Where Mountain Lions Rove--and Sparrows Sing

Thursday morning when Jonathan and I came into the adobe dwelling for breakfast, I was raving again about the beautiful scenery and the view out the window above her sink. 

"I was keeping my eye out this morning for a mountain lion," Becky said. "We've seen it roving along the canyon rim over there."

Sawing a blueberry bagel in half, she acted as if mountain lions were just part of the ranch, but I was glad I hadn't heard about it the night before. 

Jason had suggested Jonathan and I hop into the "razor" and ride around to see the scenery. We'd gone out just before dusk back some back ranch lanes, me blissfully unaware of the possibility of mountain lions except that one of the boys had brought us a pistol to take with us.

"You just want to be safe, just in case," Jason said, as if needing a pistol to stay safe was just part of ranch life.

I guess it is on Arizona ranches!

 We had enjoyed what we could while watching the lane ahead for the next rock or bump, but we saw flowers and cactus and cattle and even the back end of a javelina (wild pig) disappearing from sight.

 

  There are lots of javelinas around there, Jason said. 

All over the place.

I was glad I hadn't known about mountain lions, though, till next morning.  

We had enjoyed the sunset 

without worrying about mountain lions.

 

We had stayed in this RV that someone had loaned the Corbins for the roundup, and I had to go out in the dark once to get something that I had forgotten from the car.  It was hard to go out there in the dark. I had started out and then stopped. 

Then I shone my bright flashlight and made some noise and made myself go out.

The generator was humming up somewhere to keep the fridge and lights going in the RV.  

And I got back in safely.

The next morning Jonathan and I were up semi early, and we decided to walk back to the canyon spring. 

I had no idea mountain lions might have drunk from it.

Sometimes it's better to be ignorant. 

We walked back along the dry creek bed--one that certainly must run in torrents at times of thunder storms.  

We admired the crescent moon behind this jagged rock.

We scared quail out from some brush. 

I took a picture of the trickle of a spring. 

Below, a small pool had formed with the spring water. 

I didn't know that Corbins had been warned to stay out of the far end of the canyon--"because there are so many mountain lions back there," they'd been told.

And here we were, walking blissfully along in morning sun, armed only with a water bottle. 

Focused on beauty and watching our steps in the rocks.

We know we have a foe who, like a roaring lion, seeks whom he may devour. 

But as our eyes are fixed on Jesus, as we walk in the light and pay attention to how we walk so we won't stumble,

we won't have to worry so much about the roaring lion. 

He doesn't care for the blazing light of morning sunshine.

God bless our friends the Corbins who are willing to provide adventure for young men who enjoy the idea of mountain lions, rattlesnakes, and roundups. My hat is off to them. They are a special couple who, despite the big, wild things that could capture all their attention, also take note of the wild birds--everything from hummingbirds to sparrows.

We all noticed a little bird just outside the RV when they were showing us our quarters for the night. 

"It's a sparrow," Jason said softly. "God is here."

He told us the story of someone he knew who had ended up so depressed. One day the man was driving down the highway and hit a sparrow and killed it. Turning around, the man parked his vehicle by the poor, dead bird. 

"Oh God," the man prayed as he knelt by the sparrow he'd accidentally killed. "You said in Your Word that the Father in heaven sees a sparrow when it falls. You are here!"

The man who had been unable to feel God found Him there--by the dead sparrow. 

He knew God meant what He said in His Word.

And so sparrows--or any little bird for that matter, Jason says--mean a lot to Jason as well. 

I had never or rarely met a person before to whom sparrows meant as much as they mean to me--and for the same reason.

If God cares for the sparrow, He cares much more for me.