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Oh Holy Night?

9k=Where is peace? Where is it hiding, when our world is overwhelmingly disjointed and we feel the need to hold it together?

 

I was feeling the need to hold things together one December in the early 90’s.

Using the land for our Bethlehem story had been a vision  of my heart for years.  It seemed that God had given us land with the story written into its very geography. I was directing the “performance” of our not-named-yet nativity once again. My gifts do not necessarily lie in directing, but I determined to do my best.  Judd, the behind-the scenes’ director was loyally helping me.

The majority of our cast that year was college students.  Students are great:  they are fresh, enthusiastic, creative, and energetic . . . and this particular weekend they were also stressed because we had chosen to do the event the weekend before finals. That was one mistake.

The other mistake was we had only one rehearsal.  So on the day of the event, just an hour or so before people were to arrive, there was a touch of bedlam. It began when the guys with the microphone for Mary who was to give a wonderful soliloquy from Max Lucado’s Jesus Came Near arrived late and didn’t have the proper equipment.

As I was problem-solving with the tech guys, the sheep, who were in the pen next to us, decided not to leave the security of the barnyard to go up the hill with the shepherds to their designated “set.” The encouragement that always worked for me, a bucket of grain, worked to no avail.  These sheep were being asked to follow very active, loud young men dressed in strange clothing.  In their sheep-like rebellion they refused to co-operate.  The biblical application was evident, “My sheep know my voice,” and these voices were not the familiar voice of their shepherd.

Leaving the microphone quandary, I helped the would-be shepherds find ropes and get the sheep going in the right direction. I stood at the top of the hill until the sheep were in place around the shepherd’s fire.

Going back to check on the progress of the microphones, I was sidetracked by a truck stuck in the driveway to the pasture.  The driver was spinning his wheels while several other students were hand pushing from behind.  This truck would provide the shining lights on the angelic host.  Finally, gunning the motor, the driver  made it up the hill.  Unfortunately, no sooner did it approach the shepherd’s campfire than the sheep, already on high alert, became terrified and frantically ran back down the hill to the safety of their pen.

Since the sheep now had ropes that the shepherds could easily grab again, I left the shepherding to them.  They would certainly earn their title of shepherd by the time they got their sheep back up the hill.

From the manger scene, I made my way to the top of our two-story barn where the guests were to be seated, the prophets were to make their prophecies, and the crowd would be introduced to a desperate Mary and Joseph looking for a place to stay. The benches had been organized in rows facing the large roller doors.  We were in pretty good shape now, and I was beginning to feel comfortable.

With a half hour left before the guests arrived, Judd and I dashed to the house to finish cleaning up from our evening meal.  A few cups and dirty dishes were left on the counter.  I ran some dish water in the sink and grabbed a cup to immerse in the hot soapy water.  “Hurry” is not my strong suit, in fact, I have a tendency to be quite clumsy as my mind becomes disengaged from my fingers.  As I started to dunk the last cup into the water, it fell from my fingers.  Without thinking I grabbed it as it shattered in the sink.

Pulling my hands from the soapy water I looked at the blood beginning to spurt from the middle finger on my right hand.  Not good!  Trying to stop the bleeding, we realized that this was going to require some “doctor” attention.  A trip to the ER was out of the question at this point.  Judd decided we should call our “doctor in residence” Charlie Bascom.

It only took a few minutes for Charles to arrive.  Looking closely at my finger, he agreed. ” Yes, this should have some stitches, but . . . perhaps we could apply a butterfly band-aid and find something to stabilize the finger.”  Looking around the kitchen he queried, “Do you have a spoon?”  Of course we did, thinking this might be a joke.  After cleaning the cut and applying a band-aid Charles reached for the spoon we had pulled from the kitchen drawer.  Applying the spoon to my finger, he began wrapping it tightly.

Now I sported a spoon on my finger with the bowl of the spoon protruding from the top. There was not time to commiserate or to ponder how to adapt to this new appendage.  The show must go on!

Quickly, I pulled on some woolen Army gloves.  They would somewhat  hide the strange specter on my finger.  Donning my Army jacket, I rushed out to the barn where the guests were already assembling.

No sooner had I stepped in to the barn when my neighbor Sharon rushed over to me with a kind gentleman in tow.   She excitedly introduced me.  “Nancy, I would like you to meet my priest, Father D.  I have been telling him about this, and I’m so excited for him to meet you.”

