Quiet Morning

This morning, as I walked “up the hill” to do my chores, I was chilled in the early dawn light.  The sun was providing light, but not much of its heated rays.

As I sat beside the 900 lb milk machine we call “Valery,” extracting the most delicious, creamy, pure food on earth, I looked around and took in the beautiful sight of the sun starting to break through the misty, fog-like soup low on the eastern horizon.  The beef cattle were making their way out to pasture after spending the night on the hill in quiet rest, calves following mommas.  There were no mosquitoes, thankfully, due to the cool air and the recent rains.  Valery was patiently chewing her cud, thankful that I’ve come to relieve her of her daily burden.  The black guard dog was quietly waiting for her turn to sample the leftovers, her breakfast.

I turned back to my work, my forearms starting to ache with the familiar lactic acid build up that comes from extended flexing of the hands during milking; and just then, the sun’s rays came full on to where I was sitting, warming me, reminding me that each day is new, full of opportunity and grace.  For a moment, the only sound was the milk hitting the side of the pail, and I found myself grateful for the work which called me out this day to experience the renewal of God’s faithfulness.

As I sat beside the 900 lb milk machine we call “Valery,” extracting the most delicious, creamy, pure food on earth, I looked around and took in the beautiful sight of the sun starting to break through the misty, fog-like soup low on the eastern horizon.  The beef cattle were making their way out to pasture after spending the night on the hill in quiet rest, calves following mommas.  There were no mosquitoes, thankfully, due to the cool air and the recent rains.  Valery was patiently chewing her cud, thankful that I’ve come to relieve her of her daily burden.  The black guard dog was quietly waiting for her turn to sample the leftovers, her breakfast.

I turned back to my work, my forearms starting to ache with the familiar lactic acid build up that comes from extended flexing of the hands during milking; and just then, the sun’s rays came full on to where I was sitting, warming me, reminding me that each day is new, full of opportunity and grace.  For a moment, the only sound was the milk hitting the side of the pail, and I found myself grateful for the work which called me out this day to experience the renewal of God’s faithfulness.

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