"Far Away"

 Can you be more specific,

The talk was way too slow,

The cowboy I was talking to,

Was not someone I know.

I was searching for a ranch house,

Way out there in the sticks,

My GPS stopped working,

I was late and in a fix.

So I pulled into a parking lot,

Of the small “Last Hope Café,”

Outside was tied a saddle horse,

On a bright, though windy, day.

The old cowboy at the counter,

Was picking up his meal,

And he’s the one I talked to,

His surprise was very real.

I said the place I’m looking for,

And gave the rancher’s name,

He stood and thought a minute,

So long my hope went lame.

And then he tried to tell me,

How far away I was,

And said why everybody,

Gets lost, it was because,

Time had forgot this zip code,

With no cell tower near,

Because of so few people,

Most moved away from here.

There used to be more residents,

Almost a little town,

But that was a long time ago,

Just a handful now around.

The ranch that I was looking for,

Starts right across the way,

And their old ranch headquarters,

Where the bunkhouse hands all stayed,

Was only ‘bout a mile away,

But then he said, no more,

To a far and distant section,

They moved in ’64.

And that’s because their cattle,

Had a real bad time that year,

Was hot, no rain all summer,

Then floods and blizzards here.

But then oil was discovered,

And a gas well here and there,

And it wasn’t just the calf crop,

Their expenses had to bear.

So they built a brand new ranch house,

And a whole new set of pens,

Relocated even farther back,

It’s just hard to find and then,

He said the wells had all run dry,

And half the cattle sold,

Thank God the ranch was all paid off,

The hands who stayed were old.

But on those fifty sections,

They cowboyed still you see,

And I was sent to tell ‘em,

‘Bout a documentary,

We’d film life that’s still western,

Where there’s authenticity,

But I wasn’t sure I’d find it,

Where that old ranch might be.

The cowboy with his sack lunch,

Stepped back upon his horse,

And plumb forgot to tell me,

Where the ranch house was, of course.

Dang it, that old codger,

I didn’t get his name,

And then the waitress told me,

He was the very same,

Rancher I was looking for,

But down the road and gone,

I looked out of the window,

And knew she was not wrong.

The reason that I share this,

Is because I’ve thought a lot,

‘Bout all the things we search for,

And all the blessings got.

Maybe sometimes it’s better,

To leave some things alone,

Just let folks go on living,

And treasure what they own.

The blessing of the Good Lord,

Who through good times and bad,

All the gains and losses,

And everything they’ve had,

Makes what they say go slowly,

But means more than they say,

Good people and good horses,

Good country far away.

“Unless the Lord builds a house, the work of the builders is wasted…” (Psalm 127:1, NLT)

What are you building? In the poem, a lifetime of memories is summed up in a brief conversation about building a ranching life and business. The ups and downs, the gains and the losses are all part of the story. But the bottom line for all of us is what the Lord is building in and through us. The Psalmist recognizes this. No matter what we build, it doesn’t amount to much unless the Lord blesses it. No matter what we gain or lose, that’s what life is all about.

Lord, help us to build the life and legacy You want for us to have, in Jesus’ name.

Art by Don Weller, donweller.com. Used by permission. Thanks, Don, and God bless you.