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The Boy and the Prospector

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Section One Story – The Boy and the Prospector
by Taylor A. Davis

Over the mountain range, through the thickets and trees, a gentle wind traveled its way through the woods until it found a low-lying stream. The cool air had seen the trials and hardships of a hardy few who would strike rock, dirt, and sand to find a new way and a new life. With sweaty,
coarse hands, mankind hunted for the finer things, most seeking treasures wherever the stars guided, while only a few knew to look in the small places hiding alongside them.

Along the Shasta River rested a settlement known as Boom Town. It was home to a happy bunch, for they’d found the most precious of metals. A prize most prospectors had searched for, yet found none. However, the “Boomers,” as they called themselves, knew the secrets to finding what others could not. They knew where to look and how to look. Gold was their trade, the life of their community. And if you failed to find it, then you were just an outsider, a lonely seeker of dirt.

“Could you tie up the tent flap, Curly? That breeze is killin’ me,” groaned a kooky old man sporting a thick, white beard and wearing a brown cowboy hat atop his head. The chipper fellow adjusted his reading spectacles and scratched his large nose. He leaned over, fidgeting like a
squirrel away from its tree while he laid down a large leather book with a
golden crucifix sewn in the center of the cover.

“You need to be sure none of that wind blows through. If you let that cold stuff in, you won’t survive the evening in this winter.”

“I’m doing my best, sir!” whined the boy. Smaller and younger than the men at Boom Town, the young lad did his best to shut the tent. The wind catapulted the wool cap from his head and into the old man’s wrinkled face. Curly’s blonde hair levitated as he mightily pulled the two pieces of
cloth together, battling the gale forces of nature pounding against his skinny frame.

Once the boy had finally closed the tent and the old man removed the cap from his face, they sat down together. The old man dusted the grimy item and then leaned forward to place it back on Curly’s head.

“You know the reason I called you here, boy?” the old man mumbled. “I can’t find gold?” Curly replied under his breath. His head sank low. “It’s not that you can’t find the gold. You just don’t know where or how to look for it…” The old man’s response was followed by a lingering pause.

“Well, how do I even know it’s real? All I do is hear about it; I never seen it.”

“Ahh,” the old man chuckled, “What a mistake it is to believe only until you see. For you to find the gold at the bottom of that river, you must know it’s there. Then you must be patient. You must be still. And then you will find what’s buried beneath all that dirt and stone.”

A befuddled look spread across Curly’s face. Annoyed, he lacked the patience to find wisdom in the old man’s words.

The boy cried in a raised tone, “How am I supposed to know that you know what you’re talking about! For all I know, you’ve been searching longer than me. For all I know, none of the Boomers in Boom Town have even seen gold!”

“Then what is this, boy!” the old man sharpened his voice. He held up a closed fist before the grumbling child. His palms remained closed. Withered and frail, they shook violently to stay afloat.

“They call me the Old Prospector for a reason. I’ve been here. I’ve been back. I’ve seen it all, and I’m trying to show you the way. For there is only one way to find the gold. Only one way to find that sweet treasure buried beneath. You must believe.”

Before the boy, the old prospector released his hand and revealed what was hidden. Out rolled a dazzling chunk of rock. Ripe and true, strong to the core with a beauty that could not be recreated or destroyed. Purest of all things, that tiny speck of gold struck Curly in the hardest of ways. He believed.

The Old Prospector closed his palm and shook his head. “Emptiness is to doubt what you know is truth. If you’re gonna join the Boomers, you must know it’s there before you can find it. Meet me in the river tomorrow, when the sun breaks the plane of day.”

Nodding, Curly got up, grabbed his gray jacket and cap, and then made his way out of the tent as the wind grew, pushing harder than he’d ever known.

Section 1 Topic – Truth
The story begins with a young prospector named Curly. Curly is having trouble finding gold. An older wiser prospector reveals that for Curly’s search to really begin, Curly has to believe that gold really does exist. After sharing his experience of finding gold and even showing Curly a nugget of real gold that he found in the river, the older prospector convinces Curly of gold’s existence. This begins Curly’s quest for gold. In a similar way, to begin a search for truth, you have to believe that truth really exists, that there is truth just waiting for you to find it. There is an old proverb that says, “The beginning of wisdom is this: Get wisdom, and whatever you get,
get insight” (Proverbs 4:7 ESV). It is saying that the beginning of wisdom is recognizing that you need real wisdom and then, whatever you do, find the truth. You have to recognize your need for truth to begin your search for it. The Sky Ranch family devotional, Boom Town, will take your family through the process of seeking truth by breaking into five sections that will lead you to real truth. In this first section on truth, your family will discover that truth is real, whom the source of real truth is and the evidence that supports whether your source really is giving you truth.

Excerpt from the Sky Ranch Devotional –
Boom Town, Written by Stacy A. Davis and Taylor A. Davis
© 2017 Stacy A. Davis, Inc. and Taylor A. Davis. All rights reserved.

Check back for the first guided Family Devotional complete with scriptural devotional time and questions for the whole family!

If you would like one free copy of this Sky Ranch Family Devotional – Boom Town for your family, please visit stacyadavis.com and request one in the contact section. For more Sky Ranch Family Devotionals and information on the author, visit stacyadavis.com.

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