New Book At The Ranch Pen

Finally, the third book in my Love Is Not Enough series is out and about on Amazon! It’s available in print or ebook format. The ebook version is also available through Kindle Unlimited and for free sharing with family and friends with Kindles or the Kindle app which works great on iPhone or Androids.

The third book in the Love Is Not Enough Series begins with Annie DeRossi Campbell uneasily trying to establish a life with rancher’s son, Karl Campbell, as his wife instead of the reserved Navajo woman who has always run the barren ridge-lines of her life like a wild mare trying to survive. Abused and shamed by the father of her five-year-old son, Annie distrusts love and is desperate to keep her past hidden from her new husband no matter the cost. When his awkward tenderness threatens to storm the barriers she has built around her heart, she commits a misstep so earth-shattering it leaves Runs Alone Girl sifting through the ruins of her marriage for the truth of what love really means.

Another newlywed, cowboy and inexperienced Christian, Gil Howard, has returned from his honeymoon with Katie to the news his alcoholic father has decided to return to Colorado to die. Resentful at the past dumped in his lap and unconvinced of his father’s stumbling efforts to return to Christ, Gil just wants his dad to keep his drama to himself. His young bride, however––raised in a sect of faith-healers, sheltered, and innocent—seems to have been taken in by his old man’s phony imitation of Apostle Paul and wants him to be his dad’s buddy. Will Gil’s faith conform to biblical truths, or will he be buried––along with his fledgling marriage—beneath the weight of the past?

Runs Alone Girl continues the story of two ranching families in the mountains of western Colorado. Gritty, realistic, politically incorrect, and sometimes laugh-out-loud funny, it takes a look at what happens when the love, marriages, and family relationships of ordinary people with extraordinary faith are put to the test.

Runs Alone Girl is the third book in the series and is not intended as a stand alone novel, so if you want to start at the beginning, start with The Cedar Tree, Book One. (It has a new cover but no new content, so my advice as a tightwad? Don’t throw down another $.99 for another one if you’ve already got it.)

After an injury forces cowboy Gil Howard from the rodeo circuit and an accident kills his girlfriend, he seeks out his grandfather in Colorado, a rancher and minister in a sect of faith healers. Wild, restless, and angry at his alcoholic father, Gil drifts in a life suddenly foreign to him until he meets intriguing rancher’s daughter, Katie Campbell—only to find no one wants him with her, including Katie herself, who has a longstanding attachment to her childhood friend and sweetheart. When a mountain storm throws the two of them together, Gil finds himself in love for the first time and his life begins to come together in unexpected ways. Then tragedy strikes and he is left struggling to reconcile his past with his new faith and his shattered dreams. Will there ever be another message from Katie in the cedar tree?

Wailing Woman Creek is book two in the series. (Once again, book two has a new cover but no new content, so my advice as a tightwad remains the same. Don’t buy another one if you’ve already got it.)

In book two of the Love Is Not Enough Series, the unexpected death of Annie DeRossi’s grandmother—an old midwife in a sect of faith healers—leaves the grieving young Navajo woman and her small son in dire straits, forcing her choice between easy-going Colorado rancher’s son, Dave Campbell, and his straight-laced brother Karl.  She gravely underestimates the toll her marriage vows will take on the three of them and when desperate secrets are uncovered, ghosts from her past threaten to destroy the marriage almost before it has begun.

Meanwhile, Gil Howard—cowboy, financially strapped sheep rancher, and new Christian—pops the question to Katie Campbell, entering an unusual agreement with her dad in an attempt to rein in his passions even while the image of his alcoholic father taunts him with doubts he can overcome his former lifestyle. Is he running a huge bluff on Katie that will come back to bite them both if he marries her?

Gritty and realistic, Wailing Woman Creek returns the full cast of characters from The Cedar Tree, offering an authentic look at ranch life and settings as diverse as the mountains of western Colorado, the barren Navajo reservation of New Mexico, and the forests of North Carolina.

As always, God bless all y’all and thanks so much for reading what I write. Everyone runs what they read through their own experiences, but my hope is you’ll find some good stuff in Runs Alone Girl and the other books in the series.

