Seed of My Heart

Seed of My Heart

Robert K. Stevenson

Copyright © 2014 Robert K. Stevenson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

All scripture references are The Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version - containing the Old and New Testaments.

Published by Thomas Nelson & Sons - 1953

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ISBN: 978-1-4497-6825-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-6824-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012917796

WestBow Press rev. date: 02/10/2014

Contents

Chapter 1: The Ranch

Chapter 2: The Ride

Chapter 3: Nic and Gordon

Chapter 4: Reflections

Chapter 5: Fishing

Chapter 6: Shaken

Chapter 7: Pieces

Chapter 8: On the Mountain

Chapter 9: Jack

Chapter 10: Felix

Chapter 11: Dusty Road - Summer Ends

Chapter 12: Renewal

Chapter 13: Last days

Chapter 14: The Letter

Chapter 15: Water Break

Chapter 16: Leaving the Mountain

Chapter 17: Epilog: The Kingdom - Hula Valley - Northern Israel

Dedication

I WOULD like to dedicate this little book as part of the plan and purpose the Lord has for my life. Only in Him do we find our uniqueness and goodness. If in any manner this reading experience brings revelation, wisdom and humility to any man, woman or child, then that is my fervent prayer.

I should also call attention to both of my grand daughters Madeline and Macy, whose lives have been an amazing revelation and blessing to me. They have always loved a good story and served as worthy inspiration for this effort.

I thank my wife Donna for her patience, understanding and love as she knows better than any, my heart and passion for the written word.

Perhaps it goes without saying, but I shall in any event say it: I also wanted to leave something behind for my sons Mat and Boe. It is a simple offering, but as years go by, may they find a part of me here in the words and pages shinning a light on the pure incredible joy which is the revelation of Jesus Christ.

Finally, I thank my sister in Christ, Jenny, for being a focus group of one. She diligently read this text week by week for over a year; and has always been faithfully there to encourage me.

Seed of My Heart

B LESSED is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. He is like a tree planted by water, that sends out its’ roots by the stream, and does not fret when heat comes, for its leaves remain green, and is not anxious in the year of the drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit.

Je remiah 17 verses 7 & 8.

Chapter 1: The Ranch

T HE grayness of the morning’s first light gave way to a shimmer of brightness from the fire. The dog moved just enough to reposition his head and then settled his nose into a ragged wool blanket and closed his eyes in peace as the rain splattered down on his master’s summer home.

The old man reached for the near boiling pot and splashed full the teetering tin cup with the brown joy of morning. He stared at it for a moment knowing that it was still too hot. When the steam rose to his tired eyes, he blinked; and as the little warm fog covered his entire face, he mumbled… Thank you Lord.

Thunder rolled in the East and became much louder as he opened the door and stepped onto the porch. As he began sipping his coffee, the rain water dripped predictably from the porch cover onto his shirt. The new summer rain was gentle and warm on this soggy morning. Through the breaking mist on the horizon emerged a red ball; ‘a sweet fire in a soft rain,’ he thought.

Skip had now made his way to his master’s side and sat quietly staring at the herds of sheep and goats. Beyond the searing pink light, there was something still hidden in the darkness; something unknown, something waiting for the old man. At the moment, it lie in slumber – ‘but soon, it would awake and bring change,’ he thought. He could feel it in his bones, and often whispered to his spirit.

‘One thing for sure,’ he mused; ‘he and his dog would be out of a job when this summer ended.’

Darker clouds birthed themselves from large to gigantic proportions; their last effort at inflating themselves before they dumped their appointed cargo. They would be gone in another day and the sun would lay on the mountain once again. The grass and thistle flower would soon twist upward toward the bold blueness of summer – the final summer for the old man, his last chance on the mountain. After that, it would be on to a different place known only to his maker.

Corn grits simmered in the pan and the smell of bacon filled the small cabin; then eggs rattled and popped against the side of the pan. He could hear the bleating of lambs and the barking of his dogs. One more day was underway; one more chance to gaze upon the mountain and bask in the warming summer sun.

‘Being 11 miles from the end of the gravel road had its’ advantages after all those other years’, the old man thought; but soon he would be looking for Elliot’s pickup filled with supplies for his last shepherd’s assignment. The lambs would be strong enough in another week; then they could go – three hundred sheep, a few dozen goats, Skip, the shepherd dog, Castor, the Rhodesian Ridgeback and Buddy the yellow Lab – and his trusty eight-year old mare Essie.

