Just a couple of mornings after ultrasounding our Valais ewes for pregnancies, I had breakfast with a hawk. I know that’s a strange sentence. But bear with me.
You see, my mom passed away in September. What remains is the first “everything” without her. She was 93, fit and feisty in mind and spirit, but also lame, half-deaf, and nearly blind — the biblical trifecta. My dad passed in 2011, and up until her last days, out of the sliver of vision she had left, she’d look up into a blue sky and point to a bird gliding overhead and say: Look! There’s your dad!
She was convinced that my dad would occasionally do a fly-by in the form of a hawk, just to say hello and tell her he’s doing fine. Although my Catholic sensibilities would wince, I’d refrain from saying “Umm…no, mom, that’s not dad. And actually, that’s a vulture.” I’d simply nod and smile. “Seeing” him made her heart happy, and I’m pretty sure that’s what Jesus would do.
So, when a hawk descended and perched on a fencepost just a few yards from my kitchen window as my breakfast tea was brewing, I had an unexpected opportunity to put some things in perspective. I also had ample time. This hawk did not want to go anywhere, seeming to relish this moment of rest and calm between the flurry of activity that defines his typical day of hunting and soaring.
So what does this have to do with sheep? Well, the last two (LAI) breeding seasons of our small flock of Valais ewes yielded a 100% (plus!) conception rate. Our first year, our four ewes produced seven lambs: three sets of twins and a single. The second year, five ewes produced eight lambs: three sets of twins and two singles. Our cups — and our lambing pens — runneth over!
This year, out of our six lovely ewes, only four are confirmed pregnant. One with twins, the rest are singles, so we’re expecting five lambs in March (F4s and an F5). I’m not gonna lie. My first reaction was disappointment, especially when one of our open ewes has proven to be such an excellent mother and is the sweetest in the flock. That cup that once runneth over suddenly felt half empty and I had a mild case of the blues. I quietly brooded over what went sideways, what could we have done differently, and briefly went down the rabbit hole of repro factors influencing outcomes. Eventually, I sighed and reluctantly accepted that there will be a few less newborn lambs pronking around the pen this spring…
Cue the hawk.
Its very presence reminded me that there was one less VIP at the Thanksgiving table this year and a couple of empty chairs that will never be filled the same way again. Christmas will also be so very different without my precious mother, whose absence widens the void left by my dad. But it was still Thanksgiving. And it will still be Christmas. And the cups on the family table? They still runneth over with gratitude for all that was, all that is, and all that is to come. God alone is the Author and Giver of all Life, in this world and in the beautiful, everlasting next.
As I sipped my cup of tea and buttered my toast with the hawk watching me through the window like — well, a hawk — I smiled and thought: and whether there’s one lamb, no lambs, or ten lambs, it will still be Spring. One fine March day, we’ll throw open the barn doors and welcome whatever God sees fit to give or withhold with grateful hearts for all that this wonderful Valais journey brings. As it turns out, blue isn't my color.
For now, like a hawk on a fencepost, we shepherds will joyfully rest from our flurry of activity while winter brews long and slow and lambs-to-be slumber and grow. We’ll pray for safe, easy labors and healthy lambs. We’ll wish good tidings for all our fellow shepherds, shepherdesses, and friends who have suffered their own seasons of want or loss. We’ll see our cups and lambing pens as neither half-empty nor half-full, but filled to overflowing as we let God — in his infinite wisdom — be God.
“For the Lord gave — and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!”
~Job 1:21
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