Epiphany in the Snow (part two)

 The Dawn's Early Light by Montana Silversmiths 

When the cowboy returned, after what seemed like hours to the reverend, the calf was dry and lifting his head. “You done a good job there, Reverend," encouraged the cowboy. "Let’s get some milk into his belly. Might be a fittin’ time to say a little prayer.” 

It was tedious work, dipping his fingers in the milk and dribbling a drop at a time into the calf’s mouth.

“May I try?” asked Reverend MacGregor.

“Sure.”

He pulled off his collar, and at first, he was awkward. Soon, his trousers and jacket were damp and stained. But eventually, the chalice was empty and the calf dozed. Both men sat back, exhausted.

“With a little learnin’, Reverend, you’d make a good cowman.” 

Pearly dawn was peeking through the windows when the men were awakened by the bunting calf, wobbly, but on his feet. Reverend MacGregor rubbed his eyes, confused and then dismayed when he saw the bloodstained altar cloth and the overturned sticky communion chalice.

“Storm’s over, Reverend. I reckon I better get this fella home for some real grub. May I beg one more favour of you? Would you mind him while I get my horse? I forgot to mention, Reverend, I helped myself to the church’s stable last night, too.”

“It’s quite fine, son.” And suddenly, it was fine, gloriously fine.

Only a moment later and the cowboy returned with his horse. He slung the calf in front of the saddle and turned to shake the Reverend’s hand.

“I’m much obliged for all you done, Reverend.”

“Do you have a name, son?”

“I’m Josh.” He mounted and urged his horse forward.

“Merry Christmas, Josh. The Lord be with you.”

Josh’s eyes shone again. “And also with you, Reverend. And also with you,” he added in a whisper.

Touching his hand to his hat, he wheeled his horse into the pristine, newly fallen snow.

* * * * *

The inspiration for this story came from the bronze shown above and two prints by David R. Stoecklein called "Hero of the Storm" and "Winter Save." 

These are my favourites of all the cowboy art I've seen, for each image represents the determined and courageous spirit of the true cowboy and of the ultimate Good Shepherd, who will risk everything for the safety and well-being of those in His care. 

Merry Christmas!

Epiphany in the Snow

(I wrote this story for a contest, and here it is, in two parts. Jesus appears to us in the most unlikely places, in unlikely ways. It's up to us whether we recognize Him or not.)

The Reverend Simeon MacGregor was about to snuff out the last candle on the altar when a muffled knock thumped on the church door. 

So late? And tonight, of all nights? 

He shuffled to the entry and opened the door to a flurry of icy air, and in the candle’s glimmer, huddled a man, a cowboy, his slicker pulled up around his neck. Icicles hung from his mustache, like gleaming ivory, and he carried a sodden bundle in his arms.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Reverend, for the late hour, but I saw your light still shining. I’d be much obliged if I could warm up this little fella.” Snow slid from his shoulders with wet splats and dripped from his brim onto the heap in his arms. 

“Come in.” Reverend MacGregor was hesitant. A creature in God’s house? And a cowboy, possibly a scoundrel? 

Spurs jingling, the cowboy followed Reverend MacGregor to the potbelly stove that served to heat the tiny, isolated country church. He knelt, settling his burden on the floor and removed his sodden slicker.

“I been followin’ a cow since early mornin’, a late calfer. I found her, ‘bout half mile west, in the bush, strugglin’ to give birth. I pulled this little duffer, but his mama was a goner.” An icicle dropped from his mustache. “I can’t take a dead calf home to the boss.”

While he spoke, the cowboy was rubbing the wet calf with his soaked slicker. Reverend MacGregor peered into the flickering shadows, already knowing the only suitable thing in the church was the linen altar cloth. Setting aside candles, he removed the embroidered fabric from the altar.

“Here, son.” 

“Why, thank you, sir.” Together, they massaged the little beast with the precious cloth. Wisps of steam wreathed the cowboy’s shoulders.

“So, Reverend, what’s kept you at church so late?”

“We had a candlelight service before the storm struck. It’s Christmas Eve, son.”

“So it is.” A light danced in cowboy’s eyes for the briefest moment. “If you don’t mind, Reverend, there’s something I need to do. This little guy’s mama is lyin’ out there, and I need to get some milk ‘fore she stiffens up. Sorry, sir,” he said, seeing the appalled look on Reverend MacGregor’s face. “Could you keep warmin’ him while I’m gone? Oh, and I have nothin’ to fetch the milk in.” 

The Reverend ran his fingers through his silvered hair. He hobbled to the altar.

“This is all I have.” He turned, and the cup in his hands glinted in the candlelight.

“That’s a mighty fancy cup, Reverend.”

“It’s the communion chalice. You’ll take care?”

“You can bet on it.” The cowboy pulled on his slicker, nestled the chalice in a deep pocket, and disappeared into the blizzard.

To be continued . . .

My Christmas List

It's ironic, or maybe the magic of Christmas, that as I type this, Karen Carpenter is singing "Merry Christmas, Darling" on satellite music and crooning out her wish to be with her sweetheart for Christmas. It's a sentiment that many of us share during this season, to be with those we love during this special time. Of course, many of us have other things on our "wish list," ranging from electronic gadgets to a little bling.

One of my favourite poems of all time, and certainly of the Christmas season, is C.S. Lewis's "The Nativity." Lewis, in his earthy, honest manner, admits his own shortcomings and draws from the humble creatures, his own Christmas list.

Among the oxen (like the ox I'm slow)

I see a glory in the stable grow

Which, with the ox's dullness might at length

Give me an ox's strength.

Among the asses (stubborn I as they)

I see my Saviour where I looked for hay;

So may my beast like folly learn at least

The patience of a beast.

Among the sheep (I like a sheep have strayed)

I watch the manger where my Saviour is laid;

Oh that my baaing nature would win thence

Some woolly innocence.

Fra Diamante's "The Nativity" 1465-1470

May we all be blessed with a generous measure of strength, patience, and innocence, now and always. These holy gifts will shine more brightly than all the sparkly bling we could ever hope for. They're always in style and fit well, though maybe a little awkwardly and confining at first, until we become accustomed to their fine quality and feel.

Merry Christmas from the Ranch!

Sunrise, Sunset

Here in the north, I've always thought the most spectacular sunrises and sunsets occur in the months of December and January. Fiery scarlets and golds to porcelain pale blues and mauves. 

Yesterday was no exception.

From the rising of the sun . . .

. . . to the going down of the same . . .

. . . the name of the Lord is to be praised.  ~ Psalm 113: 3

Yesterday's sunrise was brilliant and crimson. Most people have heard the old adage, "Red sky at morning, shepherds take warning," and believe it heralds ill weather. Even Jesus referred to the saying in Matthew 16:3. "And in the morning, it will be foul weather today: for the sky is red and lowring."

He was referring to the ability to read the weather, but remaining stubbornly ignorant of signs which help to discern the political or spiritual climate.

How is it relevant to our own lives? Do we see "a red sky in the morning" and descend into doom and gloom for the bad day that's sure to come? Sometimes, we are determined to be miserable and spin into despair anyway, even without any evidence of descending disaster. It's human nature.

But no matter the weather, no matter the circumstances we find ourselves in, no matter what the day brings, the name of the Lord is to be praised. We praise Him because He is good, not because our lives are good and everything is wonderful. Life is hard, and sometimes it hurts.

Give Him the glory due His name.  

Today . . . after yesterday morning's gorgeous red sky.