An Aging Hobbit At The Ranch Pen

image of Hobbit house  via somewhere on the internet

image of Hobbit house via somewhere on the internet

April is poetry month, so to kick it off, I’ll post this one I’ve been thinking of lately. It’s from one of J R R Tolkien’s  Lord of the Ring books–I forget which one–and is supposed to be written by the character, Bilbo Baggins. Anyway, I think Bilbo as an aging Hobbit did a bang up job with his poem and I hope y’all enjoy it, too.

I Sit And Think

I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been; Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair.
I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see.
For still there are so many things that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring there is a different green.
I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago,
and people who will see a world that I shall never know.
But all the while I sit and think of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet and voices at the door.
~J R R Tolkien~

Thanks for reading, and until next time God bless all y’all and enjoy listening to this talented young lady, Adelle McAllister, who set the poem to music.


Bootcamp At The Ranch Pen



I’ve been covered up with work here at the Ranch Pen, so the blog has kinda been neglected. We had a lot of rain through May and June, which was greatly welcomed, but all that water shocked this droughty country into massive vegetation growth, and plagues of frogs (seriously), flies, rabbits, and creepy, crawling critters of every variety.

I’ve also been running periodic summer bootcamps Fun Weeks for the six grandkids who are old enough–Kevman, Blondie, Roper, Einstein, Git’R’Done, and Ladybug. (The youngest of the pack, Tater, is only a yearling and a mama’s boy to boot, so he is not even invited to Nana’s bootcamp, yet.) We start the week with excited plans. We abandon a healthy diet for one high in sugar and fat. We make art projects. We play in the pool. We have a little play on electronic devices. We make playhouses in the yard. We “train” the horses, take care of livestock, play with the dogs. We look at the stars and talk about God. We live dangerously, go places, do things. It’s all good.

At the beginning of Bootcamp Fun Week we have conversations like this:

Danni: Well, just try not to wet your pants again, okay?

Grandkid: Okay.

Toward the end of the week, the conversation has devolved to something like this:

Danni: What?! You wet your pants again. Why’d you do that?

Grandkid: I couldn’t make it back to the house in time.

Danni: Well, good lands. You’re out here on the farm, just go outside.

Grandkid has big eyes but doesn’t say anything, no doubt remembering mother’s commands not to drop his drawers outside like a barbarian.

Sorry ’bout that daughters-in-law.

No, we have a good time. I eavesdrop on them and laugh. Two of our grandsons are five-years-old. I don’t know if it’s their age, their sex, or their last name, but I overheard these two comments to no one in particular:

Grandson Git’R’Done energetically playing Fruit Ninja on an electronic device: I am really good at this!

Grandson Einstein playing Angry Birds on an electronic device: I keep doing so good at this!

They make up truly horrible jokes, too, such as this one I wrote down verbatim at the lunch table while they gobbled a made to order variety of junky food:

“Hey, what do you call soap with a coyote on it?”

Like so many stand up comedians, the young joke teller found his audience a hard sell, so he kept repeating the joke, trying to rouse a response. “Hey, what do you call soap with a coyote on it? Hey. Hey, guys. Hey, what’d’ya call soap with a coyote on it?”

My heart squeezed with pity lest his fragile ego suffer a blow, so I said, “What do you call soap with a coyote in it?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Nana. Hey, Roper, what do you call soap with a coyote on it, huh?”

“Roper, listen to his joke,” I said, my ego stinging.

“Hey, Roper, what do you call soap with a coyote on it?”

Roper sighs heavily. “What?”

“A Doritos coyote soap!”

Duh! What else?

Ladybug–who is three–and I were the only ones who laughed, but that sparked more bad jokes, a run on the Doritos, and an overturned soda. We had to mop up the spill and stop joking around at the table, but I wouldn’t trade those kids in for anything on this side of the grave.

Until next time,  God bless, take time to delight in the kids in your life, and enjoy the Oak Ridge Boys doing Thank God For Kids.


The Lord’s Prayer At The Ranch Pen


Sunrise at the ranch pen

As we wind up National Poetry Month here at the Ranch Pen, I’ll share what is, in my opinion, the loveliest prayer in poetry form ever. Also known as The Lord’s Prayer, these verses are from the Gospel of Matthew in the Holy Bible.

Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil:

For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever.


