Posts Tagged ‘Rodeo’

Come by and visit with Rene and myself on the Diamond Mine of Fiction and leave a comment to win a copy of either Roped or Twisted.

I believe in showing the good, the bad, and the ugly as well as the consequences those choices bring.

Read Full Post »

I pulled on my boots, checked my image in the mirror—White peasant blouse and skinny jeans. Lookin’ good, girl. Reached for my camera and was ready to Rodeo!

We arrived at the Rockdale Rodeo Arena, and I scanned the arena for a place to perch and shoot some great action shots of the TRA Championship Rodeo. Now these rodeos aren’t like the rodeos held in huge sports facilities. No, these rodeos allow a person to get up close and personal with the participants. And the stock.

No concrete walls, iron bars, or cushioned seats. Nope. It’s exciting. Tension thick enough to slice, and the aroma of everything fried saturates the air.

The cowboys and girls are stunning in their rhinestone-and-fringe-rodeo-finest while the music blares western.

On the other side of the arena, I spied an old field judge’s platform and seat on top of a chain link fence, next to an empty cow pen. My husband, Richard, walked over and helped me up into the ringside seat and I’m thrilled giddy with this unobstructed view of the action.
I pulled my camera out and tossed the case down to my husband, who patiently waited below me in the vacant pen. Now if Dick had to choose, Friday night rodeo would not be on his short list. Especially since cricket season was in full swing and they crawled and flew in and out of everything like a plague of locusts.

The grand entry paraded all the contestants and horses around the inside of the arena for cheers and pictures. Then we moved onto the serious stuff. With my camera focused and ready, I captured action shots of team roping and barrel racing.

“Aren’t you ready to climb down and let’s get some nachos and sit this thing out in the stands?” Dick slapped at a dozen crickets and I knew he was miserable.

“Just one more event, honey. Please?”

The P.A. system crackled and the voice announced, “Next up—bull ridin’.”

“Don’t you think you ought to come on down before the bulls?” Dick rattled the fence. “You hear me?”

“Sure honey, but I’ll be fine up here. There’s a big puddle of water down in front of me and the bull can’t run through the chain link. Right?”

“Like it wasn’t even there.” He reached up to give me a hand down.
But I brushed off his request. “I’ll just get one or two shots, then I’ll come down. Okay?”

The announcer drowned Dick’s comment as he called the cowboy’s name, but the only name I remember to this day is Booger Daddy.
I focused on the chute where the cowboys had the rope taunt and ready to pull the gate open. The chute where all the clanging and banging racket originated. Booger Daddy obviously didn’t have the personality of his distant cousin, Ferdinand.

The gate swung open. Booger Daddy charged out, bucked and went into a full body spin. The cowboy left the bull’s back and the clowns went into action. And I snapped the shutter fast as my finger would click.

‘Til I blinked and realized as I looked through my lens, Booger Daddy was glaring right back at me. He pawed the ground with first one hoof, then the other. Snot poured from his nose like a busted fire hydrant. A ton of hamburger-on-the-hoof and a half-mile-wide.

“Throw that camera down and jump. Now!” I’m sure Dick wanted to run, but ever faithful he stood firm and yelled my name. “DiAne. Get. Down. Right. Now.”

Booger Daddy lowered his head and went from zero to sixty with me in his bulls-eye. The sound of his hooves pounding the ground echoed in my ears.

I jumped up and my mouth opened to scream. Nothing came out, but a zillion crickets flew in as a pick-up man wheeled his Paint into action and galloped to save this foolish photographer whose feet were planted like cement on this not-too-sturdy wooden platform just above the bulls’ horns.

And yes, your life does flash in front of you.

Booger Daddy and my cowboy prince arrived in orchestrated unison from opposite directions—the cowboy next to the fence galloping one way through the mud puddle, and the bull charging the other way, also through the puddle of liquid nasty.

