Green Acres

Last Sunday was Good Shepherd Sunday, so the church service centered on the theme of sheep. If you're familiar at all with the Bible, you know there are many references--both specific and illustrative--made to sheep & shepherds. I promise I was paying attention during the important parts, but while the offerings were being collected, I started thinking about sheep.

My mind wandered to my childhood. Gram & Gramp lived in a more rural area of Bristol. Just down the road, right where Perkins Street crested on Chippens Hill, one of their neighbors had a good-sized farm. (Green Acres.) (No, I'm not kidding.) They had, among other things, a decent number of sheep. I remember many many many trips past the white fence alongside the road, fresh paint in the Spring, the paint peeling just a bit as Summer gave way to Autumn, the fence partially buried in snow drifts all Winter long. The low building that housed the sheep pen was tucked into a little hollow, nestled up against the tree line, and on any pleasant day, year round, the sheep could be found in the fenced-in pasture--grazing & napping & doing whatever it is sheep do. The bottom line is that they were never doing anything very interesting. I mean, they're *sheep*.

Well, one day, I arrived at Gram's house (part of me thinks I came home from school but another part of me could *swear* this happened during the Summer, so I don't know where I would have been coming from but anyway...) and the yard looked...wrong, somehow. Gram came bursting out the kitchen door to tell the story.

It was late morning. She was tidying up the kitchen, just like she always did (I think I came by my love of routine honestly, because Gram had a definite routine) when she heard this strange sound. She described it like an angry humming rumble. It wasn't thunder--the sky was clear & sunny. It wasn't a train--there were no train tracks anywhere remotely close by. She wondered if it could perhaps be some piece of farming equipment? Not unheard of on Chippens Hill. As I said, rural-ish: think large yards & gardens & family farms & open fields.

And then they came. The sheep. They had somehow broken out of their pasture & proceeded to panic, as sheep do. They got out & then they didn't know what to do with themslves. So they ran. They bleated & bahhhh'd & ran. Right up the road. The whole hundred-and-twenty-or-so of them. And for some reason, they hung a hard left & ran right up Gram & Gramp's driveway.

Gram watched the sheep stampede from the kitchen windows, disbelievingly. The utter chaos of sheep bodies swirling around the house, running every direction at once. They ran through the backyard. They ran down the side yard & back up the driveway again. They stomped & trampled & the dust whirled through the air. (That's when I realized what looked wrong: the soft green grass was smashed into dirt and all Gram's beautiful flower gardens were trampled & broken.)

Gramp was in his gardens (on the back side of their 3+ acres of property, the orchard between the backyard & where he worked in the dirt) when he heard the ruckus. He rushed toward the house, thankful Gram was safely inside, hopped in his truck & drove quickly down to the neighbor's farm to tell them of their escapees. Several men rode back with him & he helped them herd the sheep back to their proper place. The fence was mended, the sheep went back to munching grass, their eyes quizzical at all the activity, as if nothing had happened.

Until the next day when the whole ridiculous scenario repeated itself.

*This* time the neighbor double-reinforced the spot in the fence where the sheep had busted through. And then he got a great big fluffy white sheep dog named Ben. Ben would patrol the sheep, keeping them in line (and in their pasture!). He would rest in the sun, watching, occasionally circling his herd. It became common to hear a random commanding 'woof!' as he exacted authority upon a potentially wayward sheep, but mostly Ben just quietly went about his business of minding the foolish sheep, who were much happier in rather than out. It turns out, Green Acres really *was* the place to be.

I hadn't thought about Ben or Green Acres or the silly stampeding sheep in a long time. But I did on Sunday. I thought about how we're a lot like sheep--and how appropriate it was that my Kindergarten graduation theme was "I am Jesus' Little Lamb"--and how we get ourselves into all kinds of messes. We *think* we want to be on the other side of the fence, free & joyful, but we break through & suddenly that great big wide open space loses its appeal. It's scary & threatening in the unknown. We'd rather be safe & cozy in our familiar place where we belong, but suddenly we can't remember how to get back there. So we run. All over the place. Freaking out. Arms waving, like Kevin in "Home Alone."

I'm glad I have a "Ben" to guide me away from the fence, when I contemplate breaking through & fleeing. I really am much happier where it is safe & secure, knowing His watchful eye is on me. The grass is green right here, right where I am. Green & abundant & I'm surrounded by my fellow flockmates & life if good. This *is* the place to be.

PS. You know you're totally going to be humming that song to yourself all day now. You're welcome.