Through words and pictures, we walk the winding trails of the untamed west. As a Wyoming Christian author, I breathe the beauty around me, transferring it to paper. I dare all to take the leap into God's country. Learn of its untold stories and reveal for yourself . . . where the wild meets the Forgiven.
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Guest: Where Would I Be Without a Loving God?
A kicking baby girl lying in a
basket near the dinner table whimpered and then began to wail.
Her two-year-old brother crawled up
on a chair, crawled up on the dinner table and looked at the red-faced howling
infant. Salt and pepper shakers were near his folded legs and he reached for
the salt. He shook a little out on the table, tasted some, and then emptied the
shaker into the baby’s eyes.
I was the baby. I don’t remember
the incident, but I was told about it. The little boy had no idea the
seriousness of what he had done until his little sister’s screams alerted the
It was 1937. Desperately poor,
having gone through the Great Depression and the Kansas Dust Bowl, my family
had no money for a doctor. Yet, several of my siblings just experienced Salvation
and the power of God and Mama was renewing her relationship with Him, so prayer
was the first answer.
Mama washed my eyes out with water,
and I think I was told she used boric acid as an eye wash. Yet, I cringe as I
think about it. The edges of salt crystals are hard and sharp. Eyes are
delicate. God drew near and answered our need. I’ve never had problems with my
eyes as long as I can remember, and I give the glory to God.
No matter what the need, our family
went to their knees. In those days when Daddy and my oldest brother worked
shoveling coal from railroad cars into trucks for $1 a day, there was little
money for anything to feed the 10 of us. That’s why Mama spent so much time in
the garden planting, hoeing, watering, picking, and why I often was left with
siblings babysitting me.
I must have been a toddler when my
sister decided to give me a bath atop the wood cook stove. During the summer,
they hadn’t been using the stove and she didn’t realize someone built a fire in
it until she sat my bare bottom down on it.
I imagine I screeched to high
heaven, and most likely my sister screamed louder than I. Yet I can’t recall the
incident. I survived serious burns, which I’d guess were third degree because I’ve
carried the scars all my life. Without being told, I know my family and
probably the church prayed for me, and God answered.
Now some people believe in God as
Creator, but don’t grasp the thought that the Lord cares about His creation.
That astounds me. How could they even have a little knowledge of how the
universe functions, look at the sky or even look in the mirror and doubt that?
God made humans in His own image and
likeness, according to Genesis 1:26, and in Colossians 1:16 we’re told, “For it was in Him that
all things were created, in heaven and on earth, things seen and things unseen,
whether thrones, dominions, rulers, or authorities; all things were createdandexist through Him [by His service,
intervention] and inandfor Him.”
He create us—me, too—for fellowship, to have someone
to love and someone to love Him back.
I’m thankful the Lord touched me at an early age, and
I continue to feel His hand upon my life. If you don’t know Jesus, He loves you
and has planned good things for you. This is what is prophesied in the last
days for those who accept His sacrifice for sin:
Ada Brownell, also writing as A.B.
Brownell, has been writing for Christian publications since age 15 and spent
much of her life as a daily newspaper reporter. She has a B.S. degree in Mass
Communications and worked most of her career at The Pueblo Chieftain in Colo., where she spent the last seven years
as a medical writer. After moving to Springfield, MO in her retirement, she
continues to free lance for Christian publications and write non-fiction and
She is author of Joe the Dreamer: The Castle and the
Catapult, released Jan. 15, 2013; Swallowed by Life: Mysteries of Death,
Resurrection and the Eternal, released Dec. 6, 2011; and Confessions of a Pentecostal, published
by the Assemblies of God’s Gospel Publishing House in 1978, out- of-print but
released in 2012 for Kindle.
Falling Rock: A Short Story Once upon a time, in a small Indian
village, a brave warrior called Falling Rock fell in love with the chief’s daughter. She returned
his love and they went before the chief to ask for permission to wed. “You
say you love my daughter. Is this true?” The old chief looked to his youngest
daughter, the most beautiful of his children. “Yes,
Father. He loves me and I love him. Please let us marry.” Her small hands
grasped his gnarly ones and he narrowed his beady eyes at the warrior. “What
do you have to offer for this union, young warrior?” He
watched as the bravery seemed to seep out of the man at his question. “I
have nothing, my chief. I do not own any animals or fancy cloth. I can offer my
service and my loyal protection.” His black eyes met the daughter’s. “To you
and yours for the rest of my days.” “I
have that already, my man. I wish you to complete me a task. If you are
successful, you will have permission to marry my daughter. Do you agree?” The
stage… Raving Lunacy I search
every hidden realm in the computer for my lost words.I dig into the recycle bin, the hard drives,
the documents and picture files looking for the elusive data.No bits or bytes are to be found.Strands of hair fall by my chair and unkind
words caress the ceiling.My husband
listens to the moans and groans for a little while then asks the one question
I do not want to hear.
"Did you save
DID I SAVE THEM?Of course, I saved them!I always
save them!What kind of an airheaded
writer does NOT save their work?Do I
look like an airheaded writer?NO!Of course not, that is because I SAVE MY
WORK!(I did say raving lu…