And my pretty, white, peasant blouse, my magnificent camera, boots, and jeans were splatted, splattered, and coated with yucky Texas muck.

When reality struck I was still alive, unharmed, and standing, I heard Dick’s voice, “Are you ready to come down now?” Though the pitch of his tone said something entirely different.

Climbing down off an eight foot chain link fence with noodles for legs, feeling like a disobedient child was nothing short of a miracle.
Dick offered his hand to steady me and took my camera with his other one. “Well, did ya get a shot of Booger Daddy up close and personal?”

I looked at his face for any sign of snarky, but found nothing but concern. “I’m done for the night,” I whispered and headed for the car.

Now what do you suppose I learned from this sour pickle moment?
I should have listened to my husband? Right.

From the beginning God gave the line of authority to Adam. You see, Eve was deceived. But Adam disobeyed.

Contrary to those ‘60’s songs, I am woman hear me roar, roaring is not God’s plan for our lives, ladies. But we’ve been deceived and bought the lie. God’s plan is order in the home, in the church, and in our nation. And it’s take-to-the-bank-certain there will be order in heaven.

God set husbands as head of the home. No, it’s not the I am king you are nothing mantra, it’s a line of accountability. The chain of command. God is the head of the home. When He’s not—look around you to see what happens.

Our Lord God appointed our husbands to protect us, to shield us, to love us. When we refuse to listen, we remove ourselves from the protection of his care. And divorce courts are full of the wreckage of these chaotic families.

It’s been a hard lesson for me to learn, being that ‘60’s girl who knew God’s way is always best, but pride in me wanted control. And this was one of those p.j. moments, staring down the horns of a charging bull, knowing I was not in control of anything. Especially myself.

So yep, now when my husband tells me to do something, I do it!
Has your husband ever asked, demanded or suggested you abandon an activity and you refused? What was the outcome of your failure to heed his wisdom?

Well, I’ve learned the hard way—never, never, never sit on top of a chain link fence when Booger Daddy’s the first bull out the chute.



“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit. A broken and a contrite heart—These, O God, You will not despise” (Psalm 51:17 NKJV).


Photos of Texas Youth Rodeos by Nelda Blassingame

Read Full Post »

There is no place like Texas to illustrate these age-old words of wisdom. And the rodeo arena is a proving ground.

DSCF4937Cowboys march to a different drum beat. Their walk, their talk, their attitudes illustrate the courageous spirit of the Lone Star State. And you don’t have to search long to find Texas pride and swagger, even among the kiddos.
These pint sized cowboys and cowgirls have watched mama and daddy from birth. By age two or three they’re in the saddle. And by their teen years girls and boys know how to rope and ride. They’ve caught their parent’s attitudes and their actions will follow.
IMG_2480 518
A number of years ago my husband and I took relatives, visiting from New York, to a real, down-home rodeo (not the kind you see on TV or in a local coliseum). A bona’ fide rodeo. We parked the car, got out and my husband’s cousin caught the swipe of a horse’s tail. In the face.

Yikes! Bad start to the evening.

Cousin’s white canvas tennies sank in the Texas turf as we made our way through the crowd of contestants, livestock, and spectators, into the arena and to our seats in the bleachers. Of IMG_2713 239course, by this time, I’m revved. I wasn’t born Texan, but I’m a quick study and I love RODEO!

Ms. Cousin sat prune-faced and proper on the wooden seat, ‘til her expression morphed to horror at the scene playing out in the arena. Did I mention this was a Youth Rodeo?

First up was the small fry steer riding contest (actually just a calf). A kiddo, probably five years old, in boots, jeans, and a hat bigger’n him, stood beside his daddy next to the chute, sobbing, “I don’t wanna. I won’t do it!”

