Sure enough, the hooves of a calf were poking out under the tail. It was in "launch position" as they say. If you've seen the birth of a cow or a sheep, you'll know where they get that term. The front hooves come out first as though it's flying through the air.
We waited about twenty minutes, parked at a distance in the field. We wanted to be closer, but I didn't want the mother to stress. That could only end badly. So we waited and watched the glorious birth of a calf.
But it just lay there.
You may not know that a calf, when born, often lays motionless. You can see it's ribs moving very slowly, very gently, up and down. If you're not careful, you may not even seen that. This is normal. What the calf needs at this point is the gentle *snickers* love of the mother.
The mother's job, though undoubtedly tired from birth, is to tend immediately to the calf. Without this attention, the calf may be in jepordy (unless the farmer helps). The mother comes to vigorously lick the calf. This cleans up the afterbirth and stimulates the blood flow. However, from our vantage point, the nudging, licking, and overall loving of the mother looks pretty rough! For a moment the kids, watching intently from the van, were worried. My wife even let out a squeal. It looks like the listless calf is going to be plowed over. But in the end, it's that aggressive attitude of the mother that keeps the calf alive. Were it not for the rough methods of the cow the calf could not survive.
It is the same with chicks and poults. It is no accident that they come wrapped in a shell. Though the mother does not treat them aggressively, as with a cow and calf, the hen does not help them at all. She is "rough" in her apparent neglect. But it is the breaking out of the shell that strengthens and stimulates the chick. It is the necessity of fighting that gets the blood flowing. The surest way to kill a hatching bird is to "help" it along.
And so it is with us. Though we do not fight to emerge from a shell, and though our mothers don't treat us roughly, it is the wise parent that realizes that without a few bumps and bruises along the way, a child cannot progress to adulthood. It's not an easy transition, as I'm finding out, but I'm convinced that children need tasks that are difficult for them. Not out of reach, mind you, but difficult.
We bought bags of feed for our little poultry operation. They come in 100 pound sacks. Although I know the boys cannot lift the bags, I let them try. I didn't need to ask them to try. It's something built in the heart of a boy to lift heavy things. They tried. They had three of them on one bag trying to lift it. There was some frustration, some exchange of blame on who was or was not doing their part. My impatience tried to get the best of me. I wanted so badly to say "Get outta the way. You can't get that." It's a true statement, of course, but they needed that moment. They needed to try, to be encouraged to try, to fail, and then to ask for help. I assured them that it won't be long and they'll lift the sacks themselves. They were satisfied. They'd tried.
It's the same with us. We need tasks that challenge us. Tasks that challenge us physically. Tasks that challenge the way we think and feel. Tasks that challenge our very beliefs. We don't have to ask for them. They will come. But we must be ready. When the tasks come we must try, and often fail. And when we fail we can go back to God and ask for help. He will help. He always does. But we must try.
Struggle and pain are with us all. We cannot change that. No matter what technology, medicane, innovation, and progress bring, we will not be without struggle and pain. So we deal with it as it comes, taking it to our Father, trying, failing, and trying again. Yet the effort is not fruitless. Like the calf, the chicks, and the poults, we need that struggling. It's the only way we'll survive.
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