technology even to the point that disconnection would be fatal.  We have all subtlety become dependent on the computerized world of electronic banking systems, bar codes, power grids, medical care, transportation systems and communication.  Even in my fantasies of going back to a disconnected simpler way there seems to be no option but to conform to a post-modernized world.   It frankly frightens me to know that I can see my pickup parked in front of my house from space on Google Earth; and so can everyone else.  It’s downright scary not only that it can be done, but that we have all somehow accepted it.  The world has been transformed and so have we.

 Sometimes I dream about taking a trip back in time before things became so complicated and technical.  Ever since I was very young I have had an inner longing to have had the chance to experience the rawness of the American West before it was developed.  It has been such a strong desire that one time many years ago I decided to do something about it.

 I had done my master’s thesis in part on the Mountain Man era of the American West.  In my research I had read every book from the Lewis and Clark Journals to the beginning of the pioneer movement. I became familiar with nearly every main character of the Rocky Mountain Fur Trade Co. and had a quiet longing to experience the country in those days as they had.  Of these historic heroes my favorite was Jedediah Smith. Smith had a love for the country he explored and had the ability to describe it in vivid detail.  He experienced extreme hardship being mauled by a grizzly bear, nearly dying from lack of water time and again, and miraculously survived three brutal Indian massacres which took the lives of most of his comrades.   Jedediah Smith was a man of deep Christian faith and was admired and respected for his courage and leadership. He was the first to discover the southwest crossing through the Mojave Desert into California. The things he did and the country he explored in his short life was surreal.  Jedediah Smith was killed by Indians while scouting for water on another attempt to make the southern crossing.

 Our old ranch in California was very near to the place that Smith crossed the western plain of the Mojave Desert.  From our living room we could see this endless western desert that Jedediah Smith had ridden across.  After rereading his memoirs I decided to not only ride his historical path, but try to do it his way.  That included my dress, provisions and gear.  I had heard about a reenactment of a Mountain man rendezvous that would take place on the western slope of the Tehachapi Mountains and thought it would be a perfect final destination.  Two friends decided to join me and together we rode four days across the west end of the desert and into the Tehachapi’s.  It was a small thing really, not even close to the experience they had, but it was better than not doing anything.  We carried muzzle loading rifles in hope of shooting a rabbit or two, flint and steal to start our fires, and animal skins to store our water.  We searched for water and discovered desert and canyon springs as we picked our way across the country only crossing pavement once or twice and avoiding barbwire fences whenever we could.   On the fourth day we rode into the rendezvous unsaved, dirty, and ready for a real meal.

Kate & Brook ran out to meet me

It was a historical fact that often times the original mountain men would ride into their annual rendezvous at a full gallop firing off their old rifles to announce their arrivals.  The temptation to do the same was hard to resist.   I know it was just a pretend experience, but riding into that historical camp with everyone dressed in full mountain man regalia was a thrill.  As we entered the camp that afternoon Kate and Brook (our two kids) ran out to meet us which made it all the better.  Nancy had brought the horse trailer to take me home.

I can’t remember the last time I was really sick. The best I can recall it’s been fifteen or twenty years since I’ve had to miss work because of illness and I’ll admit I’ve been a bit boastful concerning my perfect health record. As they say, pride comes before the fall, and for a week now I’ve been incapacitated by bronchial and sinus infections. I’m been rendered helpless and useless not even having the energy to walk to the barn to feed the animals.  Nancy reminded me that last Sunday was the first one I’ve missed in nearly thirty years of preaching due to illness. (I did miss one Sunday a few years ago when I hit black ice and slid off the road into a thirty foot deep ravine in my pickup, but that wasn’t an issue of sickness,  just carelessness.)

It’s been an inconvenient time to be taken out of commission.  It was my intent to be in Haiti with our first relief team this last week; instead I have begrudgingly sat day after day in my chair gazing out the front windows, giving Nancy constant updates on my sorrowful condition.   

As the week slowly passed by I noticed a small bunch of mule deer hanging out in our west pasture every afternoon.  There was something natural and peaceful about the way they silently showed up and then, just as mysteriously as they came, they quietly drifted over the distant ridge into the fading western sun.  One of those afternoons every single deer laid down as if in intentional synchronization.  It fascinated me and made me wonder, not only about the life and habits of deer, but about my life as well.  I thought about destiny.

