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As pastor of a small country church in the bluegrass hills of Kentucky, I often visited with people of the community by sitting on the front porch with a cup of coffee accompanied with a piece of home made pie.


This particular occasion was no different until the gentlemen, Buster, with whom I was conversing said, "Preacher, I’ve got to tell you this story about me and my daddy."


Buster continued as follows.

It was back in the late 1930s and the snow was deep that winter, about 7 to 8 inches. My dad was a dairy farmer and of course the cows had to be milked every day and generally at the same time. One particular day I asked my daddy if I could help him milk the cows, I was about 7 at the time. My daddy said, fine boy, but you’d better get your boots on because the snow is deep right now.


I slipped my boots on and felt proud to be with my daddy that morning. As we walked out the door I looked back at mom, as if to assure her that I was big enough to do what daddy does. The door closed behind us and I was off on an adventure that morning. The snow was hard for me to get through and I found it easier to step in my daddy’s steps that he made as he led the way to the barn. Proud to be ...

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