Cowboy Poets & Writers

The fire popped and hissed in the fire place, throwing shadows across the log walls of the ranch house. Outside, the prairie stretched wide and silent, the November wind carrying the smell of frost and fallen leaves. Inside, the warmth of fellowship filled the room. The long table was set with turkey, cornbread, beans, and pies, but the food could wait. Tonight, something deeper was being served.

At the head of the table sat the Cowboy Preacher. His hat rested beside his Bible, its leather cover worn smooth from years of trail use. Around him sat family, neighbors, and a handful of young cowboys—fresh riders on the trail of faith, eager to learn what it meant to ride for God’s Brand.

The Preacher’s voice rose steady as the prairie wind.

“Boys, Thanksgiving ain’t just about the food on the table. It’s about gratitude for the trail behind us, courage for the trail ahead, and hope for the trail that stretches into eternity. It’s about ridin’ for God’s Brand.”

One of the younger cowboys leaned forward, curiosity in his eyes.

“Preacher, why’s it so important to ride for the Brand?”

The Preacher smiled, his gaze sweeping the room. “Son, out on the ranch, a cowboy’s brand is everything. It marks who he belongs to, who he serves, and who he’ll defend. A man who rides for the Brand is loyal, dependable, and true. Folks watch that Brand more than any other—they judge the ranch by the riders who wear it. And let me tell you, the world is watchin’ us. When we ride for Christ’s Brand, people see it. They’re lookin’ to see if our lives match our words. They’re lookin’ to see if grace has truly changed us.”

He opened his Bible to Psalm 100:4 and read aloud:

‘Enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise; give thanks to Him and bless His name.’

“See, boys,” he continued, “thanksgiving ain’t just manners—it’s worship. It’s recognizing that every good thing comes from the Lord. And ridin’ for His Brand means we live in such a way that others can see Christ in us. Our gratitude, our courage, our hope—they’re all part of the testimony. Folks who are lost, wanderin’ without a trail, they’re watchin’ us. They’re wonderin’ if this Brand is worth followin’. And it is. It’s the only Brand that leads home.”

Another cowboy spoke up, his voice hesitant.

“But Preacher, what if I forget to give thanks? What if I take it all for granted?”

The Preacher’s eyes softened. “Son, that’s why we gather days like this. Gratitude is like a campfire—it needs tending, or it dies out. When we give thanks, we stoke the fire of faith. And when we ride for the Brand, we’re not just ridin’ for ourselves—we’re ridin’ for the lost. Every act of kindness, every word of truth, every prayer we lift—it’s a signal fire on the prairie, callin’ wanderers home. Ridin’ for God’s Brand means you’re marked by grace, and that trail don’t end at the grave. It stretches into eternity.”

He leaned forward, his voice gaining strength.

“Never forget this: the world is watchin’. They’re watchin’ how you ride, how you speak, how you treat others. If you wear Christ’s Brand, you carry His reputation. That’s why it matters. That’s why we share the Word of God. Because there are cowboys out there—men and women—lost in the dark, ridin’ trails that lead nowhere. Our job is to bring them home. To show them the way to the Father’s ranch, where the gates are open and the welcome is sure.”

The room grew quiet, the weight of his words settling like dust after a long ride. The younger cowboys sat straighter, realizing the responsibility of the Brand. The older ones nodded, remembering the prayers and sacrifices that had carried them this far.

The Preacher’s voice rose once more, filled with conviction.

“So today, we give thanks. For those who rode before us—parents, mentors, saints who prayed us through. For our families and friends who ride beside us. And most of all, for the eternal salvation of ridin’ for God’s Brand. That’s a trail that leads to glory, where the ride never ends. And as we ride, we call out to the lost: ‘Come home. There’s room at the table. There’s grace at the fire. There’s a Brand worth ridin’ for.’”

He closed his Bible, placed his hat back on his head, and smiled.