“Welcome, Father!” I smiled as I stuck out my right hand to shake his. Retrieving my hand as quickly as I had offered it, I blurted out, “Oh, I’m so sorry!  I can’t shake your hand; I have a spoon on my finger.”

No sooner did those words leave my lips than another guest came up to talk.  The crowd closed between me and the priest.  I never saw him again that evening.  I have no idea what that poor man thought.  I wonder if he lay awake that night trying to puzzle out the strange response.  “She said, ‘I have a spoon on my finger?????'”

There was no turning back; no time for explanations. The program was about to begin, and the past was the past.  The audience took their seats, and the lights were dimmed.   The first prophet made his appearance, and the evening’s performance had begun.

“Ah, Lord God,” I breathed, “please bring your presence and peace to this place and to the guests.”

Yes, there was an inordinate amount of chaos going on about me, but at the core of it all, God was offering His message of transcendent truth.

And . . . the evening had just begun!

To be continued. . .

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The First Nativity

first BR0001We led the animals down the road, Judd holding the lead ropes to the horse and pony, and I with my bucket of grain for the sheep. The beam from the flashlight Judd held in his free hand lit the way through the darkness. At the bottom of the hill, we turned in to the pole shed area which had become the designated spot for our first nativity program.

The pole shed area boasted of nice round bales that were stored in the shed.  Those bales and the old shed would be the perfect area for our endeavor.   With a concrete slab near the fence and feeding troughs along the edge of the concrete, this area must have been Oscar’s winter feedlot when he farmed here.  The tall, long metal three- sided shed made good shelter, not only for the cattle, but also for hay and farming equipment.

The meadow was familiar territory to our animals for we had on occasion brought them down to graze  the rich Brome.  It was easy to lead them in through the gate and up to the shed.  They were probably thinking it was going to be an adventure in grazing.

The germ of an idea had grown into a plan, and that plan was being carried out by all of our Wellspring group. The beauty of community! Imagining together, working together, and supporting each other as we live out various aspects of God’s truth.   This is true worship.

Preparation was pretty simple. One of the mothers had found a pattern for cardboard angel wings and had made some simple white costumes. There would be a Mary and Joseph in bathrobes and shawls and a baby wrapped in a nice white blanket, with a few little shepherds to stand by the sheep.  The script was simple scripture from Luke, and the songs were carols that we all knew.

We tied the horses near the hay and coaxed the sheep near to the manger where a “shepherd” would guard them carefully.

Someone  had already hung a couple  lanterns and had built a fire in the fire pit close to the manger.  A soft flickering glow from the fire added to  the rustic scene.  As smoke wafted out into the small meadow, the nostalgic smells of campfires added to our anticipation.

Gathering around the fire, we  waited for everyone to arrive. Slowly the moms and dads, children and college students began to join us around the fire.

We were ready. Moms and Dads lifted the two and three-year-old angels up on the large bales where they perched (or sat) in expectation of the unfolding scene.
To begin, we distributed a simple white sheet with the verses we would read from Luke, interspersed with a few carols.  The first reader began: “In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree . . .   .”

The second reader continued: “4 So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, . . . and when the time came for the baby to be born, 7 and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.”

Now we focused on the manger. Ah, the simple, the quiet, the holy. And we sang quietly, “Silent Night, Holy Night.”

“All is calm, all is bright.”Yes the quiet and the calm surrounded us.

We continued through the rest of the story, the sheep and little shepherds standing guard over Mary, Joseph, and the babe in the manger.

At one point we were interrupted by one of the little angels protesting loudly, “Stop! Mommy, the horse is eating my hay bale!” We all giggled, someone repositioned the horse, and we continued with the next reader.

 And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.. . .  
 Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying , “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

Now was the angels’ time to sing their hearts out. “Angels we have heard on high . . . .”   I watched in amusement as one little angel  filled her lungs, and sang at the top of her pint sized voice, and I wondered  what God might have in store for this little angel. Today that litle angel, Leta, is a grown-up angelic singer and server in the kingdom of God with The Salvation Army. Just one story of so many of those little angels who are serving God as adults today.

We finished the evening with the rest of the passage, ending with verse 20: “The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.”

After putting out the fire in the pit, and gathering up the horses and sheep, we headed from the meadow to the road and back to the house for hot chocolate. And so we also”returned” glorifying and praising God for all we had seen and heard. Yes, this was an experience we wanted to replay in our memories for a long time.  Little did we realize the legacy we had begun.

