I grew up in cattle ranching country, and my father was a rancher. As I look back, I realize many of my memories revolve around riding with him in his pickup truck. He would drive fairly slowly, and his eyes were always scanning, looking for the herds, and counting the cattle. He always knew the size of the herd, so he knew when one was missing. Yes, he would look for it, and not rest easy until he found it. He may not have overtly rejoiced, but I have seen the relief on his face when the missing were accounted for. He and I did not always see eye to eye, but when I think of him behind the steering wheel as he scanned the herds, I am filled with admiration. Truthfully, I wish I could tell him that in person, but my prayers of gratitude must do. Every day for over four decades, he tended the herds, counting them, and responding to their needs.
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