Shoot!

I have been thinking about my dad a great deal lately.  I miss his laugh and enthusiasm for life. He loved the outdoors and taught his boys to love it as well. There were four boys in our family and dad loved each one of us in the way that we each needed to be loved. I have many good memories of my father but, one time stands out among the rest. It started with making a bow.

                We lived in a housing track on the south side of Blythe California. Our house butted up against a well and pump house that distributed water for our area.  We had built a basket weave, redwood fence around our property and Dad set up a couple of hay bales against the fence in front of the pump house. My dad loved archery, and taught us boys to shoot while we were young. This was in the early 60’s. At that time I had never heard of a compound bow; I am sure they were around, but we shot re-curve bows, and shot instinctively, without sights.

                When I was old enough to shoot, dad bought a little green nylon bow that had about a 15 lb pull. Dad made arrows for it out of cedar.  From where we stood to shoot, the hay bales were about 30 yards away. With those cedar arrows and that little 15lb bow you had to aim about a foot and a half above the target. I increased in accuracy, and could lob arrows into the bales of hay more often than I did into the pump house. After awhile he saw that it was time to do something, so we looked around for a better bow that I could handle.

                I do not remember exactly why, but we chose to buy a bow blank from Herter’s catalogue. It probably had to do with price. In 1966 a Bear Kodiak Magnum sold for $65. I think we got the bow blank for around $20 from Herter’s. To put those prices into perspective, the average income in 1966 was about $4 an hour or $6500 a year. That makes $20 dollars sound like a large amount of money.  Anyone who hunted or shot a bow in the 60’s, knows about Herter’s mail order. You could buy anything to do with archery from them. We ended up buying a re-curve bow blank, which required cutting the sight window and grip, and finishing with stain and lacquer. As I recall it took about 3 weekends to complete.

When we finished, I had a bow with a 45 pound pull at 28 inches. It was a beauty. I got to where I could put a group of twelve arrows from 30 yards in a paper plate pretty consistently.  I also found out that when you missed the hay bales and hit the pump house it made a very nice hole. After a few months of shooting daily I felt I was ready to go hunting and asked dad if I could hunt with him the following season. He agreed and we began to plan the trip.  I think archery season was in August in those days, but I am not sure, now days for that area the season is in October. I remember the day we took off to hunt it was hot.  That was no big deal we lived in Blythe California; the average temperature during August is in the 110 degree range.  It was supposed to be hot.

                 We hunted up and down the Colorado River for three of four days. We rose early every morning, set up around alfalfa fields with binoculars plastered to our faces, and looked.  I enjoyed the mornings; it was cool and provided a chance to rest your legs.  We saw plenty of deer, but nothing that was shoot-able.  

A legal buck was forked horn or better, all we saw were doe and fawn. The first time I spotted a doe grazing in a field of alfalfa was very exciting. After a day or two it became discouraging to see deer and not be able to shoot. We stayed on our stands until mid morning. Then would drive along alfalfa fields and brush patches looking for sign. In the evening we would find another stand and sit until after dark. There were a few times where dad found sign along a thick patch of brush and we would slowly stalk from either side towards each other. That tactic was never successful, but it broke up the monotony of sitting.

I woke up on our last day of the hunt tired, hot, and discouraged.  I think dad was little discouraged too. We had breakfast and talked about what we would do that day.  It turned out to be the same routine. We saw nothing that day, not even doe. By around four in the afternoon we were both ready to call it quits and go home. We packed up and headed back towards Blythe. We were down around sixth avenue close to the river. As we drove out of the area dad spotted an irrigator walking towards his car. We stopped and dad talked to him in Spanish about deer. We climbed back in the car and he looked at me and asked if I would like to try one more spot.  The irrigator told him that he had seen a big buck that morning in an area behind where we now were. I beamed and nodded my head yes; the excitement level was once again high.