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The Germ of an Idea

By the second December on our Kansas farm, we had acquired two horses and a few sheep.  Many evenings in the dark, I would walk to the barn, fill the grain buckets, toss some hay, break the ice in the water tanks, and then stand and enjoy the scene that played out before me.  After the first general excitement of feeding time, the animals would settle down to contentedly nibbling at their hay.

In the quiet, I leaned against the gate to the barnyard and gazed at the scene before me. My mind went back to those unique celebrations we had experienced in California.  Polished programs drew thousands.  We would dress in our best, and with great anticipation enter the auditorium.    We were handed a program, ushered to our seats, and waited in excitement for the program to begin.  Two thousand people had gathered to observe this one-of-a-kind performance. At last the house lights were dimmed and the curtain rose.  We were enthralled with the talent and the props.  The message was nostalgic and we were “Christmased.”

I looked at the current scene around me.  The millions of stars above shone brilliantly in the dark winter sky, and below the white snow padded the rocks and ground with softness.  The quietness and the unpretentious atmosphere were reminders of that first Christmas.

No red carpet…just trails of manure and hay and dirt.  No dignitaries…just the residents of the stable.  No gold lined crib…just a hand-hewn wooden manger that the sheep and donkeys had been eating from.

Yet in the presence of these simple creatures the God of the universe was born.  Watching my horses and sheep chomp their hay, I had a feeling that the creatures that special night just went on with their business of eating and resting, continuing  in their calling, their “isness” of  being sheep, being goats, being horses (or camels as it may have been).

As I drank in the magic of that December evening, I thought of the reality I was so privileged to witness.  No pretense, no glare of spotlight, no loud parties or raucous laughter.  Reality, simplicity: this was the scene into which God had chosen to send His Son.

I was in the midst of something very real.  It had been a real woman, a real man, in a real stable, full of real animal smells, and unimpressed animal life surrounding them in that Bethlehem manger.  No one had been there to clean up the place, to set up the lights, to sterilize the manger.

And so began a dream.  It was a dream to share this simple experience with others so their imaginations might be bathed with the wonder of the entrance into the world of the Infant Savior.

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Memories of the Farm by Michael Kizzee

When invited, along with many others, to write my memories of Well Spring farm on Kitten Creek Road, I found myself at a loss. How does one capture in words the way a piece of land has imprinted one’s spirit?  Thinking about the memories makes me want to return again, but  I fear the moment has passed and it wouldn’t be the same.

Never-the-less, I will try to share the impact this farm had upon me.

579787_10151184703522416_1036411355_nMy first visit to the farm came when Nancy and Judd were rebuilding the barn that was in disrepair. My girlfriend at the time, Alicia, (later my wife of 19 years) invited me to come to the farm to help.[i]  I spent the day, along with others, nailing slats on the entire west side of the barn, and had a wonderful time meeting new people from all around who had  heard about the project on the radio and stopped by to lend a hand[ii]This might have been my first introduction to Judd’s and Nancy Swihart’s land.

 

My next encounter was probably about 1998 when Nancy, my professor at Manhattan Christian College, invited me to play a part in a nativity pageant she had developed through the group Wellspring. Nancy knew I was an actor of sorts and thought it would be a good fit. It was a quaint and short little excerpt from the prophets and the Gospel of Luke. I spoke with Nancy afterward about how this could be a great outdoor production. Nancy shared that she had already had ideas on such a production but needed help in developing it. Nancy spoke to me about all her ideas and we, along with a few others, worked together with another professor, Dr. Wesley Paddock, who developed a script for us to use.[iii]  This pageant was to grow into what is now Bethlehem Revisited. I’ve been told it draws thousands these days.

I felt honored to play the role of the  resurrected Savior for a couple of years, directing the production one year, ascan0001s well. But, I can honestly say that playing the role of Jesus changed my life causing me to reflect upon my spirit and soul.  I  seemed to be filled with a grace outside of myself. The experience deeply  changed me.

The land itself, though, is what I remember the most. I found great delight in seeking solace in the cedar woods on the back side of the property. When I needed to escape, I would call Judd and Nancy and they would welcome me. Judd would meet me when I pulled up to the farm and help me gather wood that he had cut and stacked. He would offer a lantern or advice as to what might help my journey into the woods.

Nancy and Judd were  excited for people to venture in. They were like children excited to see what healing or goodness might come your way. They knew what God’s creation does for the spirit and soul of those who give themselves to it. They were true hosts of healing.