I hope you’ve enjoyed poetry at the Ranch Pen this month as much as I’ve enjoyed sharing it, and until next time, God bless all y’all and enjoy the guys of Veritas singing The Lord’s Prayer.

Cool Tunes At The Ranch Pen

image via somewhere on the internet

One of the good things about living in the sticks is the rural radio stations. Our local station keeps us up to date on farm news, senior citizens’ lunch menus, and the obituaries. As an added bonus, the morning news’ host features a spot called “Local Talent” which is exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes the kindergarten class sings. We hear teenage bands, church groups, and bad karaoke. Now and then, we hear cowboy poetry (we have some really good local poets). One of the local crop duster pilots sings occasionally (he’s good, too). But, last week we heard something I’d never heard before. Even though the talent wasn’t local, it grabbed every farmer in the county with its cool factor, made us remember our dads’ and granddads’ tractors, and made us smile, too. So, until next time, God bless all y’all and I hope you’ll enjoy this video from Sweden (I think) of an old tractor that never missed a beat on Sweet Georgia Brown.


The Most Precious Natural Resource At The Ranch Pen


The news headlines scream disaster and death at us every day, breathing worry and distress in our faces–even in Oklahoma with the horrible beheading (I can hardly bear to write the word) of that poor woman in Moore last week. I am not a preacher, but as an ultra-conservative Christian woman, I strain the events around me through the truth of my Bible and find hope in Jesus.

This week, I attended an event with my daughters-in-law, grandkids, and their homeschoolers’ group sponsored by the NRCS (National Resources Conservation Service), which is a division of the USDA (United States Department of Agriculture). The NRCS  was established in the Dust Bowl days of the 1930’s to help farmers and ranchers preserve their land that was blowing away because of poor farming practices in an extended drought. Today, the NRCS still helps farmers and ranchers manage and conserve their farm and grass lands, soil, and water. Our county NRCS agents have worked with Gramps and I on our farming/ranching operation many times over the years with sound advice (most of the agents are farmers or ranchers themselves) and cost-sharing grants to drill wells and plant grass on erosion-prone crop ground.

The NRCS event was aimed at third grade age kids. Several of the nearby public schools had bussed students to the outdoor classroom the NRCS had set up near a lake. They had also accommodated the home school group’s third graders. What they may not have known is, in the homeschooling world, if the third grader goes, so does the fifth grader, the first grader, mom, the baby, and maybe even grandma. Another thing they may not have known is home schooled kids learn hands-on. Everything their mothers/teachers do is an educational experience, so at each learning station, the kids mobbed the teachers, getting up in their business with their hands all over everything and asking rapid-fire questions.


At learning station one, an NRCS agent talked to the kids about land and water conservation, cutting up an apple representing the earth until only a tiny sliver remained to show the portion of land on earth able to produce crops. He also ended up showing the kids that one drop of water out of all the water on earth was the share of water in Oklahoma.

Gun safety

Gun safety at learning station two

The little girl at the left knew so much about guns she could have taught a hunter’s safety course. The grandkids, Roper, Ladybug, and Blondie are spellbound by guns, too. I think the game warden was somewhat taken aback by the gun knowledge in the group.

Station Three--hides and skulls

Station Three–skins and skulls

The skins and skulls station was a big hit with the kids. The instructor showed them a lot of hides from different animals native to Oklahoma and had them guess which animal each of the skulls had once belonged to. They learned about predators and prey, carnivores and omnivores. All of the kids felt their own canine teeth to make sure they were predators. Many of them also had varmint hunting stories to share with the instructor.


Station Four was all about pollinators native to Oklahoma. The teacher was a biologist whose job was managing the grasslands in that area, so he knew a lot about the plant, insect, and animal life.

Even though I don’t have a picture of this one, Station Five was all about soil, which I found fascinating since we make our living from it. I’m not sure the kids were as interested, but they did like the NRCS agent’s hydraulic core sample machine mounted on the side of his pickup. He pulled a soil sample from about five feet down in the ground. Four-year-old Grandson, Git R Done, told his dad later that he learned dirt was actually soil.

Station Six--Quail mamgement

Station Six–This lady taught quail management


Playing a wildlife management game–some kids are quail, some predators

Station Six was about quail management and how overpopulation of any one species can be detrimental. Nature has a way of evening the balance of everything which the instructor attempted to show through a game involving more quail than predators, then more predators than quail. The game was complete mayhem, but they all seemed to enjoy it. (Except, possibly, the teacher.)

