Men are apt to mistake the strength of their feeling for the strength of their argument. The heated mind resents the chill touch and relentless scrutiny of logic. William E. Gladstone
View Out The Front Window in Bellingham, Massachusetts.
Our view out the window has not changed so here is a view you have not seen for a while. Kelly Jo and I with three other family members and the bus barn in the background at the Lazy OD Ranch.
For the LORD our God, he it is that brought us up and our fathers out of the land of Egypt, from the house of bondage, and which did those great signs in our sight, and preserved us in all the way wherein we went, and among all the people through whom we passed: Joshua 24:17
View Out The Front Window
This was our view out the front window of the BoggsMobile at a campground in Strafford, Missouri.
This was our view out the front window of the BoggsMobile at the APU Center in Strafford, Missouri.
This was our view out the front window of the BoggsMobile at a campground in Vandalia, Illinois.
This was our view out the front window of the BoggsMobile now at the Lazy OD Ranch.
I hope you have a super great Sunday. Thank you for stopping by.
This was our view out the bus window in Pauls Valley, Oklahoma.
This is our view this week in Moore, Oklahoma.
I hope you have a super great Sunday.
Davy
Dad, you bought me a bike when I was three and taught me how to ride.
You pushed a while and then let go, I thought you were beside. You said I picked it up real quick and said I went fast too. Dad, my only dream when I was young was to go half as fast as you.
You taught me how to bat and how to throw a ball.
While others came to play the game, You said “son, give it your all”. I loved it Dad when the crowd would scream, “hit it out of here”. But, Dad, I hit that ball with all my might just to hear you cheer.
You taught me how to swim and dive. We had so much fun.
You’d bury me up to my neck in the sand and bake me in the sun. You’d throw us in and jump in too, we’d scream and splash and shout.
When the sun went down and we had to go home, you had to nearly pull us out.
Playing football in the fall, I’d run and push and fight.
I’d work all week and kill myself to play on Friday night.
Every game I’d push the limit trying to do my best.
You were standing at the thirty-yard line, I wanted to pass your test.
You taught me how to work, Dad, although I didn’t like it then.
You taught me the value of a hard days work, when to save and when to spend.
You taught me to respect other people and how to put others first.
To say sir and mam, please and thank-you, to see people at their best and not their worst.
There’s one thing you’ve taught me often, Dad, that I’ve been slow to learn.
“Take care of the name I’ve given you son, It’s something I’ve had to earn.”
There’s been several times, through the years, when my head’s hung in shame.
When I’ve drug the name you’ve given me through the mud. I know it’s caused you pain.
But you’ve been faithful to me, through the good times and the bad.
When you should have left me in defeat, You’ve been there for me Dad.
You were there to pick up the pieces, though I lost when I should have won.
The greatest thing you’ve taught me Dad is how deeply you love your son.
The bats and balls and other things have faded in the past.
I’m trying to trade these temporal things for something that will last.
I’m sure I’ve got a lot to learn. I’ve only just begun.
But the greatest thing you’ve taught me, Papa, is how deeply The Father Loves His sons.
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