On a cold winter’s night I would trudge over the hillside with the sounds and chills of the whipping Kansas wind in my face. Then, as I entered the cedars, slowly the sound would begin to subside and the chill disappear as I trekked down the hill. The trail led to a lonely cabin where I would set a camp fire and be still and listen. There is where my heart stilled and I could be alone with God’s creation. There I could look within without the distractions of the world. There is where my tainted soul would truly be revealed. A place where I fell down so I could get back up.

I have many other memories of “silent retreats” and artists gathering together in cabins to share poetry, music, art and short stories.

I will always remember the peace this land left with me. I thank God that Nancy and Judd gave their land to the Lord to use in a way that has touched so many.

 

[i] This was “Nehemiah 95,” and will occupy a post later.

[ii] Most of these were students and others who had already built memories at parties or meetings in the barn.

[iii] At this time the pageant became a guided tour of small groups.  Dr. Paddock’s script was the forerunner of our current script.

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Lessons in Lambing

The clock on my dresser told me that it was two am.  I reached for my old red bathrobe draped by the bed and sleepily made my way to the back door.  Stepping into my mud boots and warm jacket, I grabbed a flashlight and slipped out into the cool night air. With each step I took, I could feel my bathrobe softly wrap around my bare legs.

Turning sleep-hungry eyes toward the starlit sky I whispered, “So, God, what lesson am I learning…or supposed to learn…through this new adventure?”   Getting up every two hours should have some reward, I reasoned.  Maybe it will be twins…two prize ewes or grand champion rams.  I was confident God would reward those sleep deprived nights.

My Good Shepherd doesn’t always respond in a voice that I can discern with my earthly ears, but I know that he tenderly loves this slow-witted sheep of his and he works everything thing for good.  So, I continued expectantly through the chilly night making my way toward the dark barn.

Bear, our old black lab, now quite familiar with my vigilance was no longer shocked into wakefulness as I entered the barn. He simply blinked and thumped his tail against the straw bed in a doggy greeting as my light beam flashed across his face in search of the ewe.

There she stood, contentedly munching away at the pile of hay I had given her earlier.  This was not a hopeful sign…ewes in labor do not eat.  However, she was young, barely a year, so perhaps she was not aware of what ewes do when they are in labor.

I assumed my now familiar position on a bale of hay, trying not to disturb her from any labor pains which might be in progress.  The night noises enveloped me. I could hear the rest of the flock just outside the barn door as a ewe softly called her lamb back to her side.  One lone neighbor dog was barking in the distance.

My attention shifted back inside the barn where I listened to Josephine peacefully chewing her cud and Bear’s soft snoring. After fifteen minutes of watching a sheep getting nervous about being watched, I headed back to the house.

“I could have been sleeping.  This was a totally wasted trip,” I thought as I crawled back into my warm bed beside a peacefully sleeping husband.

Two weeks earlier Josephine, one of my precious lambs from the previous year, had begun a pregnancy prolapse.  So, I had made a quick call to the our faithful local vet, and then began the now familiar routine of catching the sheep, holding her while the doc sewed the birth canal shut, rubbing her face and trying to convince her this was for her own good.   I knew.

The year before I had rubbed her half-sister’s face as the same vet had given her a shot to ease her death.  She too had prolapsed, but we had not caught her until the entire uterus and lamb had been partially expelled along with part of her bowels.  It had been a tough experience for the ewe, for me, and even for the vet.  I did not want to see another ewe encounter the same agony.

Although he knew I needed no reminder, Doc Penner gave me off-handed instructions as he drove away.  “Keep an eye on her!  You’ve got to get those stitches out as soon as she goes into labor. . .”   He did not need to finish his warning: “ . . or you will lose the lamb and the ewe,” was the obvious conclusion.

And so began my careful monitoring of Josephine’s behavior.  To begin with, I built a pen for her in the barn.  Nice comfortable straw for bedding, fresh hay to eat, her own feed bucket, a pail of water.  Josephine had been one of my most optimistic, social, and energetic lambs.

In the large sheep pen, she was the one who always came running first to check for grain, or just a simple cheek rub which was reward enough.  Josephine’s social spirit led her now to be agonizingly aware of her solitary confinement, so thinking this could be a matter of hours, possibly days, I brought her mother into the barn to keep her company.