Ladybug eating the lesson on wetlands

Ladybug eating the lesson on wetlands


Station Seven was a lesson about wetlands (rare in western Oklahoma these days) and their importance. The teacher asked the kids to tell her some of the animal life found in wetlands. The kids ventured a lot of guesses which included sharks and crocodiles, but the cutest one was from three-year-old Ladybug: Mermaids. The teacher then used a layer of chocolate cereal to represent the lower soil layer, chocolate pudding the mud, blue cool-whip the water, pretzel stick cattails, and then green sugar duckweed–the ecosystem of the wetlands. Then she gave a cup of the lesson to each kid to eat. Very clever.

Station Eight was taught by a park ranger. She was really good with the kids and taught them how to respect national park lands. Then she used pictures of animals to teach them the difference between domesticated animals and wildlife. I don’t have a picture of Station Eight since the temperature had risen to near one-hundred degrees and everybody was tired and ready to go home, including the oldest lady in the group (moi).


a little cutie whose name I don’t know and grandkids Git R Done, Ladybug, and Roper

And the last picture–hope for the future in our most precious natural resource: Our kids.

Thanks so much for reading and until next time, God bless all y’all while you listen to this one gifted man singing, I have decided to follow Jesus.


No Frozen Blood In The Ice Maker, Thank Goodness

IMG_6113The grandson, Kevman, celebrating summer

After an extremely late take-off for southwest Oklahoma, it’s finally summer. We’ve got the heat. We’ve got the kids’ pool set up. We’ve got the chiggers. And we’ve got cookouts when the wind is thirty-miles-per-hour, or less.

(Just an FYI. If you are thinking about a Polygroup Pro swimming pool, it has the dumbest filter thingy ever. In fact the whole setup to our sand filter and salt thingy had to be farmer-jobbed, as we call it down here on the farm when something is all cobbled together.)


Cousins, Einstein and Git R Done celebrate summer

Then there was the day when bloody looking stuff–like frozen blood–started coming out the ice maker on the refrigerator. I immediately thought, “Oh, sweet goodness! Somebody has lost a hand in the ice maker.” All of the grandkids still had their appendages, however, and on further investigation, the frozen blood proved to be a red popsicle grinding up in the ice maker. But what if…?! My fiction writer’s brain jumped straight to hair-raising and mind-boggling plots. My summer got way better.


Our barn cat, Tip, had three kittens in the day lily bed. They are having a good summer BECAUSE…

Our dog, Nellie broke her leg and can’t chew kittens right now. Last week, a neighboring farmer pulled into our driveway and accidentally hit Nellie with his pickup, breaking her leg. Very sad. No more cooling off in the fish pond because of her cast, so we keep the ground damp in the shade next to her dog house. She lays and watches the birds fly by and the wheat trucks and cars roar past, bored stiff. She’s starting to feel frisky again, which is good, but I fear she is going to drive me crazy trying to keep her calm over the next weeks while she heals.


Danni, preparing to talk about her new book

Next week, sometime, maybe,if nothing interferes and the Good Lord is willing’, I will post about my new book, Wailing Woman Creek.

Until next time, God bless all y’all and Nellie, this one’s for you…Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol.

*This artist doesn’t necessarily endorse my blog, this is just Nellie’s favorite song.

Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch (Pen)


Small town Oklahoma. Say what you will about rednecks and Okies, or redneck Okies, but don’t say we’re not patriotic

“No, we can’t have another baby! Mom might come stay for a month again…”

Well, I’m back at the Ranch Pen. I have not lived in town for approximately thirty years, but I spent the past month in the small town in north-central Oklahoma awaiting the new grandson, Tater, and then helping out daughter #3 around the place afterward. Tater was tardy. He gets that from his dad and I hope it’s not an indicator of things to come, but he is so cute we consider him well worth the wait.

Roaming the Town Like a Feral Dog Pack

To keep us out of trouble, the grandsons, Kevman, Einstein, and I roamed the town on foot. The town is where the house of Olympic athlete, Jim Thorpe, is open to the public. (He won gold medals in 1912, which was even before my time.) Kevman heard somewhere that Jim Thorpe’s father was bitten by a rattlesnake and died, but I haven’t had time to fact check that yet. I also didn’t get a chance to tour the home, which I hope to do soon.


