Ode to Flossie

A couple of years ago, Uncle Johnny got a little donkey to hang out with the cows in the pasture. Her name is Flossie. He got her because donkeys help keep coyotes away from the cows. If you’re like me, you’re asking, ‘How in the world can a donkey protect cows from coyotes?’ I mean, let’s face it, donkeys are not the biggest, strongest or most powerful animal the Lord created. Sure, they can be ornery, but that’s about it, right?

The cool thing is, a donkey’s power comes not from its powerful kick, although they can surely pack a punch. It’s not its killer instinct that would send it into a rage to protect a cow or calf. It doesn’t have powerful horns it could use to boot a coyote into the next county. What a donkey does have is heart. Its secret weapon is loyalty.

When Flossie joined the fold here at the farm, it took her several days to get used to being here and away from her mama. The cows didn’t quite know what to make of her at first, so for those first few days, she mostly trailed behind them at a distance. But then they saw that she wasn’t a threat, and just like that, she was ‘in.’

When the first calf was born, I began to see the value and power of a donkey. Flossie became like a nanny, watching out for the calf, sometimes whether the mom was nearby or not. Sometimes the mom had to shoo her away if she was getting a bit too overbearing. 

As time went by, it seemed like it wasn’t just that Flossie was like a nanny–it was like she thought she was a cow. She’s one of them, and even though the calves aren’t hers, in a sense they are, and she will do anything to protect them. For a coyote to get hold of a calf, it would have to get it alone, away from the other cows. Flossie makes sure that never happens. No matter what’s going on or how much she wants to leave, Flossie will stand by her calves no matter what. If a calf is being stubborn or lazy and not coming when its mom calls, Flossie nuzzles it and gets it moving. If it’s headed somewhere it doesn’t need to go, she will block the way.

I have a much greater appreciation for Flossie and donkeys now. The other day as I watched her with the four new little calves we have, I thought about Jesus, riding into Jerusalem on a “lowly” donkey, as it’s often referred to. An ass. The animal everyone makes fun of. I’ve read some commentators who say the donkey was a symbol of peace, which I can see, because while they can be ornery if need be, they aren’t really troublemakers. But I wonder if Jesus might have chosen a donkey because of its loyalty. It was Palm Sunday, near the end of His life here on Earth. He didn’t choose a strong stallion that represented His power–He chose a donkey, maybe as a symbol of His loyalty to us. Just a thought.

The Poet Thinks About the Donkey

by Mary Oliver, from Thirst

On the outskirts of Jerusalem

the donkey waited.

Not especially brave, or filled with understanding,

he stood and waited. 

How horses, turned out into the meadow, leap with delight!

How doves, released from their cages, clutter away, splashed with sunlight!

But the donkey, tied to a tree as usual, waited.

Then he let himself be led away.

Then he let the stranger mount.

Never had he seen such crowds!

And I wonder if he at all imagined what was to happen.

Still, he was what he had always been: small, dark, obedient. 

I hope, finally, he felt brave.

I hope, finally, he loved the man who rode so lightly upon him, as he lifted one dusty hoof and stepped,

as he had to, forward.

 

Is it you, Wallace?

I know this is obscure, but I’m posting it anyway. I’m a pretty big golf fan, as you may or may not know, and I watch it often on TV. Tonight they were showing highlights from some of the past British Open championships, and I saw bits from the 2005 Open, which was won by Tiger Woods. Colin Montgomerie from Scotland came in second. I’ve always thought this, but seeing him in the highlights tonight just reminded me of it: he looks like Wallace of Wallace and Gromit. Am I not right?

Churning Up the Waters

I learned something new about ponds the other day. Occasionally something called “turnover” can happen when there’s not enough oxygen in the water. The water on the surface gets heated and doesn’t hold oxygen well. Cooler, more dense water sinks to the bottom and doesn’t hold oxygen well either. There isn’t enough oxygen to support algae, plants or fish, so they can all begin to die if the water isn’t stirred somehow to mix in oxygen.

Uncle Johnny churned the waters by backing the bush hog into the water with the tractor and letting it run for a good while. A few fish died, but not too many. I had no idea what he was doing when he backed the tractor toward the pond, but it was a good fix.

