Anguish flooded my heart as my brain registered what I saw. There, on the road just past our driveway, lay my sweet kitty, Fred. Lifeless.

My husband and I were on our four-wheeler, and immediately I felt the need to get Fred off the road.

“Let’s go back and get a guinea sack,” my husband suggested quietly.

Beloveds within my immediate family dynamic — and, to be honest, everyone who knows me even casually — understand that I am severely directionally challenged.

When my husband and I first married, we weren’t golfers. One day, a good buddy of his asked him if he’d like to golf a round. My husband got hooked and dragged me along with him in his quest to conquer the links.

Ending up buying our own set of clubs, we’d golf with friends and family or on our own, just for fun. With anything, practice makes perfect, but even if one practices, a golf game will seldom be perfected.

Wanting to bless our daughter and son-in-law with a cooler full of frozen homegrown meat — pork, beef and venison, as well as various cheeses — we opted to drive down to Texas, spending a long weekend with them.

Praying many days in advance for good weather and good health, we called forth angels in the name of Jesus to assist for safe travels. We packed up, gassed up and headed out before dawn one Thursday in April.

As we approach Easter, I truly feel it is the most important day of the year. Our Father God in His great agape love and unmerited grace and mercy, paved a way for us to escape our sinful nature and sure death. He set a plan in place for His Son to pay a penalty we deserved. Jesus did not warrant it but took it upon Himself to pay.

The snow on either side of the trail I was traversing was higher than my four-wheeler. My husband, bound and determined to open a path to reach our sap totes and pickle barrels, had gotten the skidder buried in the drifts.