Legacy. I’ve thought a lot about that word lately. I wonder what my legacy will be as it is lived out in the lives of my boys? This thought has caused me to look back over the legacy that I have inherited. I know full well that I have learned and have been given so much from my Mom, but lately it’s the influence my father has had on me that has my attention.

 

I grew up with divorced parents. Mom lived in town and Dad lived on the farm that was first homesteaded by his father. Believe me when I tell you I have plenty of stories about growing up in town, but it’s the farm I would like to talk about.

 

My Daddy is a cowboy. He has hundreds of acres of land in the sandy hills of western Oklahoma. He is a cattleman and a farmer. He and his wife take great pride in the ranch they have and so do I.

 

I recall the following not to brag, but to remember: I grew up every summer wearing cowboy boots with everything, including shorts, and working cattle. I’ve cleaned my share of stock tanks and pulled my share of weeds. I’ve logged hundreds of hours on a combine and heaved many a bail of hay on the truck. I’ve taken my turns shutting up the chickens, even when it was really dark and my siblings convinced me that the coyotes were waiting outside the door to get me.

 

I’ve helped take down old wooden fence posts and replaced them with the nice metal ones, trying to be so careful not to break the barbed wire when stringing it because that has a most unpleasant result! I have walked many miles through sage brush and cedar trees. I’ve pulled literally thousands of goat head stickers (if you know what they are, you know why that’s a big deal!) and have done my best not to step on devil’s claws. I’ve had a blast swimming in red clay water and fished by hand, though not something I wish to ever do again.

 

I’ve had mountain oysters and carrots straight from the ground. I’ve caught, killed, cleaned and cooked the chicken, at that point I had no desire to eat it, but I did since it was what was for dinner. I’ve helped change the jet rods in a windmill and gathered eggs. I’ve been chased by a bull and have ridden a calf. I’ve picked vegetables and helped can them. I’ve saddled a horse and ran it until we were both winded. I’ve helped brand and castrate cattle. I know how to tag a cow and read brands.

 

Brands. My family has a brand that my Grandpa created, “flying HD”. It doesn’t mean anything to you, but it causes pride to swell up in me, the good kind. When I see it, flashes of my Dad and his Dad working hard on fixing something or pushing their cowboy hat back from their sweat soaked foreheads while talking about the best place for the cows to pasture. I see my Grandma picking berries to make jelly and watching her fix a huge lunch for all of us after we have worked since practically sun up. I can instantly picture my Dad putting his boots back on after the evening meal when someone called and said a cow was out or down. I can see my Dad washing not just his hands but all the way up to the elbow since you get dirty all the way up your arm when you work outside all day.

 

Some of the life lessons that were ingrained in me in that hot Oklahoma sun were, look a person in the eye when you talk to them, always give your elder your seat, a firm handshake tells a lot about a person, disrespect is not tolerated, take a gift with a smile and a thank you regardless if you like it or not, you’re only as good as your word, when at a buffet truly make it all you can eat, never let a dog chase your chickens, don’t interrupt, family always comes first and always, always, always close the gate behind you.

 

Though these are not necessarily ‘spiritual’ things, they are a part of my foundation and that which I hope to pass on to my children. I know that many of these things were instilled in me by my mother as well, but there is just something about watching these attributes, attitudes and actions played out in the life of a cowboy.

 

As my father put it to me, he is probably the last of the cowboys in his line of my family. This makes me sad because of what that land and life has meant to me, but I know his legacy lives on in me and in my siblings. And just because I don’t don the cowboy hat and a belt with my name on it, my heart is still very tender toward that lifestyle. When I am in that area, I often find myself just looking around trying to take it all in while I am mentally swept back in time.

 

While my prayer is to pass these values on to my children, it is very important to me to lay the foundation of Christ first. I pray my kids are grounded in their walk with their Savior and these things I’ve talked about are a natural result of that walk.

 

May my legacy be one that makes my Heavenly Father proud, the good kind.