Messes and Miracles (The Flood, Part 1)

Friends and family are familiar with our story, but I haven’t shared it publicly. So, in an attempt to not forget, I share it now and I hope all my loyal readers will hold me accountable for finishing it. Although we consider ourselves extremely blessed all the time, this is the full, behind-the-scenes story about the time God showed the little Krider family tremendous favor, goodness, and love in a very tangible way.

The flood began at midnight Friday night. I remember waking to loud peels of thunder and seeing lightning flash. It was difficult to go back to sleep after that for the strobe light show the lightning was causing on our walls followed by immediate thunder. Over and over again. It didn’t take long for Leslee to be out of our bed and 2 little girls to be in it.

Leslee usually moves to the couch on nights like this one. Protection is of more importance than sleeping, so the girls and I try to sleep knowing Daddy’s watching. Little did I know that not only were we under a flash flood warning, but a tornado warning, as well. Also unbeknownst to me was the fact that my husband had attempted to go outside and round up our entire herd of cattle to take them to higher ground, but the lightning wouldn’t let up for a second, so he came back in. You have to make tough decisions in times like that: Do I risk my cattle and our livelihood or do I risk myself and possibly leave my wife and children without me?

The girls and I didn’t get much sleep that night and Leslee didn’t get any. Watching. Waiting. Fretting. Praying. The weather let up a bit and I woke to the sound of the front door latch clicking. He was on his way to the barn. I got up and made myself some coffee, started my normal routine, and hung out with Taegan while Luxe slept in. Taegan and I decided to do a little Bible devotion/study—something that we rarely  get to dive into because Luxe isn’t one to cooperate yet. She’ll come sit on Taegan’s notebook while she’s trying to write. Or talk over what we’re trying to talk about. Or pull Taegan’s hair. Or steal our pencils and run off. Or it gets really quiet because she’s silently wreaking havoc in a different room. Simply put, it’s hard for either one of us to concentrate. So, we took advantage of her sleeping and sat down to talk about Phillippians 4—for no other reason than that it was the verse of the day on my Bible app and we decided we’d just talk about the whole chapter and our takeaways.

Looking back, I believe it’s impossible us sitting down to look at that particular Scripture was a coincidence. We were at verse 6 –“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God—“ and then my phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Hey…um…I’ve got something to tell you…,” said my husband in that ominous tone people use when their news is not good.

On immediate alert, I reply reluctantly, “Okaaay?”

“Breauna, I couldn’t milk all the cows this morning because over half the herd is trapped by the creek. And it’s not just because they can’t get across to me; they’re trapped in the middle of it. They’re on an island with water on all sides and I don’t know what to do.”

His voice broke on the last word. My husband without a plan and desperate is something I have rarely observed in our years together. He’s resourceful. He’s inventive. He easily sees solutions and quickly solves problems on the fly. However, he had no options that were within his physical capability.

“This isn’t good, Breauna.”

Knowing him as I do, I could tell he was on the verge of a breakdown.

“Why did I let them down there?! Why didn’t I just swing the stupid gate the other direction?! Breauna, what was I thinking?! I should have gone out there at midnight and moved them!”

“WHAT?!” I replied. “No way! You would have been absolutely nuts to try that with that lightning!!”

I love storms. Like, LOVE them. It’s amazing to me to see God’s power so magnificently displayed. I’ve never been afraid. I find security in knowing my Father is the One behind all of it. I respect the safety hazards they produce, of course, but I don’t fear them. Leslee calls it reckless. I call it an exercise in faith. However, I’m glad He chose not to test the Father that night. I wouldn’t have, either. It was like nothing either of us had ever seen before. There were a few times I flinched in the house and pulled the covers over my head.

Leslee continued. “I watched the weather and they said we might get, like, 7/10th’s over night, but the flooding would begin around 10 this morning. I thought, ‘Ok, that’s alright. I’ll have them milked by then and make sure they can only stay up here where it’s high.’ But, that’s not what happened. I don’t know what to do!! If we lose those cows, Breauna, we’re finished. There’s no coming back from it.”

I knew it, too. The part of the story I didn’t publicly share at all was the fact that none of those cows were insured. In farming, sometimes you have to choose the most likely circumstances to insure against because there’s just so many different, awful, fluke things that can happen in this lifestyle. One can insure against everything and be insurance poor OR you can choose to accept that God is your insurance in some things. Anyone who farms takes a leap of faith almost every day. So many things are out of our control. I personally don’t know any farmers who don’t have strong faith.

We live in a place where there are very high points to keep our cattle, so my husband watches the weather like a fiend, tries his best to be responsible, and asks the Lord for the rest.