“Now let’s eat. And let’s do it with thankful hearts, ridin’ for the Brand that never fails.”

As forks clinked against plates and laughter filled the room, the lesson of the evening burned brighter than the fire. Thanksgiving wasn’t just a holiday—it was a way of life. A trail marked by gratitude, lit by faith, and stretching into glory.

And around that table, under the watchful eye of the Cowboy Preacher, every rider knew: they were part of God’s herd, riding for His Brand, bound for a trail that never ends—and called to bring the lost ones home. The Cowboy Preacher’s words lingered in the warm glow of the fire. Plates were filled, laughter rose, but the lesson of the evening burned brighter than the fire: riding for God’s Brand meant living with gratitude, carrying His reputation, and calling the lost home.

And before the night ended, the Preacher stood once more, hat in hand, and offered both a poem and a prayer. He starts by reciting this poem

Out on the trail where the prairie runs wide,

A cowboy is known by the Brand on his side.

It marks his allegiance, his honor, his stand,

It tells the whole world whose herd he commands.

The world’s watchin’ close, every rider they see,

They’re askin’ if Christ’s Brand is real in you and me.

So keep your rope ready, your witness held strong,

For the lost on the prairie have wandered too long.

Give thanks for the trail, for the saints ridin’ near,

For the Savior who branded our hearts without fear.

And when the ride’s over, at eternity’s gate,

We’ll gather as cowboys where glory awaits.

The Cowboy Preacher let the final words of the poem settle in the room like dust after a long ride. His voice grew softer, but carried the same steady conviction.

“Friends, we’ve spoken of ridin’ for the Brand, of gratitude, and of callin’ the lost home. Now it’s time to bow our heads before the One who gave us the trail. I’d ask every cowboy here to take off his hat, and every heart to humble itself, as we join together in prayer.”

Lord, we bow our heads tonight with grateful hearts.

We thank You for the riders who came before us—parents, mentors, and saints who prayed us through.

We thank You for those who ride beside us—family and friends who keep us strong when the trail gets rough.

And most of all, we thank You for Christ, who marked us with His Brand of grace and gave us salvation we did not deserve.

Help us ride true, Lord. Let the world see Your Brand in us.

Give us courage to share Your Word with the lost, to rope them in with love, and to bring them home to Your pasture.

May our gratitude be a fire that never dies, and may our witness shine like a lantern on the prairie.

We ride for Your Brand, Lord, until the trail ends in glory.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

When the final “Amen” echoed through the room, the fire in the hearth seemed to glow brighter, as if heaven itself had leaned close to listen. Hats were lifted back onto heads, plates were passed, and laughter mingled with the clink of forks and the rustle of conversation. Yet beneath the ordinary sounds of supper, something eternal had been stirred.

The young cowboys glanced at one another, their eyes carrying a new weight. They understood now that riding for the Brand wasn’t just about loyalty—it was about testimony. The world was watching, and every step of their ride told a story of the One they belonged to.

The older riders smiled knowingly, remembering the mentors and saints who had prayed them through. They felt the fire of gratitude rekindled, a reminder that their witness still mattered, that their example was still calling others home.

And the Cowboy Preacher, his Bible resting beside his plate, looked out across the table with quiet satisfaction. He knew this Thanksgiving had been more than a meal—it had been a branding. Each heart had been marked afresh with the call to ride true, to share the Word, and to rope in the wanderers of the prairie.

Outside, the wind carried on across the darkened fields, but inside, the fire of faith burned steady. Thanksgiving had become more than a holiday—it was a trail marker, pointing every rider toward gratitude, toward witness, and toward glory.

And as the night wore on, every cowboy at that table knew: the ride wasn’t finished. The trail stretched on, the herd was still gathering, and the Brand of Christ would shine brighter than any other. They would ride for it, live for it, and call the lost home—until the trail ended at eternity’s gate, where the ride never ends.

  Written By

Cowboy Evangelist

Rev. Joseph Holmes