It’s made me think about how this applies to life. We need to stir things up every so often, or hang on when they’re being stirred for us, and know that it could be bringing us life and sustenance.

I don’t like to have my waters stirred. I like to be led beside still waters, like some pastoral Bierstadt painting with big fluffy clouds in the happy blue sky. But we all know life isn’t always happy or calm. I freak out and get upset when God stirs my waters, just like I imagine those fish must’ve been freaking out when this big, loud piece of sharp, turning machinery dropped into their world.

If I can just remember the key to it all next time my waters get stirred: It doesn’t stay for long, and it leaves you better off than you were before.

Sportsmanship Rocks

My senior year of high school, I was given the Sportsmanship Award. I had no idea I was gonna get it, and still am not quite sure how it happened, but I was very excited and proud. I’m as competitive as anybody, but if someone beats me fair and square, I’ll be the first to congratulate them.

Having seen some of the parents’ actions at my nephew’s baseball games recently, I was thinking sportsmanship had been kicked to the curb in favor of being number 1, so when I heard about this video from youtube about a softball game between Western Oregon and Central Washington, I was touched and encouraged. Check it out:

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The Speed of the World

Last week at the Atlanta airport, a lady sitting beside me asked if she could borrow my cell phone to call her daughter; she and her husband had been in China for two weeks and because of their long flight home, her phone’s battery was totally drained. “You don’t realize how much you depend on your phone till you don’t have it,” she said. Her husband mentioned his old AT&T calling card (remember those?), and how he hadn’t used it in years.

Someone at work was talking about how many e-mail messages they had in their inbox, and how hard it was to keep up. We have too much to do and not enough people to get it all done. I get so many messages now, I don’t really have time to think or evaluate—I just respond and move on. Things are coming at me so fast, efficiency goes out the window. I don’t have time to think about the best way to do whatever I’m working on; I just have time to get it done as quickly and simply as possible. And I hate this.

I’m all for technology (a couple of friends call me a techno junkie). I’ve seen a lot of changes in my day (hang on for old-lady mode): I remember having to get up and turn the knob on the TV to change channels, or having to rotate the antenna for better reception. I remember having one phone in the house, and it was anchored to the wall. I remember having to stop at a gas station or looking for a pay phone if you wanted to call someone while you were traveling. Now a lot of people don’t even have home phones anymore—they just use their cell phone for everything. Now it’s almost odd to see someone driving who ISN’T using a cell phone. We used to have to wait for information to come in the mail; now we get it instantly via text message, IM or e-mail on our cell phone or PDA.

Quicker can be good. If you need to stop for something on your way home, it’s better to find that out before you actually get home and then have to leave again. If someone needs us, all they have to do is call—no more waiting for Lassie to go and get help. (Just for the record, Lassie is before my time.) The speed at which we can receive information now can definitely be a good thing.

But … and you know it was coming … it’s not always a good thing. In the words of race car driver Mario Andretti: “If everything seems under control, you’re just not going fast enough.” Speed can be good, but it can also make us lose control. That’s how I feel. I don’t have time to think anymore, and I need to think. Otherwise, it’s like eating without chewing, and it gives me indigestion in my soul.

Also, I never thought I’d say this, but sometimes waiting can be a good thing. If you happen to be an impatient person, getting things faster just fuels your impatience. Not that I have any personal experience with that or anything. I find myself standing in front of the microwave, going “Come on, come on!” Remember when we actually cooked? I eat microwave meals a lot because when you’re cooking for just one person, you have leftovers that last forever, but it doesn’t take that much time to actually make a meal.

The speed of life warps my perspective on life. One of the reasons why I love being outside with Bailey is because I have time to process and catch my breath. She’s slowed down a couple of notches from her puppy speed of go-go-go, and after she’s been out and run around a bit, she’s ready to park it on the back porch and just sit a while. Me too. Much like the cows out in the pasture, I like to ruminate. I chew on what happened, what it means, how I feel about it. I’ve always been this way. I remember being about 8 and climbing up into the hay loft in my grandfather’s barn to sit and think.

