Never gives up

Unseasonably warm weather in the northeast of Scotland. Despite all the redecorating jobs indoors, I dallied outside to clear away some of autumn’s dead leaves and branches. A noise broke through my thought-processes. The sound of many hooves, on the move. The occasional lowing as most of a herd of cows wandered up the road in search of food.

What do I know about herding cows? Enough to know that it’s harder than it looks.

By the time I reached the end of the drive, a farmer approached in his tractor. They weren’t his cows, but he knew whose they were. A few loud yells from him and the herd turned and headed back to where they belonged. The movement of his tractor kept them retracing their steps.

‘They’re hungry,’ he explained. ‘They’ve been left in the same field all winter and there’s no more to be eaten. They need to be moved.’

He expressed some frustration with the other farmer.

The steadfast love of the Lord shows itself in the unending mercies which come our way. He never leaves us in the desert without giving us food. Even during wintry seasons of life, he provides. We never need to break out in search of more.

And yet often we do. And the Lord’s grace and mercy ushers us back into safe territory where we can graze on his life-giving word.

I am profoundly grateful that he never gives up on me.

Waiting

Yesterday I thought about being prepared. ‘Our’ farmer spent yesterday ploughing the field that surrounds our home. Up and down he drove the tractor, tedious and tiresome but still requiring attention and care. He was busy prepping the field for planting.

Now I imagine he will wait a few weeks while the manure he dug in begins to break down and enrich the soil. The field, prepared, will await the right moment for the seed to go in and germinate.

Life goes on all around the field. Small creatures scamper across it. Birds dig for worms. Cars pass on the road beside it. But still the field lies still, waiting.

Most mornings I prep for the day by sitting in my prayer window and looking at God’s word and praying it into the day. I take ideas from what I read. Ideas about who God is. Ideas about how I should live.

Then I move into my day. Most my days are busy. But deep inside, I wait. I wait for God’s ideas, for his word, to germinate, to take root and transform me.

Every day is one of preparation and waiting, of seeing transformation and of resisting the urge to be impatient and independent.

They who hope – who wait – on the Lord shall renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not be faint.

Today, trusting in that promise, I wait on the Lord.

The Wanderer

Sitting in my prayer window this morning, I suddenly realised there was a cow on her own in the harvested barley field. As yet unperturbed by separation from her calf and the other mums across the road, she grazed happily along the verge of the field. A few of her friends bellowed, but she ignored them.

As I got up to call the farmer, he arrived, on his own. I saw him park the tractor in a strategic place, but still. Somehow he had to entice or usher the stray out of the wrong field and through the open gate of the right field, without losing the rest of the herd. I quickly put on shoes and jacket so I could give him a hand, but by the time I was ready, the cow was back where she belonged.

Over the years, we have participated in many a round-up, doing our best to help farmers with their errant herds. We have discovered our own ineptness. It takes skill and experience to move a herd, or even a single cow.

Jesus told stories of lost sheep rather than roaming cows, but the symbolism is the same. It is comforting to know that he is that skilled, experienced, loving ‘farmer’ who can seek out the one who has wandered off, without losing any of the rest of the herd.

I am the good shepherd, he declared. Today I’m praying for those I know who have strayed. He doesn’t need my help to restore them, but he graciously responds to our prayers.

A barb in the blessing?

Loving the sun. Bring it on! Blazing out of a clear blue sky, day after day, week after week, into our second month.

There was a flash of rain a couple weeks back. Overnight. All soaked up and gone, now. Well, we sprinkle the rasps and strawberries, lettuce and roses and tatties and kale, with water every day, a pleasant enough task given the ease of a hose connected to the mains, and no water shortage.

However.

On our walk this morning, Mary and I ran into the farmer. He and his son were considering the cattle in the field. The field of stunted grass which isn’t growing. He looked across at the field of silage, the field of silage which isn’t growing. And together they were wondering what to do.

Some farmers are taking the cattle indoors and buying in food to fatten them up quickly. Maybe, our farmer thought, maybe we’ll need to bring in some of the young ones and do that.

Is there a barb in every blessing?

Perhaps I should start praying for an overnight shower tonight…

The Lost Cow

The cows and their calves in the lower field were all lying down in the corner near the road. On the other side of the dyke, a lone cow grazed peacefully, happily munching the grass verge surrounding the field of barley.

We called the farmer.

The lone cow was not at all perturbed, but given the proximity of the herd I imagine the rest of the cows had been perturbed. Maybe anxious to get that straggler back. Maybe envious of her access to some tasty bites they weren’t getting. Possibly she had abandoned a calf in the other field, a calf who might want a wee drink before too long.

The farmer didn’t delay.

Reminds me of another story about a group of animals, one of whom got separated and lost. The shepherd didn’t delay either, and he didn’t give up until he found that lost sheep. 

Good to know.

The grass really is greener...

Sometimes the grass really is greener on the other side.

I watched the cows parade through the field towards the gate leading into the next field. They were knee-high in scrub and briars, ankle deep in marsh, and the little grass that was there had been nibbled to the roots.

Yes, the field beyond beckoned. Planted in barley (I think), it tempted and tantalised the cows but the fence was just too high. They are still in the scrub tonight, chewing a bitter cud.

One day that gate, or another into an equally green field, will be opened for those cows and they will delight in a richer diet. The farmer hasn’t forgotten them. He’s just got the bigger perspective, and he knows what’s good for that herd.

We can all get stuck in the scrubland for a season, but God doesn’t forget us. He knows what’s right for us and when, and at just the right moment the gate will open and we will delight ourselves in the lush beauty of new pastures.

