Pellets

Most people imagine lambs to be cute and cuddly, like those baby toys made out of fluffy stuff. The truth is: lambs are bony and stiff. Unless they are bathed and groomed, their wool is coarse, smelly, and sometimes has bugs in it. Lambs are not too fond of being cuddled either. When you look into their eyes, you see a blank stare much like peering into a dark cat’s eye marble. You wonder if anyone’s home in there. Is the animal returning your affectionate gaze or staring sideways into space like a simple flounder? Young sheep are not tiny lap animals either. A powerful yearling lamb had enough muscle and body mass to drag my thirteen-year-old daughter across a livestock show ring. Let me give you a bit more detail.

We live in southwest Florida, the absolute worst place to live if you are a sheep, or a lamb for that matter. The sub-tropical summer rains bring hoof rot, parasitic insects, intestinal problems, and intense heat to the heavily coated critters. Nevertheless, thrilled with the dreamy prospect of having a cuddly lamb to care for, we bought one of the first three lambs ever entered into our county’s livestock shows. My daughter raised the animal for market. Our dear Australian friend coached us through the feeding, care, and shearing for show. Speaking of feeding, I suspect more pellets come out of the back end of a lamb than are put into the front end as feed. More on that later, I promise.

When it’s time for show, lambs are not haltered as steer or goats would be. The handler simply uses his or her hands to direct the yearling for the judge to see. At that climactic moment after months of feeding, grooming, and attempted affection when our dear lamb and his handler were released into the ring for their debut, the lamb spooked. The girl, clad in black and bright white show clothes, instinctively grabbed the animal’s neck and dug her heels into the show ring mulch. I’m amazed you couldn’t hear screeching similar to tires on a wet road as those two feet carved a trough like a high speed snow plow through thirty feet of show ring dust. The animal wouldn’t stop and the handler wouldn’t let go. The audience collectively held it’s breath as we watched the spectacle. At the end of the ring the lamb gave in and stood still; the audience stood and cheered for that kid who held on to the confused animal. When it was over, I wonder if the blankly staring lamb thought anything at all. He never made a sound through the whole event. By the way, after the market auction a few days later I’m certain all three lambs went silently to slaughter.

We humans are a lot like sheep. We often fail to accurately perceive the depth of feelings surrounding us. We really need guidance too or we get into awful messes. An amazing thing about sheep is those pellets. I promised I’d come back to this. Sheep instinctively climb to high ground where they eat all kinds of grass and weeds, then they drop their pellets replenishing the high rocky places with nourishment gained from grazing on lush lowland grasses. Sheep can have such a beneficial impact on the land that they have been called the animals on golden hooves. Under good guidance they remove weeds and drop fertilizer even in the remotest rocky areas transforming tired land into productive beautiful pastures. Conversely, if left unmanaged, sheep can ravage the land by failing to move on before every green plant has been consumed. They have to be willing to cooperate, move around, and obey their master or they could wander off into predators’ mouths like witless renegades.

When the psalmist wrote, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,” (Psalm 23:6) he described sheep who are tenderly cared for even when they might stray from the flock. The loving shepherd of scripture would leave ninety-nine sheep to find one who was lost. The psalmist also knew sheep leave things behind. It’s all part of the plan for cycling grace and mercy. After reading Phillip Keller's book, I wonder if Psalm 23:6 might also refer to the mark we make on this landscape of souls as we graze through life.

Whether our heels cut ruts on high speed adrenaline rushes or randomly trample while we graze obliviously in high grass, what droppings will follow us? What will we make out of the good food provided for us? As Mr. Keller suggests, I’d like to continue under my shepherd’s direction to devour turmoil and leave peace behind. I'd like contentment to follow me. I choose forgiveness over thistles of bitterness. Instead of spreading frustration, I want to plant joy even in the rocky high ground. So finally, hopefully, I’ll leave behind more than a pile of stinky pellets and some ruts for others to fall into. This way, surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.

I recommend reading A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23 by Phillip Keller.