One of my favorite passages in the New Testament is in Ephesians 2:8 where Paul said, “For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them”. I love the entire passage, especially the part about God’s grace, but the part I was thinking about that afternoon was where Paul said we are created for good works which God prepared in advance for us to do so that we might “walk in them”. That was a powerful thought that made me believe  that being stuck in a chair for a couple of days to contemplate them was worth the discomfort and inconvenience . When I saw those deer so peacefully laying in my field I wondered if God wasn’t trying to speak to me about taking a rest and regrouping before continuing on my journey with Him. 

Haiti needs help right now and going there with your sleeves rolled up isn’t a bad thing – it is in fact a very “good work”. As a leader that hopes to send hundreds of willing volunteers there with a strategic work plan over the course of the next couple of years, I wanted to lead the way. I wanted to experience the devastation and analyze  the needs firsthand so I could communicate our strategy from personal experience. I have always tried to do that in the past, but this time I had the impression that my desire was more my own than God’s, at least for now. As I thought about it I realized our first team of medical workers was being led by Tim McFarlane, the best person I know for the job – they really didn’t need me.  I also started to recount all the new things God was putting on my plate in the coming months. It took a couple of days of isolation and immobilization before I recognized that God was speaking to me about a season of walking out a new work He had preplanned for me to do.     

A life with God is a great mystery.  It’s often difficult to understand, but one thing I’ve learned through the years is that if you don’t voluntarily stop and take the time to listen, God may well sit you down in a chair Himself. This is another matter of His amazing grace.  He desires that every one of us would stop and listen so that we might hear His voice and walk out His preplanned destiny for our lives.  There is a lot of good work to do – especially in the times we now live. It is important that we walk in the right work, the work He has called each of us to do. This is where we find meaning for our lives, where we can be the most effective.  I would never have chosen to be sick but it caused me to be still, and once again reflect on this matter of destiny – the preplanned purpose God has for each of our lives.

Lesson #3 –Makes a smaller footprint for a bigger handprint – Entry #151

Saying goodbye to the Burmese Karen in 1981

Nancy and I chose unemployment and a downsized sustainable lifestyle for a reason.  I’ll admit, it was a joy living in the quiet seclusion of the old ranch for that season of time, but it wasn’t our intention to withdraw from society and live an inward reclusive lifestyle.  We had purposefully made the decision to downsize our life so that we could upsize our impact on the world around us.  Our experience in 1982 (see entries 149 & 150) taught and prepared us for a greater life of outward service. We had seen the broken world first hand and wanted to help make a difference with our lives.   We had also observed many with a heart to do significant things yet unable due to excessive debt load.  Many had lived beyond their means and were owned by material possessions.  We wanted to be in a position of freedom, not in the bondage of financial debt.  It was our goal to learn to make a smaller footprint with our lives by consuming less, owning less and not allowing the possessions we had to possess us. We wanted to express the viewpoint through our lifestyle that we had come into the world with nothing and would leave with nothing. We believed that it all belonged to God anyway.  We knew we were called to be stewards, not only of the land we lived on, but of all the things God cared about, especially suffering humanity.  We wanted to make a smaller footprint so we might be able to make a bigger handprint; the handprint being the imprint of God on the world around us.  It was with this thinking in mind that I eventually wrote the book, “Small Footprint / Big Handprint – How to live simply and love extravagantly”.

Nancy & the kids in a Karen village 1984

Now back to my story.  If you recall from my former blog, this whole adventure started when we felt called to Thailand to help a hill tribe people group called the Karen.  They had lived in Burma, but because of ethnic cleansing by the Burmese government, many had been forced to flee across the border into Thailand in an attempt to avoid mass murder and extreme persecution.  My exposure to the Karen was my first experience with such atrocities up close and personal. Getting the chance to know them and even live among them gave Nancy and me a kind of love that’s hard to describe.   The experience was so life-changing we knew at once that we could never live solely for ourselves again.  Our worldview had been shattered.  In the years to come we couldn’t watch the atrocities in places like Somalia or Darfur without being broken for the people involved. We desperately wanted to somehow help alleviate the suffering.  Even natural disasters such as hurricanes, tsunamis, floods or earthquakes and the pain they inflicted upon the extreme poor challenged us. We could no longer be spectators; we had to get involved.  No longer could I turn my back on things like human trafficking, world hunger, world health or

Teaching English in a Karen village - mid 80's

environmental degradation.  I knew these things where breaking the heart of God and should be breaking mine as well.  We realized that life had much more to offer than to simply withdraw and live for personal security, comfort, and survival.  We wanted to be part a greater cause.

