Today on a lovely Colorado autumn afternoon I finished a project and rewarded myself with coffee and a great carmel roll at the local bakery. I read awhile in a little book I had along, and part of the story was about a farmer feeding his cows hay.
It reminded me of a Sunday afternoon forty-some years ago in my first church up in North Dakota. My wife and our little boys were visiting Art and Peggy and their older kids at their farm on a chilly October afternoon. The little ones had fallen asleep so Art asked, "Want to help me feed the cows?" Well, I'd done that before so we put on our caps, coats and gloves and went outside.
Art had already loaded hay bales on his old truck so he started it up and we lumbered down the road a half mile to a gate where he stopped and unlatched it. The pasture looked empty so I asked, "Where are the cows?" He said, "They'll come." He drove in about a hundred yards, turned off the truck and commenced to honking his horn. Sure enough, in less than a minute fifty or sixty cows came running over a hill. Not walking, running. The cows were hungry and it was a cold day. "They know my horn," Art said, "They know it means lunch."
That sounded like something from John chapter 10 where it says, "My sheep hear my voice, and they follow me." I told Art that, and he said with a grin, "I don't care much for sheep." I can still remember the way he grinned when he said it, like it was yesterday.
Art's gone to be with the Lord a long time now, but I still exchange Christmas cards with Peggy. Our kids are all grown up, but we still have our memories. I can still see those cows running over the hill and hear Art's voice.
And I am eternally grateful that our children and their families know the voice of their Good Shepherd Jesus and follow Him. I'm thankful they, too, regularly receive His holy meal.
"My sheep follow me, and they follow me and no one can snatch them out of my hand." (John 11:27)
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