Cottonballs

Leaning on the fence, I surveyed the pasture, smiling as the familiar cotton balls lifted their fuzzy faces at the sound of my voice and came running from the far end of the field where they were grazing. “Baa,” they bleated in unison as they rushed forward, “Baa.” We first bought sheep when I was eight years old. A friendly neighbor, James Keith, instructed my parents that we should have a specific call that would signal them to come from wherever they were when we needed them. Now, twelve years later, all we have to do is yell “Baa” and all thirty-something of them come at full speed. I remembered all the times school groups had come out to the farm on field trips while I was growing up. I was homeschooled through sixth grade, so I could help my Mom out and do my own schoolwork later. My mom would have the children try to call the sheep to the fence. They never would come. But as soon as a member of my family yelled, “baa,” they would drop what they were doing and come immediately. This always illustrated so well what Jesus was talking about in John 10 when he said, “The watchman opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes on ahead of them, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice. But they will never follow a stranger; in fact, they will run away from him because they do not recognize a stranger's voice.”

Although the farm was a family project, I always loved taking care of the animals more than anyone else. Every single cotton ball had his or her own name— I could look at the flock and tell you why each one was unique and different. I could look at the flock and always tell if even one was missing. This helped me to understand what Jesus was talking about later on in John 10 when he said “He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.” Friends would come out to the farm and I would bring a sheep over to them and tell them “This is Icicle,” or “Snow”, or “Sugar,” or “Black-eyed Susie,” or whichever sheep it might be. “How can you tell them apart like that?” was always the first question people asked. I’d always shrug, unsure how to answer. “You just get to know them when you’re around them a lot. They all have their own personalities and differences.” It always baffled me that, just as I could tell you the names, breeds, ages, and ancestry of the ten to fifty sheep we owned at any given time, Jesus knows not only all this but so much more about each of the 6.5 billion people in the world. He knows how many hairs are on each head. He knows every thought that crosses any mind. He knows each life story before it is even lived.

Climbing over the fence to greet my old friends, I assessed the furry faces that pressed their noses into my hand in hopes of finding some treat or bit of food there. In my absence since I graduated from high school two years before, many of the ewes that had been on the farm since I was eight years old were gone. It made me sad. Icicle, who was my very own and very first sheep, had died during my first semester of college. It was odd now that she was gone, as she had always been the first to come running to see me when I entered the pasture. Her third lamb, Sugar, looking almost exactly like her mother, took her mother’s place following me as I made my rounds. She had two new lambs herself. I knew that my work was cut out for my creating two names that had not already been used several times over the years. We didn’t need another “Piper” or “Pepper” or “Pattie” or “Spice” to confuse matters even more!

I smiled as they frolicked, jumping with all four hooves off the ground. When they started wandering too far, Sugar would bleat in that special way the ewes do when they are calling their young, and the two would come running back to their mother and try to steal a snack. After awhile, they would grow tired and lay down to rest beside their mother as she chewed her cud. “He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young” (Isaiah 40:11). The verse came to me like the whispering of the wind in the pines that bordered the field. What comfort to know I have a shepherd who loves me like that. I always have thought that sheep were the best of mothers. I’ve never seen such attentive mothers. They know where their children are at all times. Their children respect them so much that at the very sound of their voices, the lambs come without question. At the same time, they indulge their young, loving on them, feeding them, cleaning them, and keeping them warm. It’s a picture of God that I wish more people could witness first hand.

I stayed at the farm until dark. I sure had missed watching the beautiful array of colors from the hillside overlooking the pond as the sun set. It had been too long since I last had the opportunity to soak in the beauty of God’s creation. As I sat on a fallen tree, the sheep came to graze around where I sat. I smiled, and tears came to my eyes as the familiar moment brought back a flood of memories. Although I miss getting to spend time at the farm on a regular basis while I’m away at school, I realized there that my childhood experiences had prepared me for life in so many more ways than I had ever thought. I wasn’t just knowledgeable about livestock and agriculture. I had learned so much about my God, and the truths remained in my heart despite what life threw my way. I would never trade my childhood for anything.