Jim Thorpe Home

On our way to the Jim Thorpe park, we sometimes passed the funeral home. (I don’t know if it was the same one to process Jim Thorpe’s body.) Funeral homes usually try to avoid the appearance of gloom and death, but this one…yikes.


Funeral home; I’m gonna guess haunted

Kevman, Einstein, and I picnicked at Jim Thorpe’s park. Christi and Mark liked it there, too–or so the graffiti overhead led us to believe.



Einstein’s no-bake cookie mysteriously disappeared.

rocket slide

Rocket slide. I used to love those when I was a kid. Jim Thorpe must have, too…altho I wasn’t aware rockets were a big thing prior to 1912.

On our ramblings, we often passed God’s garage. Once we even stopped to browse, but did not purchase.


God’s Garage. He sure has a lot of stuff

No dogs in the yard? That house must be vacant

I don’t have government statistics on this, but I’m pretty sure the town has the most dogs per capita of any location in the world–certainly some countries where dogs are on the menu. Almost every yard has at least two dogs and if one listens, one will hear yapping from the Chihuahuas crowding the inside windows of the house. Down the road from Son #3’s house, a monstrously hairy dog lies in the street. One day we thought he was dead…but he eventually woke up when the grandsons shouted near his ear. Another time I spotted a yard so full of dogs I mistook it for a dog ranch. At least twenty dogs of all shapes, sizes, and lack of pedigree lived there in cheerful and littered abandon playing on several old sofas, weathered by the…well…weather. Later, the grandsons and I journeyed across town to take a picture of that virtual dog haven, but all of the dogs must have been inside the house. So unfortunate. It appears that some of the towns’  other dogs, including Chihuahuas, have banded together to form a feral dog pack. I spotted one of these feral Chihuahuas scratching through #3’s trash one early morning.

Can Naked People Jump On Trampolines?


Safety first, Einstein

The grandsons and I often walked to the library where they checked out a wide variety of reading material. One of the books was about earthquakes and volcanos. The book covered the Mt. Vesuvius eruption and showed pictures of some of the belongings unburied in the ash and lava–one of which was a statue of a naked man sitting in an attitude of contemplation. Einstein was fascinated and kept turning back the pages to contemplate the contemplating man.

Einstein:  Can we read about naked people?

Danni: No. Turn the page. Find a different book, even.

So, then we came to the day of the new trampoline.

Einstein: Can naked people jump on trampolines?

Danni: (as an ultra-conservative Christian woman, compelled to discourage fun and public nudity) Absolutely not! Gross!

Oh, yeah, and then there was the E Coli in the water…

Right after I arrived–and had drank several glasses of tap water–the citizens found out E Coli had contaminated the water. E Coli can cause nausea, diarrhea, headaches, and other symptoms. The schools and eateries closed down. Everybody was peeved. I kept remembering those glasses of water in my system and those other symptoms. A day or two passed awaiting the bony hand of death, but finally I gave up and the grandsons and I tottered down to the library so I could use the wireless for my phone. We sat on the bench outside where a young guy approached with a paper, pen, and camera.

Guy: Do you mind if I ask you some questions about the water?

Danni: I’m just visiting my son. I don’t live here.

Guy: (looking up and down the deserted street) If you’ll be here a few days can I ask you some questions?

Danni: I guess. You really ought to go inside and talk to the librarian, though.

But he asked a few questions then wanted a picture.

Danni: (still has no clue the Guy is a newspaper reporter and not just nosy. Aren’t they supposed to flash a badge, or something?) Um…I don’t know what you’d want THAT for.

Guy: C’mon. Just a mug shot.

Danni: (dragging the grandsons into the picture) If they can be in it.

Guy: (takes picture) Do you know where the foot traffic would be in this town?

Danni: (looking down the deserted street) Um…this ain’t a very busy town…

Why didn’t I ask who the Guy was and why he was so nosy, you ask? I don’t know except I’m from the country and it never occurred to me.


The guy on the right? Priceless.

