The Lines Have Fallen to Me in Pleasant Places
ALT="fence, pasture, mountains"

By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer When we bump up against life’s fences, do we greet them with acceptance, or do we cry out at their hindrance and resent their delays? Sometimes those fences are raised for our comfort or protection. Without boundaries, bridge-walkers could fall, cattle would stray,

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Whose brand do you wear?

  Unbranded cattle in the early days of ranching were often nabbed by rustlers and burned with the mark of whoever caught them. Sounds like something that could happen to people with no direction or focus. After all, we do have an enemy that shoots fiery darts.

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