I won’t deny I shed a few tears just hearing my husband’s desperation on the phone. Meanwhile, Taegan was watching this whole one-sided conversation go down with an alarmed look on her face. As soon as we finished the call, I said, “Taegan, Mommy’s gotta pray. Do you want to come with me?”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” she said, “Why are you crying? What’s going on?”

“You’ll see.”

As we sat there in the little dark closet and I poured my heart out before the Lord, I heard little sniffles as Taegan sat there and held my hands, realizing what was going on. We couldn’t see each other, but I was so happy she was in there with me. I tried my best to be as specific as I possibly could about what I wanted…even though my mind was a mess. I believe if there’s one thing I want to leave my children the most, it’s having taught them how to pray. Specifically. Strategically. Boldy. And fervently. I asked God to perform a miracle for our family, get those cows off that island, and protect them in this storm. Every. Single. One. I also stated, if he chose not to do this, I still knew He was good and that He would take care of this family. I was mindful of the importance of Taegan knowing that, especially.

I finished our prayer and walked out of that closet with an excitement I can’t explain. It was excitement and peace at the same time. I couldn’t hold it in and said to Taegan with every ounce of belief I could muster, “Taegan, God’s going to save those cows.”

She looked up at me and replied, “Mommy, how do you know?”

“I can feel it. He’s going to do something amazing and He’s going to save those cows.”

I called Leslee next. I told him, “I don’t want you to worry anymore about it. God’s going to save those cows.”

“I hope so.”

“He’s going to. I can feel it.”

It was at that point I felt the need to share our situation with my Facebook friends and family. If my hunch was correct, I wanted them to share in this and having people pray for us all over the country sure couldn’t hurt. I typed,

 

Friends and family: I have a BIG prayer request this morning. Our wet weather creek is like a rushing river after last night’s rains and over half our herd is trapped on an island and can’t move. Leslee can’t get to them and is beside himself. Pray hard we don’t lose them. Pray hard the waters go down and don’t rise any higher. I’m not one to use exaggerated words, but this would be a catastrophic loss to our farm and livelihood. Thank you! I believe in the power of prayer and we need some mighty prayer warriors right now!

 

I’ll admit, I hesitated to press “Post” in that moment. Leslee tends to be a private person and I wasn’t sure he would appreciate me making our dire circumstances public knowledge.  And what if my hunch was wrong? Was my faith a little overconfident? I told myself there was no such thing as overconfidence when it came to the Lord. Worst case scenario: Everyone would know the circumstances that led to the end of our farming journey and the beginning of a new trajectory for our family.  I really felt we needed some extra praying power either way, so I pressed “Enter” and we all waited.

 

Advertisements

The Family that Hays Together

Last weekend was a momentous weekend in my years on the farm.

It all started with knowing Dad, Mandy, and the farmer would be gathering up all the square bales from a neighboring farm we cut hay off of and split between the owner and ourselves. So, I was aware of what Saturday’s plans were; I just wasn’t aware of what MY plans were until my dad informed me Friday night that I would be driving. Driving meaning I would pull the trailer with the truck as the rest of them walked along beside, picked up the square bales, and hefted them onto the trailer. Sounded simple enough even though I’d never done anything like that before.

So, what do I do? Arrive ready to do it straight up farm girl.
20160924_1157501Dad has to hook up the trailer and tells me to go ahead and drive the truck to the field. Since he’s in the passenger seat, I’m already feeling a fair amount of anxiety–because I have a good feeling he’s not going to get in the driver’s seat and back the honkin’ truck up to the trailer himself.

Me: “Are you going to back up to the trailer?”

Dad: “No, I’m going to coach you.

Oh no…said the city girl who 1) is not an expert backer and 2) cannot read hand motions or follow directions.

The farmer was already headed down the dirt road and saw us–or more importantly me in the driver’s seat–cross the road into the field. He later told me he wished he could have stopped and watched because he knew it would be good. Brat.

So, he has me swing around to where the hind end of the truck is in front of the trailer, hops out, and proceeds to wave me on back.

“Ok, straighten up a little! 

I straighten.

Straighten up your wheels!” 

I am straight.

“Straighter! Turn your wheels to the left!”

How is that straight?? He’s walking towards the driver’s side window.

Pointing at the steering wheel, he says: “When “Ford” is straight in front of you, you are straight.”

It wasn’t. I was looking at the tires the whole time.

Ok, so now that we got that part accomplished, he continues to hand motion me back ward and then throws up the fist that means stop. Well, I found that the difference between my husband’s fist and my dad’s fist is that Dad means for you to slam on the brakes while my husband means an easier stop.

