On June 10th,
someone posted this ad on the website, Kijiji. (You’ll have no difficulty
imagining the snipped-out parts.)
“I have 2 dozen goats
I need to get rid of. I had no idea raising goats would be this hard. These
little *** keep eating all my wife's flowers and climbing on our *** cars.
Nobody told me they were such good climbers. The first person to get these ***
goats out of here can have them.”
I
understand. A few decades ago, the Preacher took a Sabbatical from full-time
ministry. We rented a farmhouse in the Ontario countryside, and became country
people. Sort of. But the children, ages 9 and 11, needed something to keep them
amused.
Two sets
of friends—genuine country people—offered some of their livestock as pets. We
adored the rabbits, but I should have suspected the cheerful offering of two
Angora billy goats. Curly and Shyly, the children named them.
Each
night we led the goats into their shed. They bribed easily most days, but
eventually hitting a metal bucket of grain didn’t work anymore. Our irascible
red cocker, Chalmer, took over then. The moment we unhooked his leash, he raced
after the bad-hair-day beasts and they scampered into the shed like lambs—until
the evening they didn’t.
The two
goats had been very chummy all day, no doubt having a council of war. That
night, they demonstrated their knowledge of two obvious facts: First, they were
bigger than that red dawg. Second, they were two to his one.
Flip. Flop.
Head over heels. I can still see Chalmer, soaring. Landing, winded. Twice.
After
that, Chalmer still ran when he saw the goats, just in the opposite direction. Curly
and Shyly held court as the undisputed kings of the yard. They amused us by
peering into our windows. They shoved around the outdoor furniture and whatever
else moved—including people.
We
enjoyed the goats while we had them. In retrospect, we’ve enjoyed their stories
more.
Goats
and sheep have a few things in common. A willingness to follow is not one of
those things. Goats want to be in charge. They’re canny. Haughty. They bully
their way into leadership. They want the best for themselves—and they don’t
like sharing.
“Goats
are capricious,” says writer Mike Ford. “They are impulsive and unpredictable,
devious and contrary. If they are not poking their heads through fences, they
may be standing on their hind legs, stretching for those tender leaves just out
of reach. Goats are never content with what they have.”
In
Matthew 25, speaking of his return, Jesus says he will separate people from all
nations “as a shepherd separates sheep from goats.” He classified them this
way: the sheep responded to others’ needs with compassion. Goats looked the
other way. And only the sheep will gain heaven.
I call
myself a follower of Jesus, one of his flock. But that list bothers me.
Gentle
Shepherd, correct me. I too often speak goat.
Kathleen Gibson ponders faith and life in her newspaper column, Sunny Side Up, and on her radio spots, Simple Words, aired weekdays on numerous Christian stations.
1 comment:
Kathleen, you bring elucidation to the separation of sheep and goats analogy Jesus gave -- and in your usual engaging style, too. :)
Thank you.
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