I had entered the project with enthusiasm.  But the days dragged on. . .and on. . . and on.  Every two to three hours became a routine that affected everything I did.  I would leave school (I was teaching full time at our local Christian college about twenty minutes from the farm) to go home and check the sheep.  I had to be close enough to the farm that I could always be available.

And those nights!  I had asked God to wake me so I would not have to set an alarm and wake Judd.  God was faithful, so I always tried to be obedient and respectful of His faithfulness.  I had it down to a science.  Look at the clock; sit up quietly; carefully put the blankets back so Judd would stay warm; tip-toe out of the room.  I was learning plenty. This whole routine of waking, of getting out of bed, of consideration for my husband, was teaching me self-discipline, faith, and obedience.

Three weeks after we began our labor watch, Josephine began to “push.’  This is it!  I thought excitedly. Now we will see what it is you are carrying in that large tummy.  So I intruded into her life, catching her, holding her down, pulling out the stitches.  Offended by my actions, she retreated from me, not understanding in the least my verbal explanation of what I was doing and why.

But…nothing happened, except another prolapse, another embarrassed call to the vet, another escapade of catching, holding, sewing.

It would be another two weeks before my grown-up Josephine became a mother.  Two more weeks of waking, or of driving home from school, sitting quietly on my bale of hay.

Finally, she delivered a nice little ewe lamb.  Not twins, nothing spectacular, but a sweet ewe lamb. And Josephine was a good mother, and a sweet sister.  Her twin sister who had lost a lamb a few weeks earlier desperately wanted to be a mother, so Josephine graciously shared her one lamb.

The three of them ran around in the barnyard together, both moms watching out for their precious charge.  A threesome!  That new little lamb not only had me, her shepherdess, but constant care from two mothers.

Looking back these many years later, I have fond memories.  Yes, my threesome was much fun to observe out in the corral.  But it was much more than that. The many starlit nights of quiet worship as I walked to the barn, the trips home to a quiet, peaceful farm, the knowledge that I had a God who cared about this sheep of His and yet also cared for my sheep, a God who would faithfully walk with me through this experience, waking me from my both literal and metaphorical sleep, to see His hand mysteriously working in this otherwise mundane existence of the “land of the living.”

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Longing

1 Corinthians 2:9barn picture  But, as it is written, “No eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him”—

In our daily life on the farm we have been faced with the mundane:  a ritual of tasks and chores,  mopping up muddy boot tracks across the kitchen floor, pulling off ticks and trying to remember to use bug spray in spring and early summer, dying pets and farm animals,  more work to do on buildings that need constant repair.

And yet, we continue to search for the sacred in the midst of this mundane existence.  We long for the presence of a Holy God, who not only can create beauty from these ashes, but who brings a promise of even better things to come.

And thus,  in this blessed existence here on earth we find ourselves longing.

Longing, something deep within that has its source in our innermost being; something that seems to lurk in the shadows of our souls and suddenly bursts forth as an intake of breath, a deep sigh, a surprising ache of loneliness or melancholy.

C.S. Lewis calls this longing Sehnsucht, a sense of separation from what is desired, a ceaseless longing which always points beyond, a sense of displacement or nostalgia for another and better life.

There is a sense of joy in that longing.  In this life we get a glimpse of what is now only partial, but is a promise of what will be eternal.  A little glimpse of eternity. God gives these glimpses as a gift: as I walk along a wooded path, the trees forming a protective arch overhead, listening to the rustle of leaves at every step;

or observe a mother ewe after surviving the pains of birth when she gently nudges the struggling wet mass of wobbly legs encouraging this new life to stand,

or as I stand on a hillside and watch the incredible colors of a Kansas sunset.

The beauty, the promise, the joy of new life is fleeting and I cannot capture it and make it stand still in time.  I will leave the path; the lamb will grow and eventually face the hardships of life; the color in the sky will slowly fade away.  But for an instant there is beauty and promise.  And I experience it in those fleeting moments.

We have been gifted with a promise that speaks deeply into our souls:  Revelation 21:4  He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

So….. we keep searching for the sacred in the midst of the mundane today, and tomorrow, until we reach that land where we will have to search no longer, for it will be a shining, glorious, constant Presence.

 

 

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What was and is and is to come. 

SAM_1626

My thoughts in writing have been very much focused on what was.  How did God create a place of worship and community out of an old ramshackle farm?  I have marveled in His presence and His gifts and His transformations.

Today I am forced to take a deeper look at what is, and perhaps a little of what is to come. The present is heavy upon us, but God is present.  The future is behind a curtain, but God is there, also.