Therefore, I have to pull forward again.

I think we did that about 3 times before Dad said, “Two inches. That’s all we need. Two inches.”

Finally, we got it as Mandy was pulling into the field on the side by side. Dad waves and points at the truck like “HA HA! Isn’t this a kick in the head?” Her expression mirrored his.

Little did I know he was going to continue to make me drive. He hopped back into the passenger seat and by this time, I’m being more vocal about my anxiety. “Dad, I’ve never done this before! I’ m going to take out every fence post from here to there! I’m not coachable!”

Long story short, I’ve watched my husband more than I realized, swung wide where I needed to, used my mirrors, and trusted Dad to tell me how best to maneuver through tight spots.

So, now it was my turn to learn what “bucking bales” was all about.

dsc_4386

Even though it was 94 degrees outside, look how beautiful it is! It was my job to slowly drive the trailer down the lines of square bales so all the farmer and Mandy had to do was walk along and throw the bales on the trailer. Then, Dad grabbed them–as I’m continuing to drive, mind you–and stacked them. He may be eeking ever closely to 60, but he’s still spritely. Staying on two feet while stacking 60 lb. bales on a moving vehicle is definitely for the sure-footed.

dsc_4381

I’m just guessing here, but the “bucking” part seemed to have to do with your knee motion as you heft the bale onto  the trailer. You use your knee for an extra nudge up.

You don’t know how many times I giggled thinking about making the farmer chase the trailer with one of those bales. If Dad and Mandy hadn’t been working like dogs themselves, I totally would have done it. Don’t feel bad for him. He’s ornery.

dsc_4393

There’s Mandy. I got the cush job, for sure. She’s She-ra.

dsc_4395

Fun fact: Mandy did not grow up on a farm and had no experience with farming until she met my dad. And yet here she is, buckin’ bales and later shouting “GIRL POWER!!” as she jumped out of the truck after grabbing a quick drink of water. I’m feelin’ it, man. I’m driving the diesel in 4-low with a trailer full of hay behind me.

The trailer soon grew as full and high as it could get. I gladly hopped out of the truck and into the backseat so Dad could drive. I wasn’t feeling so confident in my newfound skills to think I could maneuver the squirrely path back to the highway without losing half the bales. In no way did I want to be the person that made all this hard work for naught.

And when Dad lost about 8 bales in a ditch along said squirrely path, I was just thankful it wasn’t me.

We arrive back at my Dad’s barn where the hay will be stored…

dsc_4358

and go to work undoing all the work we did before. And by we, I mean not me. I have the VERY important job of making sure all of this gets documented.

First, one must pick up the bale.

dsc_4363

Then, one must throw it into the barn where the man in black awaits…

dsc_4359

to stack it all over again.

dsc_4360

Mandy climbed to the top of the heap to continue to push bales down for the farmer to throw. He likes to throw stuff.

dsc_4362

In other news, MUSCLESSSS!!!! I’m likin’ my job right about now…

dsc_4371

The sweaty assembly line. Mandy may or may not have tried to take my beloved out a couple times with a flying hay bale. Don’t feel bad for him. He’s ornery.

dsc_4368

Sweaty sweeper. Boots were not working in anyone’s favor that day. If you look at the two above photos, you’ll see that the truck and trailer is practically parked up a cliff. Slick hay + very worn boots = an extra element of fun while working. Sliding around like they were on slick floors with socks was not part of the objective that day. So, we look like OCD farmers instead. Something appears to have my dad very perplexed here.

dsc_4375

Mandy doesn’t take herself too seriously. That’s one of the things I like about her. Are we surfing or working here? Well, both…in an attempt to keep herself from sliding off all the bales straight into the farmer. I personally think Mandy and I add a lot of fun to the workplace. They wouldn’t know what to do without us. No laughter. No shenanigans. Possibly more productivity. I mean, can you imagine?

But seriously, Mandy’s one of the hardest working women I know.

dsc_4376

Last one of that load! Did I mention that I really like my job? This view never gets old. 😉

We still had some bales left to load, so back to the neighbors for the rest of them.

dsc_4404

After those were loaded, Dad and the farmer had some straggler hay in the corners of the field.

dsc_4406

In goes the hay, out comes a square bale.

 

The farmer hopped in one tractor and Dad had to drive this one out. Mandy was in the passenger seat of the truck. Who does this leave driving the truck with a trailer load of hay down the squirrely path to the highway? ME! This is bad…this is very, very bad.

But, you know what? I made it. I made it the whole way. Without losing ONE bale which totally showed my Dad up.

It mattered in no way that they double strapped everything that time.

Winning’s winning.

It was a good day.