Turning the car around for one more try, we cruised around for about 10 minutes not seeing anything. As we drove over a small carry ditch, we saw him. In my little mind’s eye he looked ten foot tall with tree branches for antlers. Dad did not stop; he drove by and parked by an old cottonwood tree. We sat in the car and stared out the windshield for a few minutes while dad gathered his thoughts. He started by saying “Son, what do you think?” I am sure I blabbered something; I can’t remember what for sure. While I blabbered Dad was getting a plan together in his mind.

After quieting me down he laid out the plan. Because the buck was down in side of the dry ditch, I could crawl on the outside staying below the bank and not be seen. I gathered my gear together, got a few last minute instructions, and started the crawl. The ground was hard and dry with alfalfa stubble jabbing me as I crawled. I tried to crawl in different positions, while being as quiet as possible. I looked back once or twice to get encouragement from my hunting partner, he would nod and smile and that kept me going. We had guessed that the place to stand up was the third or fourth irrigation check. As I reached the fourth check, I began to smell a very bitter smell. It smelled a little like a skunk but not as strong.

I slowly turned my head and looked back at dad. He was squatting down and made a motion for me to stand up. I took a deep breath and stood. There are no words to describe what I felt the instant I stood and saw the buck at bows length away, staring back at me. His mouth was full of grass. It was as if time stood still. The buck stopped chewing and his mouth hung open as if to say, “what the…?”  We stared at each other for what seemed like an hour. I kept waiting for him to put his head down and turn just a little more sideways so that I could get a better shot at him. Actually I would have preferred if he would have backed away ten or fifteen feet, he was way too close. I had never shot at anything that close to me before. I had a feeling that if I stretched out my bow to draw the arrow back it would have touched him; he was that close.

Coming back to reality I heard in the distance “Shoot, shoot, shoot the buck son”.  The buck heard it also; he came out of his stupor, shook his head, spit out the mouthful of hay and jumped up on the other side of the bank.  He looked back one more time with disbelief and I think he said “How the…?” and then disappeared from sight. The reality of the whole situation hit me like a ton of bricks.  I realized that I missed a great opportunity. Little did I know it would be one of the best chances of my life; nor did I realize at that time that people go through their whole lives and never have a shot like that.  I drug myself back to dad. He was supportive, but he was disappointed also.  I will always regret not shooting, and cannot explain why I did not shoot other than I was twelve and got buck fever.  I am grateful for the opportunity to see how much my dad loved me. He let his son go after a once in a life time buck even though he had never shot a deer himself. As always my dad put his family first.

I have thought about that story many times since then and always regretted that dad never killed a deer. So I have decided to do something about it. I just got a hold of my dad’s old bow this year. My brother brought it back around Christmas time. He was going through the house looking for odds and ends, because a bunch of junior genius’s broke in to the house and stole all of dad guns. We were all broken hearted about that, but what can you do.  Anyway, I have dad’s old bow it is a Ben Pearson Silver sovereign 50# pull at 28”. I got the idea of taking it hunting this year. I have started the process to determine whether it is in good enough condition to take it hunting, and I am writing an article called “The Old Bow Project” where I will chronicle from start to finish the things I go through in getting the bow and myself, ready to hunt. I will include as many memories about dad as I can remember.  Whether I can shoot his bow or not I am going to take it with me, so I will have a piece of him along on the hunt.

Thanks for stopping by and tell others who may be interested about my site.  Your comments and suggestions are welcome.

Cliff

A Summer Celebration Part 2

                The pickup was blue, and looked new.  The glare of the windshield prevented Brice from seeing who was driving; he could see a man’s arm resting on the door of the driver’s side. The arm waved, and Brice waved back. The truck pulled into the drive way and stopped short of the cleared area. The door opened and two people climbed out.  Brice did not know them.  The man was tall and thin, with him was a pretty woman wearing a little black hat on top of neatly braided black hair. She had red lipstick on and against her white skin it made her lips glow like an ember in a camp fire. As they walked towards Brice, he realized that he was staring. The woman flushed slightly and Brice turned his head and coughed.  The man spoke. “Hello young man, my name is Gaylord Rightfield, this is my wife Connie. We know Doyle and Heidi Dunigan.  We heard that your family may be related. Is your Pa around?”

