Big Mama Asks, “Who’ll Get in the Muck with Me?”

Twenty-four hours after birthing Blossom in a snowdrift, Big Mama’s clamoring for her life.

Diagnosis? Milk fever.

Prognosis? Without intervention? Death.

Location? Muck.

Even at the Barnyard of Heaven, life’s messy. Big Mama collapsed from milk fever, slid a few yards in the muck, and bloodied herself in a futile effort to regain footing. Her bloodstream, her brain, devoid of calcium needed for nerve and muscle function, left her helpless, half dead.

I pictured the man Jesus described in the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37) attacked by robbers, stripped naked, beaten and left half dead. Big Mama needed a neighbor.

You know the story, but indulge me with the liberty to modernize it. I imagined a priest passing by on his way to Jericho to teach a leadership seminar. “Sorry about the muck you’re in, good sir, but I’m running late and can’t afford to soil my suit. Looks like you could benefit from the principles I’m teaching. Stop by if you can, I’m in town all week.”

Next came a Levite noting the man’s struggle to breathe. “Looks like it’s time to give up those cigarettes, my friend. Stop by and see me for a helpful 5-step program I’m presenting at the synagogue. I’m in town all week.”

Finally, a Samaritan saw the urgency of the stranger’s situation, had pity on him, and got down in the muck with him.

I’m a cowherd. I tag along behind cows I don’t own. I take care of their needs. I know Big Mama needs a strong dose of calcium delivered straight to the jugular vein. But, she’s sprawled out on her side. I first need to reposition her on her sternum, no easy feat. So, I got down in the muck beside her.

Why? Because numerous times, I’ve been the half-dead man in the muck. I’ve had friends, family, pastoral caregivers, even strangers have mercy on me, get down in the muck with me. They prop me up, attend to my thirst, bandage me up and care for me.

Take A Deep Breath of Remember. I hope you’ve experienced this neighborly care, too. I hope you’ve gotten down in the muck with the broken ones in your life.

Prayer: Lord Jesus, lover of my soul. Thank you for having mercy on me, for pitying my broken, wretched condition, and for joining me in the muck to quench my soul thirst. I gaze on your thorn-crowned head, your body pierced with nails and spear, beaten, abandoned to die. You died for me. And I live. Amen.

Photo credit: The Good Samaritan, Daniel Borup, Sculptor

Pursued

During the traverse between the snowdrift she was born in and the calving stall she should have been born in, Blossom and I weren’t alone.  Twelve hundred pounds of Holstein protective fury pursued us. Big Mama!

I felt her hot breath come in snorts. She wanted to climb into my back pocket. My anxiety about whether she aimed to trample me sprang from times when it had happened. Didn’t matter whether I wanted to stop and catch my breath, or get a tighter grip on Blossom, Big Mama’s pursuit compelled me forward.

Big Mama blurted out a series of intimidating guttural bellows. Blossom chimed in with her own high-pitched distress bawl. Adrenaline surged through our veins. Big Mama was up for a fight. I favored flight.

I survived the stumbling scamper to the calving stall. Blossom lies safe in pile of fresh straw. Big Mama diverts her attention from kill-the-cowherd mode to that of an EMT first-responder and begins to energetically lick and nudge her shivering, steaming calf to rev up her circulation.

This maternity drama resolved positively. Not all do. A deep sense of satisfaction percolated through me. I participated in a ritual as the rescuer, reminded of my perpetual need to be rescued.

I envied Blossom. Big Mama passionately pursued her. Something in me longed to feel valuable, longed to be pursued.

Take A Deep Breath of Remember: Do you long to catch a glimpse of a loving Father eagerly pursuing you, zealous to bend your heart toward Him? Or, do you ever come stumbling toward home tarnished from the pigsty , staring at the dust rising from your bare plodding feet, rehearsing your excuses? Your best hope is to be counted among the hired hands. Then you glance up and see him. Without need for dignity, he comes running toward you, both hands clutching his robe, hiking it up so he can sprint. It’s your Father. He’s been waiting for you. He throws his arms around you and lifts you off your feet. He kisses you and orders his best robe to cover you. Cover you from your nakedness, poverty and rags. He means to do you good. (Adapted from the parable of the prodigal, Luke 5:11-32)

Prayer: Father, we are valuable because we are yours. Thank you for pursuing us through your son Jesus and the Holy Spirit. Let your goodness and mercy pursue us today.