Anybody else need to slow down every once in a while? You know what they say—speed kills.

What do YOU want?

Sometimes I feel like this, especially on Mondays.

This Old Blog

It took me two days and lots of frustration, but I finally figured out how to change my photo in the sidebar over there. I haven’t been blogging much, but I thought I’d freshen things up a bit, go with a new theme, do a little dusting, etc.

Our awards banquet at work is in two weeks. Hopefully after that, I’ll have more time and brain cells left to be able to put together some coherent thoughts here.

Wii like it

I played games on a Wii for the first time today, and it’s a blast. I tried getting one a few months ago but no one around here had any in stock, and I just let it go. My sister and brother-in-law got one this weekend, so I went to play with them. We bowled, played tennis and boxed. Lea Ann knocked me out every time in boxing—what’s up with that? Even though I got smacked down every time, it was great exercise. Richie and I played some golf too. I think I’ll try harder to get one of my own; it’s pretty dang cool.

Going for the High Notes

It’s Easter, and I went to church today. I haven’t been in a while. I just haven’t felt very church-ey lately. But I went today, and during the service a young woman sang a special song. She’s a tiny, petite thing and I didn’t know she could sing, but she stands up there in front of a packed church and starts singing. I knew I recognized the song, but it took me just a bit to figure out it’s “My Redeemer Lives” by Nicole Mullen.

If you know it, then you know it’s not a song for the faint of heart or frail of voice. Even if I had a wonderful voice, I still don’t know if I’d ever choose to sing it, just because to do it justice, you’ve really got to bring it, you know, because Nicole Mullen can bring the house down with that song.

And this girl was bringing it–it was awesome. And amazing for such a strong voice to be coming out of such a tiny body. Toward the end of the song, I was wondering what she was going to do, because the way the original singers sing it is one thing–the way ‘real’ people sing it can be totally different, and not always good. Sometimes people think they’ve got to sing it exactly like the original singer did, and that’s when people can begin to sound like me singing in the shower. Not good. But not this girl. She kind of did a mix of the original with her own thing, and it worked. Then it was time for some high notes, and she went for them. And hit them. It was lovely.

I’m not sure why, but I was touched more by the fact that she went for them than that she hit them. Cause I know I wouldn’t have even tried. I just appreciated her willingness; the success was a bonus.

Name

“There’s a story in the Bible about a man named Jacob who wrestles an angel. The Scripture’s not really clear who he’s struggling with, whether it’s actually an angel or whether it’s a man or some sort of divine messenger, but they struggle hour after hour by the side of a river. And at daybreak, the man says to Jacob, ‘Let me go,’ and Jacob says, ‘I will not let you go until you bless me,’ and the man says, ‘Well, what is your name?’
“Now, this question has a bit of history to it. When we meet Jacob, much earlier in the story, he’s trying to deceive his father into thinking he’s actually his older brother, Esau, because in that culture at that time, the father would give the older son a blessing. And now their father is blind, and so he’s disguised himself as the older brother. Their father, Isaac, senses something is not right, so he asks, ‘Who are you?’ and Jacob says, ‘I’m Esau.’ When we first meet Jacob in the story, he’s trying to be someone else.
“Now his older brother, Esau, finds out what he’s done and he’s furious, and he threatens to kill him. So Jacob leaves, and he’s on the run.
“In the ancient Near East, your name was more than just words—your name was identity. Your name was reflective of your character, your substance, the very fiber that made you ‘you.’ Your name told who you are. So when this man asks Jacob, ‘What is your name?’ the real question he’s asking him is, ‘Who are you?’
“How much of our pain comes from not knowing how to answer that question? 
…. 
“It’s written in the Scriptures that we work out our salvation. Do you know some of the things we need to be saved from? We need to be saved from all the times when we haven’t been our true selves. All the times we’ve tried to be someone else. All of the lies we’ve believed about who God made when God made us. All the times we’ve asked the wrong questions. ‘What about him? What about her? What about them?’ And we’ve missed the voice of Jesus saying, ‘You … follow me.’” 
from “Name,” by Rob Bell
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5sq8nWwKdpQ