CONCERT IN THE COOKHOUSE by Shara Bueler-Repka
I stomped the cold from my feet and rubbed my hands together, feeling warmth creep into them. Fog billowed from my breath and my horse’s nose. The temperature hadn’t risen out of the teens in the high country. Our friend, Bo, a seasoned Nevada buckaroo, invited my husband, Bruce, to this fall roundup. Hundreds of cattle grazed across thousands of acres in these rugged, unforgiving mountains of northern Nevada. Several volunteers, stockholders, and hired buckaroos worked together to gather these cattle for shipment to their winter-feeding grounds. Bruce and I sing Christian Country music and travel full time on the road with our two horses. God had given us this awesome opportunity to ride with these folks, and we jumped at the chance. However, He saw an even bigger picture than volunteering to help with the cows. Saddles creaked and horses champed their bits as we waited for the foreman to assign groups of riders to their sections of land. The goal was to drive or “sweep” the cattle from the high country and meet at the bottom pasturelands at the same time… or nearly. Most of these cows are as wild as the country they run in, and this type of gathering keeps them moving forward. I gazed across the haphazard landscape, grateful for the instruction we had received from Bo about the cattle and country. I realized we were living examples of Hebrews 10:24-25 (NIV): “And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.” Bruce and I were strangers to this place, but the Lord had prepared us for this job through Bo. Receiving our section assignment, we spread out to cover our area. 50 | M AG A Z I N E N A M E PAGE 3 50
“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!” flew from my mouth as my horse and I plunged down the side of a steep draw to gather cattle at the bottom. At the same time, “Whoohooohoooohoooo!” echoed across the mountains as the buckaroos revealed their location. I urged my horse around the cattle and drove my mini-herd through the small canyon. We rode narrow mountainside trails that appeared to be carved by a goat and skirted bogs and boulders to keep the herd tight. I picked grit out of my teeth and blew a breath of relief when I saw Bo with his cows at the meeting point. We joined Bruce farther down the mountain. As the three of us rode with our cows, the foreman raced by us on his horse. “You’re late!” he bellowed as he thundered past and disappeared down the prairie. Startled and staring at his retreating dust, we figured we were being blamed for something out of our control. Our blood boiled. Angry words churned: “We did nothing wrong!” We rode in an indignant fog for about a mile. Then, like cold water on a hot flame, the Holy Spirit’s still, small voice impressed, “Let it go.” We realized it was foolish for us to ride in offense, recognizing Satan’s temptation to tear down the relationships we had already built. Swallowing our pricked pride, we decided not to take the bait and continued to focus on the job at hand.