Daddy reached down, grabbed the reticent little cowpoke and handed him off to another cowboy, who held the kicking kiddo potato-sack-fashion under his arm.
IMG_2465 526
Well, Cousin Horrified become vocal. She leaped to her feet and screamed, “That’s child abuse. Are they going to make that baby ride a cow? Call somebody. Stop this, right now!” She stamped and fumed for the next few seconds while everyone seated around us smirked, snickered, and shook their heads.

Cowboy #2 handed the little cowboy back to Dad who plunked the little guy on the saddle, adjusted the boy’s rope, and gave the gatekeeper a nod. The gate flew open. The calf shot from the chute—jumpin’ and buckin’. First buck sent the little guy tumbling off the “steer,” and landing smack-dab on his fanny in the Texas dirt.

Cousin Vocal gasped and jumped up again. I thought she was gonna faint.

The now seasoned little dude scrambled to his feet, grinnin’ and bowin’.

The crowd cheered.

He bowed one more time and reached to pick up his hat. The IMG_2494 512confident little man slapped it against his leg, then jammed his mini Stetson even with his eyebrows, and strutted out the arena—just like the big cowboys!

The announcer called the kiddo on deck to join the fun.

Ms. Cousin stood and glared at me. “I want to go home. This isn’t my idea of entertainment.” And the evening came to an abrupt and IMG_2487 510sour end.

The actions and attitudes of her family, her life, had not prepared her for rodeo. She had no understanding of the event or the culture. So should we have knuckled and stopped Texas Rodeos because of her ignorance or opposition to this historical sport? Of course, not. That would be foolish.

But folks, the same scenario is taking place all over America DSCF4813every day. Interlopers from other cultures have moved here and are demanding we remake ourselves to be like them. Our national sovereignty is crumbling and we sit transfixed. Spectators rather than We, the people.

We have failed to maintain our founding fathers’ attitudes about God, absolute truth, right and wrong, personal responsibility, and accountability.

Jude, the half-brother of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the man who wrote next to last book in the New Testament said:

“…certain persons have crept in unnoticed, those who were long beforehand marked out for this condemnation, ungodly persons who turn the grace of our God into licentiousness and deny our only Master and Lord, Jesus Christ” (Jude 4 NAS).

Just like our New York cousins intruded in our Texas culture, desiring to change our ways based on their lack of wisdom, knowledge and understanding. People who worship false gods have likewise intruded, uninvited, into our land with the purpose and intent of changing our Constitution, our culture, and our laws,DSCF5006 and our faith in the Lord God Almighty. They have determined to make America just like the place they left behind. And we have not only allowed this destruction of our nation and faith, we have aided and abetted the rebellion by our silence.

When we come into God’s Kingdom, He doesn’t become like us. No, God graciously promises to transform us to Jesus’ image as we follow Him, obey Him, and love Him. In years past immigrants have come to America and have assimilated to the laws of the land and into the culture. That has been what has made our nation great. United as One Nation Under God!

Under the inspiration of the Spirit of God, Jude penned words we would do well to heed:

“…I felt the necessity to write to you appealing that you contend earnestly for the faith which was once for all delivered to the saints” (Jude 3 NAS).

And he ID’d these renegades so we could recognize the intruders.
“…these men revile the things which they do not understand;…these are grumblers, finding fault, following after their own lusts; they speak arrogantly, flattering people for the sake of gaining an advantage. Remember… ‘In the last time there shall be mockers, following after their own ungodly lusts.’ These are the ones who cause divisions, worldly-minded, devoid of the Spirit…keep yourselves in the love of God…have mercy on some who are doubting…save others, snatching them out of the fire; and on some have mercy with fear, hating even the garment polluted by the flesh”
(Jude 10-23 NAS).

Are you contending for the faith? Trusting what our Lord Jesus Christ accomplished at Calvary was enough to present you faultless before God? Or are you too frightened to speak the truth of the Word of God to this perverted generation?

If you’re too frightened to speak truth now, what will you do when only the fearful, mockers, and godless remain? Will you speak now or never?

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: