Reminiscing About Little Red Rose

If today was last year at this time, I would be heading outside in the subzero temperatures right about now to bottle feed Little Red Rose.  Here is a Kodak remembrance of what greeted me every morning, regardless of the temperatures.


As cute as she was, I’m glad it’s not one year ago.

I’m also glad that Little Red Rose is no longer living in my basement like she was for the first several days of her traumatic life.  She was cute then, too, but still…in my basement?!

Some changes are good changes.

We still have Red Rose, though she’s not so little anymore.  She spends her days as all cows should–grazing her way around the pasture and chewing her cud.  She is kept company by Sir Loin, a young steer a few months older than her and three little dairy calves–Annabelle, Shadowfax and Spot.  Shad is ours; the other two belong to my favorite veterinarian.  I rarely go out just to scratch behind Rose’s ears anymore, but she still comes to me when I have something to feed her through the fence.  Thankfully, she has not shown any of the mental and emotional instability that her mother, Cubed Steak, exhibited.  Rose must have her father’s disposition.

I look back on those dramatic first few weeks of Red Rose’s life, and I am thankful that I was able to learn what I needed to learn from people who were patient enough to teach me and that there were folks who stepped in and did the things I could not do.  I am also glad that God didn’t outright laugh at me while I prayed earnestly for the life of the little red bundle in my lap.  Instead, He answered that prayer.

I look at my three children, two of whom are already in their teens.  I remember snapshots of where we’ve been and what we’ve learned.  I recall people coming alongside me and teaching me what I needed to know…and then stepping in to do what I sometimes could not.  I cannot count the number of prayers that have been prayed, but I know there have been many.

No, I’m not really comparing my children to livestock.  But my experience with Little Red Rose somewhat parallels my journey as a parent when I consider all the times of digging in and doing what needed done and all of the moments of stepping back and letting go.  Lord, give me the wisdom to know what You are calling me to do and when You are calling me to do it.

(For the whole story on Little Red Rose, click on the tag “From the Farm” and go back to January 2015.)





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