“No, he and momma went into town to learn more, and to visit Uncle Doyle and Aunt Heidi.”

 The man smiled, “So you are related. Do you have any more information about what happened?”  Brice handed the note to the man, who quickly handed it to his better half. “Don’t have my glasses” he explained sheepishly. She read the note out loud, folded the paper and said, “That is what we heard.” She handed the note back to Brice.

 Realizing that these nice people might have driven a long way to pay their respect, Brice mimicked what he had heard his father say many times, “why don’t you come in and sit awhile. Make yourself at home.” The man looked at his wife and said, we don’t want to impose, but we could use a drink of water to wash away the dust.” Brice smiled and said “You are welcome come and sit.” The pretty woman acknowledged his comment and walked towards the truck. She called out, “Joey, Jenny, you all come on and get a drink of water”. A boy of about 10 years of age vaulted out of the back of the truck and jogged towards his dad who was already pumping water into the bucket.

 Brice heard the tail gate squeak and hit the end of the chains that held it out flat when let down. A girl climbed out of the back and strolled towards her mother who waited with hand out stretched. Brice’s jaw hit the ground, the sky started spinning, and he reached out for something to steady him.  Of course nothing was there and he stumbled forward a little bit awkwardly catching himself. The girl placed a hand on her mouth and giggled. Brice turned shades of red, purple and green all at once. The girl was wearing a red dress, with a white sweater over the top. Brice could not believe what he saw standing in front him. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life. Her mother looked at Brice, and said, “Son, are you alright?” As he continued to stare Brice said “No ma’am, I mean yes ma’am.” Mrs. Rightfield choked back a laugh, and said, “Brice this is my daughter Jenny Rightfield.  Jenny this is Brice Dunigan.” Mrs. Rightfield placed an arm around her daughter and said, “Come on honey and get a drink.”

Jenny and her mother walked to the pump where her father and brother were standing. After Jenny took a sip of water she turned in Brice’s direction and gave a little grin, Brice had absently bent over to pet the dog just to be doing something. The little grin made him stumble tripping over the hound’s legs and land on his face. Mr. Rightfield reached out and helped Brice off of the ground.  Mr. Rightfield said, “You ok?”   Brice dusted himself off and replied “Huh, yes sir, I just tripped.”

They all took a seat on the benches and enjoyed the shade.  “Were you all planning a picnic or something?” Mrs. Rightfield queried.

Picking at a skinned place on his elbow Brice replied, “Yes, every year at this time, give or take a couple of weeks the whole Dunigan family get together and have dinner. Ma says it is a family tradition started way back when everyone had farms. They did it to celebrate the harvest. Now they just call it a summer celebration”

Mrs. Rightfield nodded, “Yes that is an old tradition many families’ still take part in. Brice, does anyone in your family, Uncles and Aunts, still farm?”

Brice was looking at the ground trying to avoid eye contact with Jenny who was leaning on her father.  He said, “Not full time, I have one uncle that has 80 acres of hay, but it is just for his animals and he sells a little.” 

Mr. Rightfield joined in, “That would be Clyde Dunigan, over in Midland. I bought some hay from him last year. He has a nice place over there.  It gets pretty hot, a lot hotter than here.” 

“Yes sir it does”

Mrs. Rightfield asked, “How many of your kin were coming over today?”

Brice thought a moment “I think everyone in the area, which would be about five families about thirty people plus our family.” 

Mr. Rightfield stood and stretched and Brice’s stomach sank. They were going to leave. They were going to drive off and he would never see Jenny again.

“Well, we had better get. We don’t want to be no trouble for your family, especially with all that has happened.”

