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Cow storyTuesday, December 7, 2004
Matthew 18:12-14 Jesus is speaking: "What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? And if he finds it, I tell you the truth, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. "In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should be lost." 
Driving in the country I sometimes see a "cattle crossing" sign. Memories pop from dairy farming days; until I was 16 my dad (with some reluctant help from me) milked 40 or so cows every morning and every night. We strung electrified barbed wire around pastures and cornfields, and then put the cows wherever there was something available for them to eat. Often that meant moving them across the road. We stood on the road and hollered at them, put up our arms, and prayed they wouldn't run by us. The cows were mostly meek. They followed each other from place to place, and we just guided them along. The system rarely broke down. When it did, we usually found out late at night. A neighbor calls ... he has found a cow in his back yard, or his field, or his driveway. It belongs to us, of course; nobody else has cows around here. I can't think of a single time when Dad said, "We'll be over there in the morning." I wish he would've/could've said that; instead, he woke me up and we went to get the cow. Get the cow. Easy to say. It didn't get done so easily. Alone and panicky in unfamiliar territory, the cow ran everywhere but where we wanted. We could shout and wave our arms and try to catch up; she could always run faster. Sometimes I cried tears of despair and exhaustion. This was impossible. It never was, of course. Somehow eventually we cornered the cow and maneuvered her back through the fence. Dad let me sleep but morning came early for him ... 4:30 am, and the cows needed to be milked. Even the crazy one who kept us up half the night. That cow got fed and milked like all the others. Always. Every single day. Unchanging every time. For what seemed like forever. Thank you, Lord, for this tiny taste of unconditional love. It taught me to manage a few mouthfuls of the banquet that you bring. What a feast of being loved by you! |