By Bryce Angell

My eyes are glued up to the shelf, a brand-new pair of Mucks. They’d be in my possession, but I lack the certain bucks.

I could go without my Pepsi for a month or maybe two. But the headache would be pounding like a freight train passin’ through.

I’ve got my Visa plastic for emergencies and such. The boots are kinda spendy. Do I really care that much?

I grab my precious cargo and I’m tingling to my roots. The clerk says, “Hundred eighty.” Must be gold in them there boots!

To purchase I can justify. It’s more than just a treat. No more sittin’ in the saddle with my cold and frozen feet.

I’ve waited days to wear them. Time to saddle up Ol’ Blue.

But my boots won’t fit the stirrups. What’s a broke cowboy to do?

The boots ain’t never goin’ back. I burned the dang receipt. My wife will never know the cost. Is that what’s called deceit?

The Co-Op might be open. I’ve seen stirrups there to buy. They close at 6:00 p.m. It’s 6:05 p.m. No use to even try.

I’ll drive out to the shoppin’ mall. They’ve got a western store. But their prices are extravagant, not for the country poor.

I’m riflin’ through the stirrups. Find a pair that fits my Mucks. I take ’em to the clerk. She says, “Two hundred twenty bucks.”

This time I cough and choke on down my Wrigley’s Spearmint chew. The clerk said, “Sure they’re spendy, but they’re made for guys like you.”

I wonder what she meant ’cuz I ain’t got the cash to spare. I swear she meant hi-rollers with their nose up in the air.

Still, I bought the brand-new stirrups with my plastic, once again.

Does it hurt to use my Visa card, every now and then?

The smuggish patrons, back in line, are giving me the stare.

They’re prob’ly thinkin’, “Poor cowboy.” I hurry out of there!

I’m addin’ up my purchases. Looks like four hundred bucks. And with the Gov’ner’s share I’m in the class of stupid clucks.

I burned the Visa card receipt, so that should take care of it from where I stand. I’m wonderin’ now if my warm feet are worth the half a grand?

By Annette Bridges

In September 2022, I wrote a column titled “Merry Maui Cows,” featuring a photograph of me with a group of Maui cows grazing in a seaside pasture.

This photo was taken in that same spot a few weeks ago, in March 2026.

Standing there again, looking out over that green hillside rolling toward the ocean, I couldn’t help but smile. I’m quite certain those cows were just as merry then as they are now, and I realized I am, too.

My husband and I had returned to Maui to celebrate our 45th wedding anniversary.

Forty-five years! I can hardly say it out loud without wondering where in the world the time has gone. The years flew by, and yet so much life happened in them: joys, challenges, ordinary days and unforgettable moments, the kind of life that shapes you.

This trip carried an extra layer of celebration for me. Since that first “Merry Maui Cows” photo, I’ve lost over fifty pounds. I found myself happily shopping for new tropical clothes, smiling in dressing rooms and picking up sizes I hadn’t worn in years. It was lighthearted fun, but it also meant something deeper to me. Change is still possible, even later in life.

At this stage of life, birthdays and anniversaries feel less like markers of time passing and more like invitations to look back, take stock and notice what has changed and what has stayed the same.

When I placed my new photo beside the one from 2022, I noticed the differences, of course. What stood out most was what hadn’t changed. I was still merry, and those two simple words felt like a quiet declaration.

Being “still merry” after years of life, with all its beauty and difficulty, says something. It says we’ve held onto joy and chosen gratitude. It says we’ve weathered what needed weathering and still found reasons to smile.

Life doesn’t stay the same, and it isn’t meant to. We get seasons of ease and seasons of challenge, moments that take your breath away and moments that take your strength. Through all of it, we can carry a steady thread of merriness forward.

It may be quiet, and life may be far from perfect, but I’m still merry. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe it’s everything.

By Ada William

A few weeks ago in church, our preacher shared a line that has stayed with me ever since.

“If you’re wondering what door to walk through, pray in the hallway.”

He was quoting someone else, and I did not catch the original source. I did, however, catch the message.

Most of us have stood in that hallway at one time or another. We know something is changing, but we do not know what comes next. There may be several doors in front of us, and none of them are clearly marked. We ask God to show us which one to open, but the answer does not always come as quickly as we would like.

Waiting is hard. People who live and work in rural communities understand waiting better than most. Farming, ranching and caring for animals require patience. You can prepare the ground, plant the seed and pray for rain, but you cannot force a crop to grow overnight. You can breed the best mare to the best stallion, provide good feed and proper care, and still wait nearly a year to see the foal. You can put up hay, repair fences and prepare barns, but you cannot control what kind of winter is coming.

Rural life involves a great deal of faith. You do your part, and then you wait.

Of course, waiting does not mean doing nothing. A farmer does not plant a field and ignore it until harvest. There are weeds to control, equipment to maintain and weather forecasts to watch. A rancher waiting for a calf crop still checks cattle, watches the condition of the cows and makes sure the calving pasture is ready.

The waiting season has work of its own.

I think the same is true when we wait on God to show us what comes next. Praying in the hallway means more than standing still and staring at the doors. It means using that time to draw closer to God, listen carefully and prepare ourselves for whatever He may ask us to do.

Sometimes I want an immediate answer. I want God to make the right door obvious, open it wide and hang a large sign above it that says, “This way.”

That is not usually how it works.

Sometimes the hallway lasts longer than we expected. A job opportunity does not come through. A relationship changes. A plan we felt certain about falls apart. A prayer seems to go unanswered.

It can be tempting to grab the nearest doorknob because we are tired of waiting.

Anyone who has worked cattle knows that pushing too hard at the wrong time usually creates more trouble. Cattle move better when the handler pays attention to pressure, timing and position. There are moments to step forward and moments to back away. Trying to force movement before the path is clear can scatter the whole herd.

I have had times in my own life when I tried to force a door open because I was convinced it was the one I needed. Other times, I hesitated to step through a door because it was not the one I had pictured.

Looking back, I can see that some closed doors were protection. Some delays were preparation. Some unanswered prayers were answered differently than I expected.

Waiting doesn’t get easier, but the hallway is not wasted space.

The hallway may be where God changes our plans. It may be where He strengthens our faith, corrects our attitude or teaches us to depend on Him instead of our own understanding. It may be where we finally become quiet enough to hear what He has been saying all along.

Rural life teaches us that there is a season for everything. There is a time to plant and a time to harvest, a time to mend fence and a time to move cattle. There is a time to work, a time to wait and a time to trust that God is still handling what we cannot see.

When the right door opens, we may understand why the others stayed closed. We may also never fully understand, at least not in this life. Either way, we can trust the One who sees beyond the hallway.

When I find myself unsure of what comes next, I hope I remember the words I heard that Sunday morning. I may not know which door to walk through or when it will open, but I know what I can do while I wait.

I can pray in the hallway.