They all stood Jenny grabbed her dad’s hand and they started walking to the car. She looked at Brice and said, “Thank you for the water.”

Brice floated just above the ground, starring at her with a dumb look on his face. Something came out of his mouth but he was not sure what he said.  She smiled and walked towards the truck with her family. His feet touched the ground and once again reality struck like a thunder bolt. If he did not do something, he would never see her again.  “Ma’am, uh Sir?”

They all turned to look at him. “Uh well, we will have plenty of food, we always do, and well, since you came by to pay your respects, I know my momma would want you all to stay and share a meal with us.”

“Thank you son, but we need to be getting back home” From behind the house Brice could hear the old hound Talker, began to bark.  They all turned towards the road and saw a cloud of dust following an old pickup.

“I think that is Momma and Daddy.  Sir, my apologies for arguing but would you please wait and say hi to my folks, I know they would like to meet you.”

Mr. Rightfield looked at his wife and smiled, “Of course son, we’ll say hi to your folks.”  A feeling of relief spread through Brice that was telegraphed to his face and then visible to the whole world. Jenny smiled.

The Dunigan family truck pulled into the drive way and parked away from the house to make room for anyone else who came by.  Virgil Dunigan stepped out of the truck and walked towards Brice and the Rightfield family.  “Hello, I’m Virgil Dunigan.”  Rightfield grabbed Virgil’s hand and shook with a firm country handshake. “Glad to meet you, I am Gaylord Rightfield; this is my wife Connie and my two children Joey and Jenny. We did not want to impose on you but we are friends with your brother Doyle, We heard there was some kind of accident and wanted to make sure everyone was alright. Did you hear anything?”

Virgil motioned to the bench and they all sat down. “Well they are both in the hospital, but out of danger. Doyle broke his leg where the door was pushed in by the other vehicle and Heidi has a big bruise and cuts on her head and neck. They think she may have a concussion.  The doctor wanted to keep them over night just to be on the safe side.” There was a collective sigh of relief around the table. This was good news.

Virgil said, “Gaylord, we have a passel of folks on their way over with more food than twenty families could eat, would you and yours join us for a meal?”  The Rightfield’s looked at each other and nodded in agreement. “Thank you for your hospitality we will join you for a meal, Can we be of assistance in the preparation?”  “I have some turkeys to pluck and fish to clean; you just sit here and enjoy the shade. Gaylord jumped up and said “Show me the fish, you want em  gutted, tailed, finned  and headed?”  Virgil smiled, “That is perfect, I got a pair of rubber gloves over there if you want to keep your hands from smelling like fish.”  He looked towards the house and saw Patricia and Connie Rightfield giving directions to the children. He noticed something odd about Brice. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something was different in the way he was acting. 

A Summer Celebration (modified) part 1 By Cliff Mansfield

“Is that them Brice?”

“I think so Scotty looks like Pa with the Henry rifle on his shoulder and Ma in the middle tween Pa and Donnie.”  The two boys shaded their eyes as three tiny specks appeared on the horizon. Distance and heat waves made it Impossible to tell exactly what they were seeing.  The two boys starred into the shimmering expanse waiting, watching with anticipation because they had news.  Scotty the youngest of three boys wore a pair of pants with holes in both knees. In his hands he held a BB-gun. Brice the oldest wore an orange wind breaker over an old t-shirt advertising green tractors. Brice stood with an arm draped over Scotty’s shoulder. The wind ruffled their hair, and moved on to kick up a tiny dust devil.  Scotty rubbed at a speck in his eye, and pulled the old cowboy hat down around his ears to keep the northern breeze from knocking it off his head and rolling it down the dirt path again.

