Daily Devotion Chat

The Campfire FellowshipBy Rev. Joseph Holmes

H C Cowboy Ministries

Scripture

“And let us consider one another to provoke unto love and to good works.”— Hebrews 10:24 (KJV)

Good Morning everyone, I got a question this morning have you ever just stood there in the gray light before sunup, coffee steaming in your hands, and feel that quiet settle over you like an old blanket like the ones your grandma use to have? Out here, mornings don’t rush you. They just kinda speak, and one thing they keep whispering is this. You weren’t made to ride this whole trail by yourself.

I mean, think about it. After a long day of working on horse farm or pushing cows up a draw, when the light’s fading and the horses are finally fed and put up what happens? Everybody starts drifting toward the bunkhouse for dinner or that little orange glow we call a campfire. Ain’t nobody calling a meeting. Nobody’s handing out assignments. It just happens. If your heading to the bunkhouse you might smell the food or maybe you all are heading to the campfire where you smell the smoke, hear the crackle, see the sparks climbing, and the next thing you know you’re easing down at the table or on a log next to the rest of the outfit.

Somebody starts in with a story how his horse flat refused to cross that skinny creek and balks throwing over his head leaving left him soaked head to toe. Another fella throws out some half-baked joke that’s so bad it’s good, and we’re all laughing till our sides hurt. Then quiet like one of the boys lets something real slip out. Maybe it’s his boy back home acting up, or the bills piling higher than a winter stack of hay, or just a heaviness he can’t name. And nobody jumps in with quick answers. We just… sit, We listen, We nod, and sometimes that’s all it takes for the weight to shift a little.

You see that fire warms more than your cold fingers, don’t it? It gets down in your chest. Reminds you you’re not riding alone. You’re part of something, an outfit, a crew.

And listen that’s what church is supposed to feel like. Not some stiff, starched-up hour where everybody’s polite but nobody’s real. It’s supposed to be that same warm circle. A place where you show up tired, dusty, maybe a little beat-up, and somebody’s already got the coffee on. Where you can tell the truth without somebody tryin to fix you five seconds later. Where one person’s spark jumps the gap and lights yours back up when it’s down to embers.

But somewhere we wandered off the trail, didn’t we? Church turned into something you check off the list. Slide into the back pew, keep your head down, slide back out before anybody can ask how you’re really doing, no stories, no shared prayers, and no leaning in Just plain old routine. Cold as a two-day-old biscuit.

But that ain’t what the Good Book’s talking about when it says “consider one another.” That ain’t a handshake-and-see-ya-next-Sunday kind of consideration. It means keep your eyes peeled for your brother. Notice when he’s favoring that bad knee or struggling spiritualy or otherwise. We need to nudge him on toward love, toward doing right, the way you’d nudge a good horse that’s thinking about quittin on you.

That’s campfire fellowship. That’s cowboy church. That’s the kind of place that changes a man instead of just filling a seat.

So let me ask you straight, friend how long you been riding drag? How long you been showing up but keepin’ everything cinched down tight so nobody gets close? Maybe you’ve got something heavy you’ve been hauling alone for miles. Maybe the saddle’s starting to feel mighty empty.

Well, here’s the good news: the fire’s still burning. The circle’s still open. There’s room on that log right there, and nobody’s gonna make you talk before you’re ready. But when you do? We’ll be listening.

Church don’t have to be a cold room full of strangers. It can be family around a warm fire. Not a duty you endure it’s a lifeline you hang onto. Not a crowd to disappear in it’s a crew you belong to.

When we start treating it that way, watch what happens. Hearts thaw out. Faith gets fed. Old hurts start healing. Lone riders find their outfit again, and the whole outfit rides stronger because we’re riding together.

Lets Pray,

Lord, don’t let me keep treating your people like folks I pass on the trail and never see again. Give me real eyes to see who’s hurting, real words to lift them up, and a heart that loves the way yours does. Turn the church into the kind of campfire fellowship that draws folks in and sends them out stronger. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

“A real church feels less like a crowd and more like a campfire.”— Rev. Joseph Holmes