The road before me now stretched long and lonely, a road I must walk with a gun in my hand.”
              –Louis L’Amour  (Silver Canyon)

    “Strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many, I say to you, will seek to enter and will not be able.”
              –Luke 13:24 (NKJV)
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In my life I’ve traveled down various kinds of roads.  They varied from highways covered with black ice to washboard roads filled with dust.  There have been roads filled with mud, so that the vehicle slid from side to side as it continued to make its way up the canyon.  There have been roads covered with snow, roads that I could not see because of the fog, and of course those roads that were smooth with no obstacles.
    When I think of roads many images come to my mind.  I could reflect all days on the roads I’ve traveled.  Also, the poem by Robert Frost comes to mind.  Which road should be traveled.  There was a doubt in the traveler’s mind of which road to take, then it came to him he could come back to the first road, so he took the road less traveled.  Look at the last verse.”

         “I shall be telling this with a sigh
          Somewhere ages and ages hence:
          Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
          I took the one less traveled by,
          And that has made all the difference.”

    There is a choice for all to make:  which road?  The one with the glitter, the lights, the noise and the parties.  The one that has inns along the way with plenty of food for the traveler.  Or the one that is straight and narrow, the one wrought with obstacles and peril.

         “Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.”
                   –Matthew 7:13-14(NKJV)

Once you are on the road to glory–live like it!  It is a road of holiness, not one of frivolity and debauchery.  It is one on which you become salt and light to the world, not one in which you partake of darkness and the things of the world.  Someone has said that, “Christianity is made for the road.”  That is so true, no matter what type of road you may travel, no matter what type of conditions you may face.  It is a narrow, one-lane road, one less traveled than the other.  

Most wondrous of all in nature was human life, and beyond all sublimity was the human soul!”
              –Zane Grey  (Wanderer of the Wasteland)

    “The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and His ears are open to their cry for help.”
              –Psalm 34:15 (HCSB)
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I like the way this portion of Psalm 34 starts out–there are two paramount ingredients to have a purposeful and meaningful life.  The first is to be taught the “fear of the Lord,” and the second is to “delight in life.”  My Pastor when I was growing up was G.R. Kelly and I have a note written in a Bible from one of his sermons:  “Life is living.”  These verses tell us how to enjoy this life that the Lord has given us.  Notice:  we have to be teachable.  That is a real problem with many people.  Lessons will come, the means by which we learn them is up to us.  Remember that life gives the test first, then teaches the lesson.

    11 – Come, children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord.
    12 – Who is the man who delights in life, loving a long life to enjoy what is good?
    13 – Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from deceitful speech.
    14 – Turn away from evil and do what is good; seek peace and pursue it.
    15 – The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and His ears are open to their cry for help.
    16 – The face of the Lord is set against those who do what is evil, to erase all memory of them from the earth.
    17 – The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears, and delivers them from all their troubles.
    18 – The Lord is near the brokenhearted; He saves those crushed in spirit.
    19 – Many adversities come to the one who is righteous, but the Lord delivers him from them all.
    20 – He protects all his bones; not one of them is broken.
    21 – Evil brings death to the wicked, and those who hate the righteous will be punished.
    22 – The Lord redeems the life of His servants, and all who take refuge in Him will not be punished. (HCSB)

Our heavenly Father carefully watches over His children.  He listens for their cry.  He protects and guards them.  Let’s look at how we shall live and be His children.
    1)  We are not to be independent.
           Man needs the Lord.  This is one thing that man fights against for he wants to be autonomous.  God is our deliverer and sustainer.  We need to fear the Lord and walk in the light of His Word.
    2)  We are to talk right and live right.
           For some reason this is a major problem today.  Filthy language is common place and even Christians smirk at the thought that they should not curse or use coarse jesting.  It is imperative that we replace wrong thought and actions with right ones.
    3)  We are to stay tender.
           It is easy, with all the hatred to join in with their ranks.  However, hatred is not what the Lord desires from us.  God is far from hard-hearted people so we should seek to keep our hearts tender.  
           Someone has said that, “Victory is the crisis moment of exhilaration, but peace is the long-term aftermath.”  The term, “Shalom” means “wholeness, soundness.”  If we have the peace of the Lord we will be a whole person; we will walk with soundness of soul.
    4)  We need to wait for final outcomes.
           There is a contrast between the righteous and the wicked.  Their life is different, their words are different, their outlook is different, their actions are different.  Seek to be righteous for the wicked will be destroyed.
           Listen, adversity may scar, muscles may be strained, but the bones will not be broken.  In other words, the inner man will make it to heaven.  Keep in mind that our essential care is in the hands of the Lord.

