![]() I felt as if the winds of change were suddenly blowing around my family, leaving me with a sense of urgency to focus on my children for the short time they would be in my care… YES! While much about this new stage was exciting for me, it was sobering to realize that since my oldest child was nearing her teens, my influence on her might begin to decrease as she was exposed more and more to new ideas and standards, some of which might not coincide with the teachings she had received at home. The stage where you rarely have to help anyone get dressed, and more often than not, everyone sleeps through the night. To draw them close to me and have them young again.įor years it seemed I was drowning in diapers, but somehow-when I wasn’t looking-we slipped into a new stage, the one where you can leave the house without an industrial sized diaper bag. I opened my notebook and began scribbling:įor little lambs, when left alone, will lose their way.Īnd lambs leave very little room for you to grow.”ĭeceived by thoughts of greener pastures,Īnd go exploring other meadows, green and wide. (I suppose that’s why the Lord “invented” grandchildren.) It occurred to me that the perfect song topic was staring me in the face. ![]() The intensity of my longing was startling. ![]() Of course I’ve loved them at every age, but I couldn’t help imagining how sweet it would be to hold them again-tiny, toothless, and so soft in my arms. My heart ached as I pictured each of my children and how changed they were from their baby days. I noticed suddenly that I was seeing the pasture through a blur of tears as I thought of my little human flock which was growing at least as fast as the animals. My mind didn’t dwell on the sheep for long. How strange to think that some of those sheep now looked to be the size of the love seat in our family room. I felt a surprisingly strong urge to bottle feed lambs again to stroke their wooly little heads and marvel again at the coarse texture. Looking out my window twenty months later, I realized how much I missed those days. They sucked so greedily that they occasionally pulled the bottles right out of our hands all the while their long tails wiggled in rhythm with their eager mouths. We let the kids pick four of them to bring home.įour times a day, armed with bottles, we trudged out to the old turkey pen which served as a shelter for our hungry lambs. There are few sights as charming as day-old lambs, bleating and leaping on their spindly little legs. What a sweet experience awaited us as we drove one frigid morning to a high mountain valley to meet our new wooly babies. Jeremy told us we were welcome to come choose some lambs to take home and raise, and we thought it would be a great opportunity for our children. Two springs earlier, a friend mentioned that his father raised sheep, and each year there were “bummer lambs” whose mothers had died giving birth, or had twin or triplet births and couldn’t feed all their newborns.
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