If you want to successfully live a sustainable lifestyle you have to have a vision that is bigger than yourself.  Becoming a social dropout is tempting at times, but in the end it will lead to emptiness.   Nancy and I have tried to develop Timber Butte into a sustainable homestead not to pull back from society, but to add to it. We are striving to become more energy efficient for the sake of future generations.  We are attempting to learn better ways of organically producing food because we know how damaging mass production of factory farms can be to the environment and health.  We care about forestry practices because we have seen the effects of deforestation in the developing world where there is little or no restraints on clear cutting. We care about the preservation of water because we have seen the effects drought and pollution have had in so many parts of the world.  We want our lives to serve as an example for others to follow.

Nancy with African children years later in Zambia

 When I resigned from my job is 1982 I used the time to redesign myself.  I spent time evaluating what I thought was really important and how I wanted to spend the rest of my life.  We decided to put our financial concerns second to the pursuit of a life that had purpose and value.  I decided not to look for a job, but rather for a lifestyle that had meaning while still providing our basic financial needs.  I guess that’s how we ended up in the type of ministry we did. We didn’t want just any ministry, but a ministry that was intent on capturing the heart of God and fulfilling the commission of Jesus to love people and bring healing to broken humanity.  It was our aim to be part of a people who desired to be on the frontlines of suffering humanity, not merely to be content watching it on CNN.

 The third lesson I learned from being unemployed was that it gave me an opportune time to take a new direction and go after the things that would instill a new and lasting passion for life.

Lesson #2 – Less can sometimes give you more – Entry 150

Nancy cooked in the open fireplace

Moving back on the ranch after several months of living in the back country of the Sierra Nevada Mountains felt like luxury. (Read entry #149) Sleeping in a real bed, taking a shower without having to heat the water over a campfire, cooking on a real stove and storing food in a refrigerator that produced normal ice cubes is something that most of us take for granted. It felt good to be home with our pack gear cleaned and stored away ready for the next time.  While we lived in the back country we had not only been making money, but we were stuck in a place where we couldn’t spend it.  We had a small nest egg that could sustain us for another month or two and the relief it gave felt comforting.  The only problem was that living a normal life does cost money without even thinking about it.  Gas for the vehicles, propane for hot water and cooking (and because we lived off the grid it also powered the refrigerator and lights).  Food is always an expense no matter where you live, and of course there are clothes to buy, household goods and things like books for the kids schooling and so on.  It didn’t take me long to realize that I had to keep looking for work.

Thinking about our next move Nancy and I made a decision.  We realized how much we had enjoyed being together as a family over the past several months and decided to figure out a way for me not to go to town in search of a real job.  We knew that in order for that to happen we had to do two things; first, we needed to down size our life and live on a fraction of what we were used to, and second, to find just enough work on ranches in the area to meet our financial needs.  We felt challenged by the idea.

The wood cook stove in old ranch kitchen

Several years before I had built an addition on our small home and in order to make the plumbing work I had added a second forty gallon hot water heater to supply the master bedroom.  The first thing we did was to turn the new water heater off and share our kid’s bathroom shower. Nancy’s kitchen had two stoves in it, one ran on propane gas and the other was a wood burning cook stove.  She decided to do most of her cooking on the wood stove and sometimes in the open fireplace.  The third thing was to cut down on our driving and other gasoline consumptions.   Living and working at home cut our need for vehicles down to nearly nothing.  Previously I had been driving an hour to town six days a week which gouged a huge chunk out of our monthly budget.  I had shot a really nice buck during the reminder of the deer season which supplied us with our meat needs, and our root cellar was still fairly well stalked with canning.  It was amazing how little it took us to live on just by being deliberate in our lifestyle. Not only that, but it was rewarding to feel like you could beat the system of status quo living.   

Snaking out logs for firewood

Over the course of the next few months I got work from three different neighbors who needed things built.  I built two hay sheds for ranchers and a small addition on an older ladies home.  I never had to travel more than five miles to reach the jobs I was hired to do and the work was honestly refreshing and enjoyable. When I found myself in between the small jobs I had been hired to do I used the time to cut firewood.  I harnessed our horse Sunday and spent days on the mountain snaking out pine logs to a place where I could reach them with the old ranch truck.  I cut and split wood not only for our own use, but to sell in town.

That fall, both in the Sierras and on the old ranch was one of the most memorable times of my adult life.  Since those days I have had remarkable experiences ministering in cities and remote villages all over the world, but looking back on that season of unemployment now I realize God used it to prepare me for a radical life of faith he had predestined me to live.  He taught us that living with less in the form of material things would actually enable us to do more with our lives together.