This weekend I had a childhood dream come true. I held a baby micro mini pig. Two weeks old. You see, I asked for a pig from Santa in the fourth grade (about the time they were getting popular), my letter was published in the newspaper, and sadly I never got a pig. (Seriously, we had 2 dogs and 2 cats. We didn't need a dern farm.) I absolutely loved pigs. I wrote about them, collected piggy things, and even prayed for God to give me one. Don't you love it when God remembers? He remembers our dreams, even 24 years removed. I smiled with him that day, with a dream come true represented by a warm little pig, burrowing her little snout in my elbow, then nestling up on my neck, falling asleep. He never forgets. I thanked him and I was thankful I did not steal her. I threatened My husband and tried my very best to convince him we needed one, but, alas, no piggy for me. I suppose the family needs mama to stay out of prison.
We loved the pigs, we did. The babies were awesome. Always trying to nurse, they were. Finally a mama consigned to lay down and don't you know those 11 babies started competing for a teat. (Did that word make you feel uncomfortable? Me too. So I am going to teat-drop lots.) She started grunting. I looked at the farmer. She was mesmerized like she was watching a sunset. I said, "Wow." She said, "I know. Do you hear her little grunts? She sings songs to them as she nurses." I thought, No. I was more thinking about how MY teats were hurting just watching her, and I'm not even lactating. Just then a male pig tries to hump her, mid-nursing. She pushes him off with her head, grunts as she gets up and says something like, "This ain't nothing. I nurse my babies. I have a ton of teats. He tries to hump me. I'm a daggum strong mama pig. Ain't no body messin' with me."
The farm owner said, "I've got to show you something." Happily moving away from the teats, I followed. She led me to a chicken nestled in the front bushes, sitting on what had to be 10 eggs of her own and a turkey egg. (I still do not understand how it got there.) She was so faithful to those eggs. She never left them. She got angry and ruffled her feathers when the farmer lifted her to show me. Every so often she would carefully roll them with her beak or leg and sit back down. That was one dedicated mama. She even adopted that little turkey egg. The farmer then said, "Yeah, with the extreme cold we've had, none of them will probably develop. But I let her sit anyway and try her best. She would be so upset if I took them away from her, sweet girl." The compassion and grace this farmer showed moved me. Whenever I sense huge compassion, I'm immediately drawn to God. It's like I am trying my best to parent, sitting on my eggs, so to speak, teaching my girls about the world, being a mama hen. And, I will never do it perfectly. I may try to do all the best things for them, but in the end, God Himself is glorified when I. Love. Them. Did you hear me? Love them. Send them to the best school? (Or provide them with homeschool awesomeness) Nope. Amazing bank-breaking vacations? Nope. Making sure they have the things the other kids have so they aren't weird, outcasts? Nope. Love them. Love the stinking mess out of them and point them to Christ. Jesus. The rest of God's blessings will be revealed when He thinks we need them. The Only Thing they need for eternal survival. He is the only One that can attach us to a greater purpose, eternal life, and teach us how to go unto all the world and be His hands and feet and cast off sin, and glorify Him and ENJOY Him! He's that good. And He's speaking all the time, even through a mama hen. Am I listening?
These days I think my cowgirl boots are more urban than country. But, I like pretending from time to time. And I think I'll go hug my kids now. I'm really good at that:)
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