Notes From a Cowgirl

There are only six weeks left in the spring semester. After those six weeks I don’t know where I will go. Will I go to Texas? Minnesota? Wisconsin? Will I be comfortable in an air-conditioned office, or sweating on a horse’s back? If I go to Wisconsin, will I have a long commute, or will I be taking online classes from home? I won’t be in Arkansas or Kansas City, Missouri. Ruling out those two options is as close to a solution as I’ve come. There are two horses I’d like to see every day, but I don’t know if that can happen. I’m looking forward to the summer, and a break from a full class load, but I have no idea where I’ll be. It’s rather disconcerting at this point. I know God has something amazing for me - where I will grow and help others grow - so it’d be convenient if he filled me in sometime soon. Despite uncertainty over my near future, it is well with my soul, and that’s all that really matters. After all, “Jesus has overcome, the grave is overwhelmed. The

“We need you all in the garage. Are there any more pets in the house?” the fire chief asked my family, four of five sick with pneumonia, the flu, or strep throat. “Out of the garage, go to the driveway. Get in your vehicles,” the chief said. We would have gotten in a vehicle if we had time to grab keys. There we were in the driveway, three people and a dog sitting in Geoff’s truck bed, one standing, and one with pneumonia sitting in the back of the sheriff’s car. A little after 9 a.m. on Friday, March 11, Jess turned on the stove to make oat meal, and noticed an unusually orange flame. Wondering if there was a problem with our natural gas, my mom called the energy company. The company representative didn’t seem too alarmed, but said she would send a community safety officer to check if we had a serious problem. Less than five minutes after the call, two county sheriff deputies came to the door. “We need everyone out of the house.” “What? Why? We called about an orange