Faded pictures hung on the wall. As the old man said a prayer of thanksgiving over his breakfast, faded memories flickered in and out of his mind. He smiled at the faces that danced before him – faces of his life, so long ago – now those faces had changed, and his world had changed too in ways that most people wouldn’t understand. Many of the plans from his early years were now lost, the dreams had fallen by the roadside; and yet despite a small tear rolling downhill from the edge of his nearly blind eye, the old man had joy.

Life had come with hardness and bitter losses, and moments of fleeting glory. The old man’s promise of youthful optimism would seem to many as dried up and cast aside. However, despite aching muscles and withering bones, he still relished the opportunity to trek up the mountain he loved, one more time with his herd of sheep and goats. And on that mountain, the old man would seek out a place of peace; and at times would find a word dancing on the wind.

Despite all the setbacks, wasted years and loss; some where in his heart, the old man had heard the whisper of his Father. In a single breath, within the broken and turmoiled soil of a nearly solitary and invisible life, the Lord had found him - and when He whispered to him, He planted and watered seeds of hope.

Two days later, the sun broke again like a bursting fire once again. The light from the red clouds streaked over the horizon and the glow poured through the window. The old man was up and moving quickly. Four days now with no rain. ‘The supplies should be here today,’ he thought; but right now, there was one more issue that needed his attention. He wanted no uninvited company going up the mountain.

Essie tossed her head over the top corral pole as she saw him coming with the rolled oats. At 7:15 in the morning, even the crickets hummed with anticipation of the new day. Buddy and Castor were now barking at the red squirrel dancing across the roof top of the old calving shed. Skip fidgeted around the hay pile sniffing out whatever had ventured in there during the cool part of the night; but then stopped and sniffed a light morning breeze. He cocked his head and pointed his nose east toward the creek, then whined.

As she nibbled at her breakfast, the old man threw a saddle on her and cinched it tight. He then walked back to the house for his second cup and his 30-30 Carbine. He sat for a moment sipping coffee and put two more rounds in the gun; then added a large handful of ammo to his side vest pocket.

The sheep had pushed even closer to the sheds during the evening and the goats fidgeted about often raising their heads from the green grass and then staring expectantly into the slow summer breeze.

Suddenly without a sound, Castor turned from the shed and ran the hundred feet from the barn to a small bluff overlooking the valley floor some fifty feet below. The old man watched the hound for a moment, and now was more determined than ever to find the something or someone that had strayed into his domain.

Skip jolted into a sprint for the pasture. Soon he was circling the loose pattern of outlying sheep and pushing them closer to the main herd which were now all but camped around the house, barns and corrals.

The old man threw his leg over the mare and she jumped ahead with measured excitement, then slowed and pulled her head in near her chest and plodded dutifully ahead.

‘There was something or someone new in the valley,’ the old man thought as he pushed Essie forward. All three dogs were now just twenty feet in front of him; walking, stopping, staring; then stepping ahead.

The giant bird lifted upward from his overnight rocky perch and vaulted into the first moving breeze of day. The Golden Eagle stroked his mammoth eight-foot wing span against the cool morning air. In moments, little winds twisted and darted about his head and neck and he gently turned. Soon he soared over four-hundred feet above the valley floor.

Iissa was over twenty years old and had lived in this valley all his life, and of this he was sure: he was appointed to be the guardian of this place. Like this morning, as in most others, he chose to fly high before breakfast and water. There, high above it all, he could see the old man’s cabin, the herds and the small steam that started from the high mountain and flowed westward toward the river.

He turned in a large circle and headed toward the clouds now wrapping themselves about the very top of the mountain. This covering of gray and white vapors danced and flowed, resembling a long shawl trying to hold onto a secret - something not revealed easily for man or beast to see. Iissa had seen it and so had the old man. This special place, this sanctuary, Iissa searched out daily. This high tabernacle of all the things in life, held secrets known only to those who chose to find them.

Essie stepped carefully as the small group descended the hill and entered the thickets of trees and tall grass. Broken deadfall was twisted about as spring rains