
No matter where a man finds his self; front porch, camp fire, or set atop a trusty mount, every now and then he jes' has to stop and do a little thoughtful ramblin', set a spell and get things put in perspective. Maybe he rambles to his self or maybe with a pard. My late pard, Brother Bob, jes' calls this sort of activity "Spit & Whittle" time. That's what were doin' here. Jes' spittin' & whittlin'. Glad you stopped by.

I have a lady friend whose birthday is just around the corner. She has been with me in the good times and the bad.
I can honestly say that, next to the Lord himself, I would not be the man I am today without her.
She has stood by me in some pretty tough times. I remember when I was in Vietnam, she made all the difference in my ability to keep on when I got weary. Those were some tough days for both of us.
Later, when I got married and started a family (some of the best times), she was unbelievable. She encouraged my every opportunity to excel and make good on promises made to provide.
In all probability I really don’t thank her enough. Sometimes we take friends for granted.
I read an acrostic recently. I’d like to dedicate it to my very special lady friend, who I have known, loved and appreciated for years. It’s just called, “Friends.”

It’s a quiet unmolested mornin’. Only the song of a few sparrows flittin’ here and there fill the air. ‘Cept the grouchy sound of a Bell’s vireo, chatterin’ and gripin’ over some happy bird’s life.
He chatters his way along a crooked, snarled trail of branches and twigs. Up one limb, down another; leaps four feet onto a tiny twig that would hardly hold one of those sparrows. I see panic in his eyes as he is scrabblin’ to land on another more suitable perch. Then he stops. Tail twitchin’, curlin’ and straightening. Off again. In a flurry of furry moves he disappears into that leafy maze – I’m lookin’ at branches movin’ but he’s clean outa sight.
A feller needs to consider carefully what he’s fixin’ to say to the One who created all I’m takin’ in this mornin’. I’m thinking’, “Better get this right Doc.” (c) RWHollar
May 23, 2016
Not every written word in western life turns out to be “Cowboy Poetry.” Sometimes the thoughts a man has when he’s sittin’ quiet and alone just have to follow a logical path. Somehow that path turns into a kind of philosophy about how things work. Sometimes it’s real clear. At other times the thoughts just have to meander awhile. Eventually a man ends up where he didn’t know he was goin’. Fer example: I was thinkin’ recently, “How can one Scripturally motivated prayer every day make a difference in anyone’s life?”
As I was sittin’, contemplatin’, the Lord said to me, “Son, when you come to your secret place of prayer and devotion, I’m going to make sure you don’t leave empty-handed. When you open My Word and I show you an insight, you can be sure that it will impact the life for which it was given. It might be yours. It might be a child, a nation or a friend. You take that insight and pray it over them. The next day will be the same; then again and again, till one thought turned prayer becomes two, three, and four. Years down the road those daily insights, dewdrops of mercy, have turned into little trickles. Those trickles turn into streams and streams turn into to creeks. Creeks turn into rivers flowing from on high, over falls and then empty into great gorges moving steadily to mighty oceans.” That’s what God said.
So it all begins when one little dewdrop of water falls quietly, unnoticed and unseen. That dewdrop falls silently, softly, unnoticed into a leafy forest bed, one upon another. One by one the drops form a trickle moving slowly, steadily down ancient pathways. Leaves and branches form tiny estuaries of mist and dew leaving small watery trails behind them.
An insightful pilgrim travelin’ Oregon soil captured exactly this scene as he took in the beauty of Wahcella Falls: “Many powerful amazing things start from secret sources…No one may know all the good things you do quietly every day [the God thoughts you have or the prayers that you pray]. But some day their result will pour forth in glory [Behold, a small drop can become a grand story.]” (1)
A prayin’ dad, a prayin’ mom, granddad, grandmother – these come quietly day by day with a steady drip, steady prayers that become a silent, secret trickle. Those dewdrops, all taken together, one by one, over time become mighty powerful rivers and finally great oceans of prayer.
So I’ve come to the conclusion that God is found mostly in quiet, out of the way secret places. He speaks to men not so much to write books, give grand speeches or eloquent sermons. God intends mainly to simply set His folks to prayin’ in secret.
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1 Ken Duncan, (Australian photographer), Walking With God In America, 2008, Thomas Nelson Publishers, (Pg. 121).
2 Some thoughts here were inspired by Karl Rahner (1904-1984); The Contemporaries Meet The Classics On The HolySpirit; Compiled by Randall Harris; 2004, Howard Publishing, (Pg. 40).
DEWDROPS & TRICKLES
This piece comes straight out of my Morning Watch notes, April 4, 2013.
It was one of those pensive morning times with the Lord; one of those
times when He just dumps a load and you do the best
you can to pick it all up.
© RWHollar, http://www.bootheelramblins.blogspot.com, January 19, 2014
I have some dear friends who attend my church. Their names are James Milburn and his mom, Jean. James is a retired Air Force Staff Sergeant. His mom is as sweet and pleasant a lady as ever was born. James is always there to give me a pleasant greeting and an encouraging word. When Christmas rolls around he never forgets my family. I get a card from him every year.
This year he gave me a card and a special Christmas piece written by his mom. Since this blog is just a place for some ramblin’ it seemed fittin’ that I should share this beautiful writing by Jean Milburn.

Some time ago I’d been working with some people, former prison inmates and their families; just sharin’ the love of Jesus with them, tryin’ to meet their needs. A man (name’s James Hazlewood) was helping. At some point during the evening’s activities he stepped up to me and shoved a napkin into my hand with some writin’ on it. I put it in my pocket nonchalant like. Later, when I got home, I pulled the napkin outa my pocket and read it. What a blessing. Thanks pard. You’re a blessing.
This is what he wrote. I just call it…
Hazlewood
Just an old Gospel cowboy ridin’ on a wilderness range;
But he rides for the Master, gathering up His strays.
And he seeks for halt and lame ones and ornery crosseyed bulls;
He knows they are all precious to the Savior who he serves.
When at last the herd is gathered safe in the heavenly home;
He’ll hear his name called softly and then “Partner, well done.”