Best taught by example

I walked over to the neighbouring farm to deliver a card, and to throw a couple of apples to the horses, Dusty and Jewel. 

The farmer was there scrubbing a couple of implements. Calving aids he called them. I didn’t ask any questions. Then he offered to show me the new-born calves, one of whom had only just popped out (or been dragged out perhaps...) an hour before. 

The Maternity unit was smelly and warm. Expectant cows congregated at the gates but right at the end lay the new mum and her new calf, not yet standing. The farmer had still to cut the umbilical cord, which he said he waited on until the cow was on her feet and taking an interest in the calf. At this stage the new mum just looked a bit shell-shocked and bemused, and the calf lay curled on the ground.

As we stood watching, a couple of heifers who were about to be first time mums gathered round the new calf curiously, sniffing, startling and jumping back. ‘This is how they learn,’ Peter explained. From each other.

We entered another barn, a sort of nursery unit with individual stalls occupied by a single cow and her newborn calf. One after the other. Beautiful. One of the mums was a bit anxious about our presence there and moved forward protectively. I wouldn’t wrestle with her, that’s for sure.

A tricky job being a farmer. Trickier than one might think, and requiring an awful lot of knowledge and experience, and just plain hard work. If mums of human babies think it’s tough, they should hear what a farmer does as his herd starts calving. Basically he just naps for 45 minutes through the night and then checks the ladies before resuming a short nap. For a few months. Year after year.

Community is obviously important for cows to learn how to mother their calves. (Perhaps we should consider that before first-time human mums get sent home the same day they give birth.) 

Community in faith is important too. Paul writes that older Christians should teach the younger ones. Some things are best taught by example.

This is the Day ...

This is the Day...

This is the day that the Lord has made. Why is it always easier to sing/say that on a day like today – warm sun beaming out of a mostly blue sky, soft summer breeze rustling the flowers and leaves on the trees? A grey, misty cold day presents more of a challenge in declaring breezily, ‘This is the day that the Lord has made.’

A day like today draws me outside. Some light weeding, not too much given the state of my back. Then a quick car wash, to clean away the many many signs that the swallows are nesting in the roof of the garage. I love the swallows with their midnight blue feathers, but ...

Dusty deigned to walk with me part way round our usual path, but it’s too warm when clad in such a fur coat, and the flies mushroomed round her face. She soon turned back. 

If my back were healed I would cut the grass, because the buttercups and daisies are rising above it and giving our ‘lawn’ the appearance of a meadow. They are pretty. It is a shame to cut them really, though I enjoy the sight of a trim, tidy lawn.

Jesus told a story about a farmer sowing his crop, and someone with evil intent slipped into the field in the night and sowed weeds amongst the good seeds. Jesus advised letting the crop grow to harvest time and then cutting it all and separating the weeds out then, rather than risking uprooting some of the good plants growing in the field in an attempt to root out the weeds.

In each of our lives, weeds grow amongst the good seed. Some of them are prickly and ugly and we may be able to weed them out without much trouble. Others, though, appear good. Some ‘weeds’ in our lives may even flower or produce fruit. I’m thinking of other people, friends or family, who may not follow Jesus and yet they are compassionate, helpful citizens who do many good things. Are they ‘weeds’ or are they a good crop, just late in recognising the source of all good? 

Don’t judge, unless you want to be judged yourself by the same standard which you apply in judging others. That’s something else Jesus said. There are a lot of lovely flowers in the field in which I live. I’ll let Jesus bring in the final harvest, and work on allowing his Holy Spirit to bring to maturity the fruits which he is growing in me.

Some weeds are just flowers planted in the wrong place.

Distractions

Middle of May and five layers still when I walk Dusty. Vest, t-shirt, sweater, fleece and windbreaker, plus a woolly hat pulled down over my ears. Gloved hands jammed into my pockets for extra warmth.

Amongst the tired green of the evergreens in the forest, the new growth on larch and beech is fresh and beautiful. Above the forest soars a bird of prey. Echoing through the woods I hear the tap-tapping of the woodpeckers, and the occasional crazy call of the cuckoo.

I round the corner and the wind blasts me in the face and I jam my hands down more firmly, muttering something grumpy. I find myself praying that the Lord would send a warmer sun and divert this biting wind. 

Dusty is happy, trotting ahead and sniffing the air greedily.

We round another corner and there is the wild and restless mooing of cows and calves. I see the farmer’s tractor, a bale of hay stabbed onto its upturned prong, stopped near the field and wonder if the herd is being moved. Dare I continue my walk, or will we find ourselves in the middle of a stampede?

Walking on, I see the herd is clustered at the gate, mooing their dissatisfaction. We rejoin the road and head for home, and soon the farmer overtakes us. Shutting off the tractor’s engine, he stops for a wee ‘news’. 

Yes, the cows are impatient for grass. And in this cold weather, the grass just isn’t growing. (Why did I have to cut ours yesterday, then, I wonder? Maybe I should have invited the cows in...) So he’s having to give them hay, which he’d hoped to hold on to awhile longer for some reason.

I shiver. Another car comes; the tractor starts up and the farmer moves on, and so do we. The house is back in sight, with its tree-lined drive. Each tree is now bursting out in its spring finery. The colours are lovely. 

I am so easily distracted by the cold wind, and lose sight of the bigger picture. To God I probably sound like one of those miserable cows. Yucks. May I retain focus on what is important today, Lord, expecting to see you work in wonderful ways.