Cowboy Jake (8/08) Read By Steven
Jake, the rancher went one day, To fix a distant fence.
The wind was cold and gusty; The clouds rolled gray and dense.
As he pounded the last staples in And gathered his tools to go,
the temperature had fallen; The wind and snow began to blow.
When he finally reached his pickup, He felt a heavy heart;
From the sound of that ignition, He knew it wouldn't start!
So Jake did what most of us would do, Had we been there.
He humbly bowed his balding head And sent aloft a prayer.
As he turned the key for one last time, He softly cursed his luck.
They found him three days later, Frozen stiff in that old truck.
Now Jake had been a rounder in life And done his share of roaming.
But when he saw Heaven, he was shocked -- It looked just like Wyoming!
Of all the saints in Heaven, His favorite was St. Peter
(Now, this line ain't really needed, But it helps with rhyme and meter)
So they set and talked a minute or two, Or maybe it was three.
Nobody was keeping score -- In Heaven time is free.
"I've always heard," Jake said to Pete, "That God will answer prayer,
But one time when I asked for help, Well, HE just plain wasn't there."
"Does God answer prayers of some, and ignore the prayers of others?
That don't seem exactly square -- I know all men are brothers."
"Or does He randomly reply, Without good rhyme or reason?
Maybe, it's the time of day, The weather or the season."
"Now I ain't trying to act smart, It's just the way I feel.
And I was wondering, could you tell me -- What the heck's the deal?!
"Peter listened patiently, And when old Jake was done,
There were smiles of recognition, And he said, "So, you're the one!!"
"That day! Your truck; It wouldn't start, And you sent your prayer a flying,
You gave us all a real bad time, With hundreds of us all trying."
"A thousand angels rushed, To check the status of your file,
But you know, Jake, We hadn't heard from you, in quite a long while."
"And though all prayers are answered, And God ain't got no quota,
He didn't recognize your voice, And started a truck in Minnesota!"
Gary and Sidney were new residents in Portland, Oregon.
They were invited to a church social – “The Young Marrieds Foreign Dish
Party”, and my mom was asked to introduce my dad to their new friends.
“Let Me Tell You About Gary” Read by Jen
Written by Sidney Creer, Sept. 19, 1964
Let me tell you about the day Gary Creer hung up his gloves! No--
he is not a fighter – on the contrary, he is lover. He gives the best bear
hugs! I am referring to the day he hung up his rubber gloves.
One morning, around 8:30 in the early spring of 1961,-- Feb. 17 to
be exact,- Gary called his boss to inform him that he wouldn’t be in
for work that day. He had just delivered a seven and a half pound baby
boy at a private residence – our residence.
Sisters – let me give you my phone number. If your husband is one
to hunt, fish, ski, skin dive, play tennis, golf, swim, camp, or take in a
John Wayne flick and if he doesn’t come home when he said he
would, call me. I can sympathize with you – and perhaps persuade you
to accompany me to see a Paul Newman movie.
Brethren, I do not want you to have our phone number. After you
become better acquainted with Gary, you will be calling us whenever
you want to go hunting, fishing, skiing, skin diving, etc… Also, while
I’ve got your attention, don’t ever get yourself into a push-up position
with a small bet on the side – let it ride. He can do 21 push ups with
one hand. As you can tell, he believes in keeping fit.
On the other hand, he is fond of double-thick chocolate malts with a
banana cut in at the last minute; home baked whole wheat bread fresh
out of the oven with butter and honey on it; and German Chocolate
cake. Oh, yes – hash browns for breakfast, which he never finds at our
home. (Oh dear, I keep thinking I’ll surprise him one of these days.)
He doesn’t have much patience with men ballet dancers, rare
steaks, well-done toast, slow drivers, fast children, nagging women,
liberal Democrats, dead flies when fishing and live flies when dining;
and his wife and children misplacing his Cross pen and pencil.
He looks favorably upon good-looking blondes and red-heads;
lobster tail dinners; church parties where the ladies provide the
goodies; sports cars, especially Porsches; well-mannered dogs and
well-manicured lawns; attractive ties, preferably with stripes; short
bed-time prayers and Conservatives.
He admires sunsets, blondes and red-heads; successful salesmen
who still find time to take in hunting, fishing, etc…; jet pilots, fine art,
and Morgan horses.
He secretly would like to play the guitar, go on an Alaskan bear
hunt, an African safari, ski Austria and Switzerland, obtain his private
plane license, and have hash brown potatoes and baking powder
biscuits for breakfast.
He has a love for the Gospel. He is a good father, a devoted,
understanding husband, and he is happiest when he is in good
company, so thank you for making us both happy by inviting us out
this evening.
There’s Still Lots To Do by Jeffrey
You can’t leave yet Dad, there’s still lots to do,
That Ranch gate needs fixin, oh, and the fences do too.
There’s cowboy poetry you still need to write,
And a horse to tame, who puts up a fight.
You can sketch that Swiss mountain range you saw on your trip,
Oh and there’s sourdough pancakes you still need to flip.
Let’s not forget to plan that day we can ski,
I still need some lessons…just you and me.
Mt. Timpanogos looms in the distance, ready to climb,
Well Carson, Cameron, and I, have plenty of time.
I’m still running you know, and next week is my race,
Will you be at the track, to keep me on pace?
Once these are all done, we can just sit and talk,
You can write a new “bucket list”, or we can just go for walk.
With both hips fixed now, you’re almost bionic,
And the legacy you’ve forged, well, it’s made you iconic.
You taught me the lesson, that family comes first,
And that life’s an adventure, we quench like a thirst.
When times get tough, you’re not one to quit,
You have more than it takes, they call it True Grit.
I’ll say it again Dad, you’re not finished yet,
Just ‘cuz you left us without any regrets.
So cowboy up Dad, there’s a trail that needs rid’n’,
We know where you’re at…aint no sense in hid’n’.
There’s open range now, and it’s calling to you,
Get back on that saddle Dad, there’s still lots to do.
Faye
1 month ago