This past week we lost  Charles Bascom, in a sense the “pastor” of our community. His life blessed us in ways that formed much of who we became.  He was the wise patriarch who continually pointed us to Scripture, prayer, and celebration.  His life was a gift, given in time but now continuing in eternity.  We will celebrate that gift at his memorial service this Saturday.  And in the future we will continue to celebrate through our lives that have been enriched and changed because of Charles.

The loss of Charles’ presence will be felt deeply by us all.  But there is also celebration in the fact that he is no longer weighted down with infirmities, the result of our fallen world.  We have lost others here at the farm:  a grandmother, a still-born granddaughter, a grandfather, and a teenaged son.  Yet the loss is only temporary.  We will see them again when we step into the “what is to come” of Heaven.  We celebrate the promise of that gift.

People are gifts.  Each person who has entered our lives has brought the gift of who they are.  Those gifts have come from the Giver, and through the years we have received those gifts and been changed through those gifts.  We have unwrapped them and celebrated His presence.

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Beside the Still Waters

Ewe_with_two_lambs_in_the_snow_-_geograph.org_.uk_-_550962
I would say that Peg and I bonded completely, shepherdess and docile sheep, one frigid and icy New Year’s morning.

An ice storm had come in on New Year’s evening.  Judd was gone on a retreat of solitude and silence, and Sara and I were holding down the fort.  We woke up to at least an inch of ice covering the trees, grass, and road.

Despite the frigid weather, chores still had to be done, so I bundled up in my heavy-duty Army jacket and pulled on the black insulated Air Force boots. With a wool hat and warm work gloves, I was prepared, or at least I thought I was.  It should have been a quick walk to the barn for grain, to the sheep pen for hay, and to the water tank to break up the ice and run some water.

My heavy boots slipped and slid across the icy yard and down the driveway to the barn. Bear, my black lab, “guardian of the barn,” was there to greet me.  I patted his head, filled his dish with some kibbles, and refilled his water bowl.   Scooping up the grain for the sheep from the grain bin I headed back out into the icy yard.

By this time, the sheep knew I was coming.  Shoving and pushing each other they were trying to get close to the fence where I would pour the grain into their feeder.   They were all there . . . except for one!  Peg had not shown up.  Quickly dumping the grain into the feeder, my eyes scanned the large pen trying to find her.  Up against the fence at the top of the hill I spotted a gray wooly bundle.  This was not good.

“Hey, Peg,” I called to her.  She lifted her head and turned to look my way, but never moved.  Slowly lowering her head, she became a wooly bundle again.

I studied the situation for a minute and decided I had to get closer to her to evaluate what was going on, but in these freezing temperatures, the hillside was going to be nearly impossible for me to climb. The west fence would be my tow rope up the icy slope, I decided.

Stillness, ice sparkling from the trees, leaves, fence.  Under any other circumstance I would be mesmerized with the splendor of this scene, but at the moment my focus was on my obviously suffering ewe.

As I neared the ewe, I discovered she was in labor and was having great difficulty.  The lamb was effaced. But so was one of its legs.  Push as hard as she could, she was not going to get this lamb dislodged.

Back down the hill I slid to call Dr. Penner, our farm vet who had already walked with me through some of my farm crises.  Peg and I were going to need help.  My phone call got through to Dr. Penner at a garage in town where he was waiting for a tire to be changed.  As icy as the roads were, I knew it would take him awhile to get out, even after the tire was fixed.  I grabbed some towels, pulled on my snow pants, warmed my hands by the wood stove, and hurried back to Peg.

Once again I climbed the hill using the fence for assistance.  Peg was resting when I reached her.  Sitting down on the ice beside her, I began praying. “God, you are my shepherd, and I don’t know how to help my sheep.  She is your creature, also.  Please help us.”

A song came to my mind and I began to sing it softly to her, trying to comfort both of us

Beside the still waters in pastures of green,
The Shepherd is leading where all is serene;
By day and by night He will always be seen
Beside the still waters of peace.
For He’s the Good Shepherd who died for the sheep;
His own He has promised to keep.
He lovingly watches and guards while they sleep
Beside the still waters of peace.

The song comforted me as I imagined my Shepherd there with us, not exactly green pastures and still water, but lovingly watching and guarding.