                Scotty cocked the BB-gun and aimed at a twig in the road, “What do you think they will say when they get here?”  Brice looked at his bare feet and said. “I speck they’ll want to know what happened, and where the rest of the people are.”  The three forms began to take on human like shapes that wavered under the hot summer sun.  Not thin, but not fat, sometimes crooked sometimes strait.   Brice elected to stay home and watch Scotty, who was getting over a bad cold. He would have rather gone with Pa hunting and fishing, but knew that his Ma could use a break. His ma loved to go whenever she could, which had not been very often lately because of all that had to be done to raise three boys and support a husband.

                Behind the boys, in the shade of an old live oak, was the home that gave shelter to a settler’s family.  Made from rough sawn timber hauled in from the distant mountains, it was the center of life for this family in the sparsely settled valley.  Bare earth surrounded the modest dwelling. Corrals and a lean-to shed could be seen behind the house. In front of the house and beside the family garden was a row of tables. Actually it was four saw horses with planks laid across them, and covered with hand sewn table cloths. On the make shift tables were mason jars. Some of the jars were filled with jam, and some filled with local honey.  Fresh cut flowers were set in copper pots in the center of each table.

                The three individuals were now within shouting distance, and it was very clear who they were.  The head of the family walked with a slow ground eating stride and carried a rifle slung over one shoulder and a stringer of fish over the other. Next to him tugging at his overalls was a child carrying a big old Tom Turkey that had been shot behind the ear.  Besides the boy was the mother. She pulled a small cart that was filled with wild vegetables and two more turkeys each also shot in the head. They were within one hundred yards of their homestead when the mother spoke up breaking the silence that had fallen between them under the strain of their individual loads.

                “Virgil, Scotty and Brice are at the edge of the road up yonder. Do you see them?”  “Yes, they have been standing there ever since the place came into view.”   The middle son Donnie yelled out, “Hey, what are you two doing? Get back to work.”  “Donald, quit your yellin.” The Mother scolded. “Virgil, I don’t see no trucks in the yard. They was supposed to be here by now. It must be past noon.”  Tugging at a gold pocket watch Virgil snapped open the engraved lid. “Yes, it is about 12:45, plenty of time for them to be here. That may be why the youngins are waiting for us. They must have news.”

                The small boy standing near the homestead dropped his gun and began to trot down the road, after hearing the unintelligible shout from his older brother Donnie who was with his parents.  Brice the   bent over and picked up the BB-gun and turned back towards the farmhouse. He knew there would be questions so he pulled up a bench by one of the tables and waited.  The shade was nice after standing in the sun for well over an hour. He walked to the pump and shot a squeaky blast of water into the tin cup that hung on the handle. The water was sweet and cold, not too many things ever tasted so good. The only thing that came close was one of the ice cold sodas at the Bernard Corners Market. Since that was a luxury, it happened very few times, but the wait was always worth it.  

                He looked up as his mother and father stepped into the driveway and walked towards him. Scotty bounced around in front of his parents chattering about all that happened since the parents had left some hours ago. Reaching the shade Virgil sat his rifle against the live oak and walked to the pump. He filled the tin cup with water and handed it to his wife as she drew near. “Here you go sweetie, you earned it.” Grateful she took a long drink and then handed it back. Donald came forward for his drink and then Virgil refilled the cup and took a long refreshing swig of the cool water.

                As the big man turned away from the pump he reached out and caught Scotty as he leaped in the air. Spinning around the two laughed. Donald and Brice watched and waited. As Virgil bent over to set Scotty down they darted forward and tackled their father.  With a tangle of arms and legs they fell to the ground laughing. After a few minutes of wrestling Virgil regained his feet. These boys were growing fast. He felt the power and the weight of them when they knocked him to the ground. This made him smile.  He walked over to where one of the benches had been pulled out and sat down.  “Ok you’ all come over and lets here what happened. Little Scotty has been trying to tell us something about the sheriff and ambulances and what not.  Brice, please tell us what happened.”

