I've been trying to write this post for several months. In fact, I've written sections of it more than once in my mind and on paper. I just couldn't ever get it right--I couldn't figure out how all of the pieces of the lesson were supposed to come together. Now the words are finally in my mouth and I am at peace with them.
I don't have any dates or times for the following story. If I had to guess, I'd probably say I was at least twelve but not yet to fourteen. It was in the days when Grandpa Judd was still pretty heavily involved with the day to day business of the ranch...sheep days. I have such distinct memories of working with the sheep. Perhaps because everything about working with them was so very different than working with the cattle; and also, because Old Bill called the shots when it came to the sheep. Whether you ever knew him or not, let me make this perfectly clear--the man knew about sheep. He's the only person I've ever seen my own father defer to at any time...and maybe only about sheep.
Every fall the ewes and lambs were taken from Spring Canyon and pushed down to the pastures across from our house. On one of these drives I remember this specific moment:
I'm sitting on a horse with my dad riding next to me. We are near the top of the Buck Pasture, where the corrals now sit. We are riding out to the edge of a steep side hill that is covered in Quaking Aspen. The sheep have bedded down in what is left of the frozen underbrush. It is very early in the morning, just at the brink of sunrise. It is quiet and as we get near to the sheep you can hear the tink-tink of their bells. There is a heavy thick fog that has risen over their bodies measuring the temperature change between their heat and the air.
We are quiet. The sheep are quiet. My dad speaks to me low and direct, "Grandpa is at the bottom of this canyon. He is going to call to the sheep and they are going to come. These ewes are ready to go, the older ones have the bells and they will recognize his voice and know what to do. The others will follow them. When they decide to go, they will go on a dead run. You must keep up. Don't leave any behind. Let the horse run with them. Hang on to the horn if you have to because it's going to be steep. I'm going to ride out to the north and bring them from that direction. I will see you at the bottom."
And then he rode away.
Old Bill's sheep call is a loud "Brrrrr, Brrrrrr" noise. I heard it sound from the distance. At first, the sheep stir slightly, but at the second round of calls it was as if the entire side of the mountain began to shift and slide down through the trees in a continuous motion. Hot, woolen bodies moving in an avalanche of legs and bells and baas. They listened. They understood. Without regard for self or safety they ran with relentless speed toward the shepherd.
The Spirit works in such interesting ways of remembrance to teach us about the present. I've been pondering the power of voice. Repeatedly, I've been prompted to consider whose voice I am listening to; do I understand the message?
Last night I assisted in a Mormon Women Project event here in Cache Valley [www.mormonwomen.com]. The event was centered around a panel discussion on "Being Co-Creators With God" with Ronda Callister, Krisanne Hastings Knudsen, and Laura Wolford. It was an overwhelmingly powerful experience for me. The Spirit was so strong that at one point I looked around the room and realized that we were all listening to the same voice. The language of God is certainly individual, but I had such a powerful resonating perception that we were running to the Shepherd. Collectively.
Our lives are submersed with voices. Simply put, one of the most difficult choices of this dispensation will be to seek the stillness long enough recognize and hear His voice. It takes courage to hear what He has to say and consider the outcomes. It takes confidence and humility to push back the fear. It takes resolve and love to remain obedient. It takes faith to understand that there will continually be "fish in the basket".
Wouldn't it be easier if we could love and be loved, to trust and be trusted to the point that we could go together? The voice that tells you you are all alone, that you will not be understood, and should be ashamed of your unique perspective--well, I hate that voice.
Did you see the commencement speech given by Oprah Winfrey at Harvard?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GMWFieBGR7c
These are just a few of the highlights which stood out to me:
"Failure is just life trying to move you in another direction."
"Your [life] resume should be more about who you want to become--your purpose"
"What unites us is far more redeeming and compelling than anything that separates us"
"You simply cannot demonize or vilify someone who disagrees with you. Because when you do the discussion is over."
"The single common denominator of life is that we all want to be validated." [starting at 20 minutes she gives an incredible example of listening to voices, stories and experiences--a
MUST SEE]
"Did you hear me?
Do you see me?
Did what I say mean anything to you?
There really is only one goal; to fulfill the highest, most truthful expression of yourself as a human being"...oh, Oprah, you've got skills. Truth.
Do you know that your voice matters?
Do you know that listening to His voice can bless your life?
Do you know how your own experiences and testimony [voice] can lift, inspire, strengthen and touch others in immeasurable ways? The most truthful expressions of yourself as a child of God...our most truthful selves are the ones that move others most deeply.
I'm so grateful for tiny glimpses of what women [and men] can become when we go TOGETHER toward heaven.
"...and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd."
Written for April and Brian Hawkes for understanding my stories.
