05/30/2026
Andra and family are active at my church. She won her runoff election, though her message is about her faith. Please let her insight boost your spirit today! :) Debbie
I miss this.
Cutting competition is hard. That's precisely why it's worthwhile.
I have been doing a lot of reflecting since Tuesday night. Part of that is natural. A long campaign has come to an end, the votes have been counted, and life is beginning to settle back into its normal rhythm. As I sat with a cup of coffee this afternoon, my thoughts drifted to something I have not done in years but still miss dearly: cutting horses.
Competition asks us to risk something—our pride, our confidence, sometimes even our reputation. That's what makes it hard. It's also what makes it worthwhile. Many people find competition uncomfortable, and I understand why. Whether it is in sports, business, public service, or the cutting pen, there is always a scorecard waiting at the end. There is always the possibility that your best effort may not be enough. Yet there is something valuable about being tested.
For those unfamiliar with cutting horses, a successful run begins long before a cow is ever separated from the herd. While the herd was being settled, my trainer and I would study the cattle carefully. We looked for a cow that would give us an honest run. Maybe it was a gray cow with a lot of ear. Maybe it was a yellow cow tucked deep in the herd. Sometimes it was a little black mott cow trying its best to disappear among the others.
Once I rode into the herd, the real work began. My trainer would talk to me.
"Black cow, white face, up top."
I would look and not see her.
"Wait."
The herd would shift.
"Keep coming."
Still nothing.
"Keep stepping."
My help in the corners eased cattle forward. The turnback help stood ready for my cut. My horse remained quiet beneath me. There was a great deal happening all at once, but my job was simple: stay calm, pay attention, and trust my horse.
Then suddenly the herd opened, and there she was.
In that instant, the waiting ended. There was no more studying, no more uncertainty, and no more hesitation. Horse and rider committed. I put my hand down and let my mare work.
The more I think about it, the more I realize how much the cutting pen is like life—and yes, campaigns. People often think campaigns are about signs, mailers, speeches, and election night returns. Those things are certainly part of it. But what I enjoyed most was meeting voters, answering questions, attending forums, discussing ideas, and making my case. I genuinely enjoyed the contest.
A fair contest has value. It forces preparation. It sharpens thinking. It requires humility. It teaches us things we would never learn if we remained safely on the sidelines. The public benefits when ideas are tested. Candidates become better when they must answer difficult questions and explain their decisions. Communities become stronger when people engage honestly and respectfully, even when they disagree.
The difficult part is that while you are in the middle of the contest, you do not know how it will end. Just as I could not always see which cow my trainer wanted me to cut out of the herd, I could not always see what lay ahead over the past several months. There were moments of uncertainty, moments of frustration, and moments when I wished I could see the entire path before taking the next step. Life rarely grants us that luxury. More often than not, we are asked to keep moving forward without knowing exactly what comes next.
That is where faith enters the story. Looking back, I realize the Lord never promised me a particular outcome. He never promised certainty. He never promised an easy road. What He did provide was far more important. He provided strength for the day, peace when the answers were unclear, family, friends, supporters, and wise counsel when I needed them most. Most importantly, He reminded me that I was never carrying the burden alone. I think that is one of the greatest gifts of faith. God does not always remove the challenge before us. Sometimes, He simply reminds us that the challenge is bearable and then walks beside us as we face it.
Over the past few days, I have noticed something unexpected. The weight I have carried for months is gone. Not because the work is finished. There is still important work to do, and there always will be. But the contest has ended. The score has been posted. The run is over.
As every competitor eventually learns, there are lessons to take away from every cutting run. Some things went well. Some things could have been done differently. That is true in the cutting pen, in public service, and in life. We learn. We grow. We prepare for whatever comes next.
This afternoon, I find myself grateful. Grateful for the opportunity to compete. Grateful for the people who challenged me. Grateful for the people who supported me. Grateful for the lessons learned along the way. And most of all, grateful for a God who never promised me the score, but faithfully helped me make the run.
