Holy Night on The Ponderosa

I once lived in the country with the wild turkey and prancing white-tail deer. I was a city girl that grew an “Annie Oakley” heart. My dad called me Annie Oakley, because I was a pretty good shot with a “dangerous” BB gun. I once roamed the oaks of the backwoods on my zippy red moped along with my little brother (who thought he was older) on his go-kart. I was free to run and stroll our pristine 3 acres, or as we called our land, “The Ponderosa.”

My family and I referenced “Little House on the Prairie”. Love was evident, grained into the wooden porch that wrapped around our country home. My dad was head of the household, the spiritual leader. He took his “royal role” seriously. He led with grace and dignity. He had a compassionate and sweet heart. I’d be skipping by and he’d say, “Brandy, have I told you I loved you today?” I’d quietly respond, “No, dad, you haven’t.” He’d grin and genuinely answer, “Well, I love you.”

Days and nights on “The Ponderosa” peacefully glistened with wholesome family time. Wildflowers of adoration grew by the bullfrog pond. My dad, with a Southern man smile, would yell, “Those darn frogs need to pay rent!” We would laugh and giggle with child-like delight. Days would be filled with hard work on the gold smitten land and end with greens and cornbread upon the “God-fearing” pine table. Nights ended with “Dad! Tuck me in.” and the reverent Lord’s Prayer. Sometimes nights drifted into holy moonlight. Eyes were still open, looking upon Lakeport, Michigan stars.

My dad would be propped up in the recliner, legs crossed, astute. The lamp would twinkle, Bible glowed. I would shuffle down the hall, house quiet, comfort touched all that was within. “The Ponderosa” slept. My dad, teacher of the Word, kept watch. I spoke a whisper, "What are you reading about dad?" His reading glasses shone with insight. He perceived to say, "I'm reading about King David, a man after God's own heart." I’d whisper back with an, "Oh.” What a wisdom-filled dad I have. Oh, what a counselor I have. Oh, what a God-fearing dad I have. Oh, how these holy nights on “The Ponderosa” purify my soul.

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