                “Okay Daddy, Well Mr. Douglas was down to the market when Mr. Montgomery from the bank came over to him and told him that there was a message for you. Mr. Montgomery knows that Mr. Douglas lives just down the road from us.” Brice held and envelope in his hands and handed it to his father.  Virgil began to open the envelope as Brice continued. “Mr. Douglas said he did not read the message but had heard from someone who saw it that Uncle Doyle and Aunt Heidi had been in a wreck out on the interstate.” Brice chocked back the emotion that tried to surface through his voice.

                Brice saw the worry unfold on his daddy’s face as his father read the short memo. When Virgil finished the brief note, he bowed his head slightly, then stood with resolve and said. “Come on ya’ll pile in the truck lets go find out what’s happened.”  Brice looked up and met his father’s eyes.  Those steel gray eyes firm but fair had always been a comfort to Brice. , Even when they stared at him with judgment because of some wrong decision the young boy had made, he knew his father loved him and those eyes always represented strength and stability.  Today they relayed concern and a need to trust. Brice knew what his father wanted, but wanted to hear him say it. Virgil turned to his wife.  “Patricia, I am going to have Brice stay here in case some of the other kin show up and want to know what has happened.” He turned again and looked at Virgil, he handed the note back to him. “Here son, read this and if anyone comes by and wants to know what has happened, you tell em.”

                Brice watched as his mother and father loaded the family into the old pick-up. He could see the concerned look on his mothers face as his father passed on the information in the note. When they turned onto the dirt road that led to town, his mother looked back and waved. She had pressed a handkerchief to her face to hide the tears. Brice turned back towards the house a knot had formed in his stomach. He walked by the old hound snoozing next to oak tree. For a minute Brice thought how great it would be to be a hound dog with nothing to do but lie around, eat, sleep, and once in a while chase a coon through the woods. What a life.

                Plopping down next to the big brown dog, Brice laid his head on the dogs’ haunches and pulled the note from his pocket.

                                From: County Sheriff

                                To: Virgil Dunigan

                                Re: notify next of kin

This is to inform you that on August 22 1964 at about 0700 your brother and sister-in-law were involved in an accident on interstate 41 two miles south of Greenville. They have been rushed to the county hospital in Greenville. Their condition was listed as serious prior to admittance.  Their current condition is unknown. The phone number for County Hospital is unknown. Please contact your local police department for more information.

                Responding Officer: Ben Hutchins

Brice laid the note on the ground and stared up through the branches of the large tree. Brice dozed a little and daydreamed little.  He knew where the county hospital was. They went last year to see Donald. He had fallen out of this very same oak tree pretending he was superman. He broke his arm in two places. He was nearly hung too, because his cape wrapped around a branch as he fell. The doctor said it was good he used clothes pins to hold his cape on. If he would have tied it in a knot Donald would have not been so lucky.  Brice could still see the piece of cloth hanging way up in the branches. Time passed quickly.  As he lie in the shade thinking about the county hospital he heard the whining sound of a truck being shifted into low gears to slow down. He grabbed the note and stood up, looking to see who was near.

The Wounded Hand of Grace

              The insidious plan was hatched before recorded history, long before man and woman were created and given a place in the garden.  In the heart of one close to the Father there festered wickedness too sinister to comprehend, too vile to imagine. His beauty covered the dank hollows of monstrous intention that lurked just beneath the surface. It was not enough that this enemy of purity and love choose to challenge perfection; he needed followers to complete his plan.  A rebellion was formed on the Holy Mountain of God. This foe of the Devine deceived by his own beauty chose to challenge the power and might of the creator of the Universe. Known as the angel of light and the father of lies, he had eons to prepare the subtleties needed to fool those created in God’s image. The lie that Satan delivered was ripe with insinuation and designed to strike at the very heart of God.  Man was fooled, sin and death were ushered into the world; Satan’s plan was born.