Not merely nosy, but treacherous, too, that Guy cut my grandsons out of the picture…but if you look closely, you can see parts of them near my ears. The E Coli problem was resolved in a week’s time and it was no more than a nuisance. Many people in this old world would be ever so grateful for that water just as it was, including the citizen on the far right of the clipping.

So, hm…let’s see. That covers most of the highlights of my visit. Clean-ish water and the time with my family and the new grandson was a blessing. Now, I’m glad to be back on the home place bossing around Gramps and our one lonely looking (and somewhat feral) dog, Nellie. Oh! I can fix Nellie’s problem. Excuse me just one second while I grab my phone to set a reminder…


Until next time, God bless all y’all and enjoy this video I helped the newest grandson make entitled I’m Pro-life. He did a great job.


*Tater McGriffith doesn’t necessarily endorse my blog, I just love him to pieces.






Indigestion And Other Things To Be Thankful For In November


Indigestion in a jar

All summer long we had almost no tomatoes on the vines in the garden, but finally in September, they decided to set fruit. That is why I was dressed up in a heavy coat, hoodie, and gloves picking tomatoes and peppers in November just prior to the first hard freeze. The tomatoes finished ripening in the house and I canned Gramps and myself some indigestion in a jar. Assuming all the jalapeño peppers were as mild as some I put in the chili last week was a serious mistake. The concoction above–heavy with unseeded peppers–will light your fire and almost make smoke come out your nose. I fear for our aging–and probably paper-thin–digestive tracts, but we’re thankful to finally have enough tomatoes and peppers to help us live dangerously.

Speaking of indigestion

Those of you who live in urban areas might be used to a burger joint or restaurant on every street corner, but out here in the sticks, not so much. One night last week, Gramps and I got caught needing supper in a town twelve miles away where the streets roll up at 8:00. Below were our choices at 7:45 pm:

  • Hurry into the good, independently owned hamburger joint as they are closing the doors, order from the cheesed-off girl at the counter, and then eat our food in the car as we drive home–very unsafe at our age.
  • Hurry into the gas station/Subway and order sandwiches from the cheesed-off girl who is trying to roll up the Subway counter.
  • (We scratched the drive-up off our list of places we can eat except in dire emergency.)
  • Or, meander into the Pizza Hovel, which we promise ourselves every time we will never EVER do again. However, we are too tired by 7:45 to hurry, so we choose meandering.

We sit at a sticky table and order from a sticky menu, but are still cautiously optimistic–the mouse traps have disappeared from the floor around the salad bar and no rodents are taking advantage of all that free food down there. (Sort of like the rat Templeton of Charlotte’s Web did at the county fair.)

The salad bar has a few problems–moldy tomatoes, pasta and bean salads that have possibly never been touched by suspicious diners since the 1980’s, and the plastic tray over the ice is broken. The lettuce bowl keeps trying to slink apologetically away beneath the crumbling lip of the tray, but a vigilant, no-nonsense, Pizza Hovel girl comes and nabs it, hauling it back before it can escape the reach of our salad tongs. Gramps and the young cowboy circling the salad bar looking for meat and dairy products snicker and make wise-cracks to the young lady, but she ignores them, which I think is best. (She is taller and beefier than either one of them and has some tattoos.)

While we eat, we visit with one of our long-time neighbors–a former firefighter and all around nice guy–and his large family at the next table. They finish before we do and when Gramps heads for the cash register, he finds the neighbors have already paid our bill.

Thankful For The Pizza Hovel

Our visit to the Pizza Hovel made us thankful for several things.

  • We’re thankful Gramps has still got his nit wit goin’ on after all these years.
  • We’re thankful our digestive tracts are still healthy enough to tolerate some abuse.
  • We’re thankful we had a place to eat that night which would have been the envy of many in the world who are forced to dig around in garbage dumps like Templeton the rat, just trying to survive.
  • And we’re really, really thankful we live in a place where we know our neighbors for miles around and they’re good folks. (Thank you so much, Paul and Dana, for your kindness. We appreciate it very much indeed, especially considering all those mouths y’all need to feed at your house.)

So, until next time, God bless all y’all and enjoy David Wesley doing a beautiful job on Wonderful Merciful Savior.

*This artist doesn’t necessarily endorse my blog, I just like him.

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