My voice seemed to comfort Peg for a while.  Then she returned to her fruitless pushing.  I was at a loss.  It had been about an hour since I had called Dr. Penner.  I listened for sounds of a vehicle coming down Kitten Creek Road, but no traffic was moving.  Maybe the doc wouldn’t even be able to get here on these icy roads.

Suddenly, Peg flopped her head down on the ground and appeared to stop breathing.  “She is dying!  I am going to lose them both! Oh, dear God, I don’t know what to do.  I’ve got to do something.  Please help me.”

With that, I pulled off my gloves, rolled up my sleeve, and reached inside where I had seen a leg.  Never before had I had an experience like this, but I was going to do whatever I could.  I had to do it!  She would die and so would the lamb if I didn’t.  Amazingly, I found another leg turned under and apparently making it impossible for Peg to push out the lamb.  Carefully, I straightened the leg and gave a tug.  Out came a very wet little lamb.

Peg lay there oblivious.  Grabbing the lamb I carried it to her nose.  “Look, Mama.  Look at what we have done,” I squealed.  Peg’s head jerked up.  Giving a motherly, low and soft “meh”, she came alive again and began licking and nudging her new lamb. A few seconds later, she began pushing again.  Out popped another lamb as easily as you please.  I was ecstatic!

However, we had two very wet and cold little lambs. I had to get them safely down to the barn where they would have a soft and warm bed in the straw.  Holding the lambs up to Peg’s face I encouraged her to stand.  Slowly she crawled to her feet.  Wrapping the lambs in the towels I had brought from the house, the four of us headed down the slippery hill.

Just as I got to the bottom of the hill, Dr. Penner drove up to the barn.  Climbing out and shutting the door to his van, he chortled, “You did it!   All by yourself! Congratulations!”

After checking out the lambs and their mother and getting them bedded down in some dry straw, we walked back to the van together.  Dr. Penner had always seemed to understand my love for my sheep.  “They are going to be fine, Nancy, and you did it all by yourself!,” he said with a proud smile.

I didn’t explain to him that I hadn’t done it alone.  My Shepherd had been there with me the whole time. . . beside still waters and in pastures green.

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Wounded by Love

peg picThe weeds at the farm  proved to be more than my first ewe and her lamb, Priscilla and Aquila, could clean up by themselves.  This job was going to require more wooly weed-eaters.  So we went back to the wooly weed-eater supplier, Diane, for our next pregnant ewe.  We chose Peg to join our little flock.

“Peg” was short for peg-leg, a descriptive name already given to this ewe because of her limp.   Peg exhibited an independent spirit in her young life.  Her shepherdess kept losing this wandering sheep.  Not content with the pasture Diane offered, Peg was continually getting out of the sheep fold.

One morning while Diane was eating breakfast her phone rang. “Diane, that sheep of yours if over here in our pasture.  Looks like she is headed for Anderson Avenue.” After thanking her farmer friend, she stepped out the door and gazed down the road.  Sure enough, there was that wayward ewe, getting closer and closer to the road.  “She is going for what she thinks is better grass,” realized Diane, “and she has no idea of the  danger she is in.”  But Diane, her shepherd, saw the life-threatening danger.

Donning her jacket and grabbing a scoop of grain from the shed, Diane headed out, hoping to cajole Peg into coming back home.  Peg ignored her and instead wandered farther away.  The closer Diane got to her the farther she wandered.   Something had to be done or this silly sheep was in danger of losing her sheep-life.  In desperation, Diane ran to the house. Grabbing her rifle, she went back to the neighbor’s field.  Although it would be hard to explain to this “sheep mind” it was out of affection that Diane, the shepherd, aimed carefully at Peg’s leg, and shot.  Wounded, Peg fell to the ground.  Finally able to approach her without Peg running away, Diane coaxed her to her feet.  Peg had become docile.  Bleeding and limping, she willingly followed her shepherdess back to the sheepfold.

Peg’s wound would heal in time, but she would always walk with a limp. Her limp would be a constant reminder to her, and to me her new owner, that although the lesson was a painful one, disobedience has consequences: a limp, but also a closer and more dependent relationship with the shepherd.

For Peg’s own safety, her shepherd had had to wound her.  Not because Diane did not care for her.  Not because she was angry at her.  Not because she was retaliating for her disobedience.  Peg was wounded for her own safety and well-being.

How often does our Shepherd lovingly wound His sheep for our own good?  Do we learn from our wounding? Even though there may be scars from the wounding, do we walk just a little closer with our Shepherd?