This creature called Satan mastered the ability to twist facts leaving out truth and present them in beautiful packages that contained death and destruction. He has been portrayed as ugly and sinister, but the opposite is true. He is beautiful and at times irresistible. He comes to mankind bringing the hope of all our dreams.  He is able to deceive the most devout of humans. He comes as friend and confidant, but when he leaves; his subjects are reduced to shuddering, helpless souls.  His shadow and influence are seen through the Old Testament deceiving man and destroying lives. He was there as Cain killed his brother Abel out of jealousy and personal pride.  He was at the tower of Babel goading and encouraging those in charge to reach out and touch God, to be like God.  He was there in the Palace as King David lusted after Bathsheba, and eventually murdered her husband to cover his sins.

The choking dust of his footprints can be traced all of the way through history until he emerges to confront the Son of the Living God. Jesus was his intended target all along. All those that he tormented and attacked throughout the pages of history were in the linage of the Christ. He did all he could to stop the incarnation of God but failed. He was now forced to meet the Son of Man face to face in a showdown. After the heavens had opened and Jesus was declared the Son of God, He faced assault from the serpent. The enemy used the same plan of attack that was launched upon the first Adam. However second Adam did not yield to temptation; He came out of the wilderness as victor over temptation, demonstrating the way to defeat the enemy. The liar came at the living God of the universe in three ways. He tried to bring doubt against the Fathers goodness and care; he tempted Christ to presume upon the Fathers power; he tempted Christ to alienate the Fathers honor by giving it to him.  Our Savior returned the opening salvo with “man shall not live by bread alone”. The temptation to call upon the power of God in vain was met with “Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God”. Jesus ended the period of temptation by placing the enemy at his back and responding with “Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God and Him only shalt thou serve”

Soundly defeated the serpent slithered back into the shadows, beaten yes, discouraged no.  His treachery was set on a deeper track. Mere temptation was not enough; the Heir to the throne of glory must be eliminated. The road to the cross was cleared as Satan penetrated the wicked hearts of Jewish religious leaders. The words of life singed and burnt the ears of the selfish Godless men who ran the temple. The smell of death came to them as the precious Son of God put them in their places and pointed the way to salvation. Jesus presented the way of life on the bottom shelf where it was accessible to those with the faith of children. Jesus words confounded the wisdom of the wise as He only asked for faith, not accomplishment. Bitter angry men plotted his destruction, but as in everything else it came in Gods time.

When the time came for the Son of God to sacrifice himself for all mankind, He demonstrated again how to be victorious in the face of tumultuous terror and turmoil. He went silently to the Garden and prayed. Jesus prayed honestly and fervently, asking if it be possible, this dreaded cup of death would pass from his lips. The benediction to his time of prayer was “Not my will but thine be done”. Satan squatted on the fringes of hell rubbing his hands with nervous anticipation as the noose of death tightened around the neck of the Savior. Beaten, lied to, lied about, betrayed, and tortured Christ drug the rugged, bloody cross up to the hill of the skull. The rusted spikes tore into the flesh of his hands and feet. The cross was dropped into the hole ripping the flesh and bringing a cry of anguish.

The old serpents plan had worked. Turning the piety of the religious against the Creator of the universe, it was so simple, and diabolically clever. Satan cackled with delight as the Son of Man bled and died on a Roman hillside.  But the triumph was short lived as the gates of hell burst open and the Son of Man appeared in the fiery raiment’s of a conquering General leading ten thousand angels.  The shouts from earth could be heard above the battle below, “He’s alive” rang up and down the hill side. Death was conquered, the plague of sin had been broken, grace was alive and well. From that day fourth The evil one could only whisper in the ear of man, because the spell of sin had been broken by the risen Savior. Come to Him the King of Glory. The hand of grace had been wounded, see the scars, but the wounds are the proof of his love.  Come to the cross today and lay your burdens down, trust Jesus as your savior. The work has been done.  

 Ezekiel 28:12-15; Isaiah 14:12-14; Deuteronomy 6:13; Matthew 4:1-11; 1Corinthians 15:55