I had succeeded. The two temporary residents of our farm, two sheep I had recently adopted, had eaten their fill of lush, green grass for almost two weeks, and it was time for them to take up residence elsewhere. I did my part to accommodate them, but it was time to take them to the sale barn. It was a milestone, a time to move on, a check off on my checklist.

On a joyful March morning the other day, I had gotten up after a wonderfully restful sleep. I find it strange to call the days in March “winter” in our part of the world, but nonetheless, the calendar still points to the first three weeks of March as being winter. We do get our March surprises from time to time here in Arkansas, like a late frost or snowfall. Hopefully we’re home free for this year.

Having finished a round or two or three of my morning coffee, along with some good time of reflection, Bible reading and prayer, I saw several of our children out the door on their way to the working world elsewhere. Praise the Lord for grown children that responsibly get up, get going and get off to work to earn a living. That is a gift to be grateful for indeed!

In the early part of summer, when the water is quite cool or especially frigid when experiencing a creek, that initial shock of getting in the water can be overwhelming. The slow way is hard. You stick your toes into the cold water, feeling the tingling sensation running up your whole body, shuddering at the idea of actually being under the icy water. But then you go in deeper, deeper, up to your knees, then your waist, slowly shrieking every step of the way as you creep into the coldness. Sometimes you just give up and get out. But when you act with boldness, you eventually just sink into the deep and go all in as your heart races and you go under.

Some folks never get in, or maybe they only get in up to their ankles. But to experience the benefits of the cool creek water when the sweltering heat of summer is beating down, you have to submerge yourself into the deep coolness to get the full experience of really cooling off at the creek. Of course, the quickest way to end all the drama and get it all over with is to just jump in with all you’ve got, going under and then coming up gasping for air as you shriek with excitement and trauma all at the same time. But once you’re in, you’re in.

I had never been to Cleveland in my life. In fact, prior to my career in marketing, I hadn’t really been very many places north of the Mason-Dixon line as best I recall. Most states between California and Virginia and below had been blessed with my presence, but I had yet to see the shores of Lake Erie, especially not from a plane. It was a new experience for certain, especially since our team from work was going to visit one of our largest customers.

The other day I was sitting in my office, my thinking space, the place I have dubbed The Idea Factory. I’m amazed at the things that come to mind as I sit in that space. Oh, I have a constant flood of ideas most of the time, but there’s something about getting in that space, that getaway, out of the flow of the constant day-to-day.

Off through the woods I went, on my own, under a mostly blue sky with patches of white clouds here and there. Having no real plan, other than to explore a bit while I had some extra time, I wandered through the underbrush, fighting briars as I went. Although the temperature was ideal for the shorts and short sleeves I was wearing, the environment was not. Ultimately, before my adventure was over, I not only came home with a couple of smooth rocks in my pocket, but a number of scratches on my arms and legs. It comes with the territory.

It seemed like just yesterday that our little corner of the world was experiencing what felt like record low temperatures. Those single digit nights, down to a frigid 5°, and not much warmer into the daytime was a shock to our system here in the South. But thankfully the thermometer began reporting better news for my taste, especially yesterday. Thirty degrees above freezing instead of almost thirty below makes my heart sing for joy.

On an ordinary day, April 27th 2023, I had arrived. Having traveled more than eight hours the previous day, I was excited to be attending a conference called the Eagles Innovate Experience in Franklin, Tennessee. I had been a part of an online community of like-minded, entrepreneurial driven folks for quite some time, the 48 Days Eagles. I was looking forward to meeting many of them in person, including the founder, bestselling author Dan Miller.

The winter storm arrived with the vengeance. On the heels of already frigid temperatures, the ground frozen solid, the snow pushed through our area as predicted. Blustery wind and snow pummeled the house as we spent our Sunday afternoon watching in anticipation, the ground disappearing, snow piling up higher and higher.

But the creek just kept on flowing in the midst of the storm, calling out to me. So, the next day, as the sun emerged, I just had to go check it out!

It was early in the morning, Christmas Day. I arrived on the scene, dropped onto the ground with a plop. It took my breath away, the breath I never knew I had. One moment I was in the dark, warm inside my mama, kicking alongside my brother. The next moment, he was gone and I was alone. Once he was gone, it really allowed me to move around a bit, at least for a little while. But where did he go so suddenly?

On December 7, 1941, the Empire of Japan carried out a surprise attack on the Pearl Harbor naval base in Hawaii, causing tragic loss of life into the thousands and dealing a severe blow to the United States Naval fleet. Shortly thereafter, the United States officially entered WWII. In President Franklin Roosevelt’s address to the nation the day after the attack, he referred to that day as “a date which will live in infamy.”

As a farmer, I have to make choices that not only include what’s best for the animals, but what’s best for the budget. These sheep of mine would love it if I just came out and filled their trough daily with feed. In the world of people, that is the equivalent of giving them dessert all the time. The fact of the matter is, they would actually prefer to be roaming around the field on a nice day grazing around looking for the blades of grass that tickle their fancy. Today is not one of those days.

As I sit here and write these words, I am blessed to be looking out the sunroom window, watching our very fat sheep graze on our field of abundance. Less than a year ago, I was looking out these same windows at only six sheep. Now there are a dozen roaming around out there, many of which are expectant mothers, God’s way of multiplying.

I am less than motivated at times. Indeed, I have been known to take the path of least resistance. Does that make me like water, flowing down, down, down that path of gravity until it hits an obstacle? Ideally, as water continues to flow, once it hits the obstacle, it either veers off course, creating a new path, or builds up into a pool. And what does that pool create? Well, I suppose that pool can create tranquility, or stagnance or maybe an opportunity for life to flourish. Or it could build and build until it overflows, possibly bursting the dam and causing destruction at some point downstream.

A calm breeze blows across the patio in the early morning hours of a warm November day. Venus and a sliver of a moon greet each other in the eastern sky, not too far apart from my vantage point. The moon seems to be smiling.

I should never be amazed at God, knowing His capabilities, but nonetheless, I often am. I suspect most people aren’t, but I am not most people. I’m always looking for those little things God puts in motion in the natural course of nature. Take sheep hair for instance. Yes, I did say ‘hair’ and not ‘wool’. The breed of sheep I shepherd on our small farm are called hair sheep, the Katahdin breed to be specific. These animals are specifically bred for meat production and do not grow a thick coat of wool like their poofy cousins that keep the sweater manufacturing pipeline running smoothly. Seems like a good match given I’m not a sweater kind of guy.

Off to the creek we went, but after lunch, late afternoon instead of our usual morning routine. Cooler temps in the morning and some other busyness of life pushed our walk out until later. But we made it.

I had been gone on a trip, so it was good to be home, to get back to normal, our blessed commonplace. It is part of the normal we thrive on.

Skies were as blue as blue can be, against a backdrop of mountains to the south. We were like two giddy high school sweethearts out on a date, happy to catch up on life after my absence.

Moments in time come and go, day in and day out. Surrounded by ordinary moments, we go about our days mostly watching a lot of the same things occurring, over and over. Last Saturday we decided to step away from ordinary. We gathered some of the kids and we went hiking.

For many, Mondays are thought of as a dreadful day, the day after the weekend when one has to return to work, to begin anew, nose to the grindstone. For me, life has become quite different, especially after having worked in the corporate setting for nearly three decades. My life now includes long walks with my wife and watching the sun rise just outside my back door most mornings, along with several cups of dark roast coffee.

As the sun would make its way into the early morning sky, I would be finishing up my second or third cup of coffee, and then the busyness would begin. They drew me in, closer and closer, until I was standing within inches of them feeding, flying and frolicking around.