NONFICTION
Feeling Sheepish
My daughter Shannon and I were on the Slea Head Tour in western Ireland. Having a guide drive the narrow, windy roads allowed me to take pictures and enjoy the dramatic coastline and rocky cliffs. We visited a farm to see the historic beehive huts and hold baby lambs. As we were walking the pebbly path back to the van, twin lambs and a ewe blocked our way. Right there, the baby lambs dropped to their calloused knees and began to nurse. The ewe was dirty, her fleece clotted with mud from the recent rain, but the lambs contentedly took their fill as she stood patiently on her dainty hooves.
The tourists watching were mildly embarrassed by the actions of the sheep, something a farmer would never feel, having regularly witnessed sheep mating, giving birth and nursing, and having butchered his own animals. I paused to meditate on the discomfort of the moment, and I saw a metaphor. I want to be like those lambs. To seek God and receive from him anywhere, at any time, innocent of propriety, willing to drop to my knees at any moment and receive the “pure, spiritual milk” I need from the LORD. To me, it was a beautiful picture of shameless innocence, of humility. Let the world scoff and think whatever it chooses to think. Under that woolly canopy is warm, sweet milk, and I will drink my fill.
Marcia N. Lynch was once a children’s film editor. She and her husband of 40 years live in Arlington, Virginia. Her first book of poetry for children is available on Amazon: Dear Miss Tickle: Poetry and Art for the Young at Heart.
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Image is courtesy of Marcia N. Lynch. All rights reserved.
Heart of Flesh Literary Journal 