           “Teach me, my God and King,
            In all things thee to see.
            And what I do in anything
            To go it as for thee.”
                   –George Herbert

It was still light when we rode into Raton.  I didn’t care for the town; I’d seen many like them down in Texas.  It was very much segregated; to the south lived and shopped the Mexicans, to the north were the whites.  Neither side was kept up much, there was trash laying all around, whiskey bottles strewn in the alleyways.  Not only that, there seemed to be a feeling, one I recognized all too often–that of the Pale Rider.  He walked often through this town, his stench, the smell of death, lingered.
    We stopped in front of the saloon where Jens dismounted.  “Here, take my horse down to the livery.  Talk with the folk down there, I’ll check out the saloon and I’ll meet you,” he stopped to point, “over there at the cantina.”
    I took his reins and rode on down to the livery.  Saloons and livery stables are places where strangers might be known, or at least if they passed through.  There was a young Mexican boy wearing a heavy wool serape rather than a coat who greeted me.  Dismounting I handed the reins to the boy.  “Here son, two for the night.  Rub them down and feed them.”
    He looked me over as if my appearance and the clothes I were wearing would be the cost of the board and stall.  Looking up to my face he took off his hat, wiped his forehead, and gave a toothy smile.  “Uno, dollar, senor.”
    I unbuttoned my coat, and reached inside my vest pocket for my coin pouch.  Bringing it out I began to search through it.  Winking at the boy, I gave him two dollars.  That brought back the big smile.
    He started to walk the horses back to the stalls.  “Son, any other strangers been in town, maybe a group of five or six?”
    Stopping he looked inside the livery then back to me.  “I do not recall that many.  Some come through, maybe three or so,” he said, then nodded his head toward the stable.  “Check with el jefe.”
    I entered the livery and to the right side was a large door open with a forge in front of it.  There was a man, possibly the leanest blacksmith I’d ever seen, working on something.
    “Howdy there,” I sang out to get his attention.
    He didn’t look up from his work, just replied, “Give me a minute an’ I’ll be right with you.”
    Looking at him work, the thought came to mind, so much talent.  Here is a man making something out of a piece of iron.  He’s taking something hard, using the fire and a hammer, doing some twisting and more hammering, making something ornate.  It just amazes me the talent that the Lord has given some folk.
    He picked up the rod iron, now twisted and shaped, and thrust it into a bucket of water for a few seconds, then pulled it out, laying it on the anvil.  “Now, what can I do for you, mister?”
    “What are you makin’? I asked.
    For that I received a frown.  “Is that what you interrupted my work for, just asking what I was making?  But for your inquisitiveness, I’m making a rod iron gate for the widow lady Ferrell.  Now, again, what do you want?”
    I reckoned I’d just come out with it.  “Do you know Frank Reston?”
    “Heard of him, can’t say that I know him,” he said with a slight smile.
    Was he playing a game with me.  “Let me ask you this, has Reston been through here?”
    He grinned again.  “Who’s asking?”
    “Deputy United States Marshal Miles Forrest.”
    “Can’t say that he has,” the smile disappeared, and he touched the iron bar then picked it up, turning away from me to the forge.
    “Thanks for all the information,” I snapped at him.
    Barely turning his head my way, the smile appearing again.  “Sure, sure, any time.”
    Leaving the livery I started back down the street to the cantina.  On the way I had to pass the Mercado to get to the cantina.  There were probably half a dozen or so people shopping, gathering up the things they were need for supper that evening.  One thing about being cool is that the flies weren’t so bothersome.  I’d been to some markets where the flies completely owned the place; meat all covered with them.
    Looking in the cantina I didn’t see Blasco.  I stepped to my right to get out of the light and to let my eyes adjust to the dark room.  The bar was in front of me with several tables between.
    “Senor, something to drink?” inquired the barkeeper, a rotund, little man.  He wore a white shirt, was clean shaven with his dark hair slicked back.
    “Comida.”  My Spanish was limited, but being a Texas Ranger and now living in Trinidad I’d picked up a word or two.
    “Si,” then he pointed to tables toward the back of the room.
    I ambled over and sat making sure I could see all the entrances to the room.  There was little light; I hoped they didn’t keep it that way to hide what was in the food.
    It didn’t take long for him to come out with a plate of enchiladas, frijoles and a stack of tortillas.  “You will like,” he stated as he set the food in front of me.  “Water here is good, I’ll bring you some.”
    The fork was heading toward my mouth when in through the door walked…