Short Numbers

Sheddin’

Short Numbers

The Concordian

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

            I brushed her two hours before sunup.

            Although I could see her flea bitten gray hair without the waning moon to my back, the silver it cast was like falling autumn leaves as it hit the ground. It is in between time when it still feels good to have the silks on in the morning, but, by noon, it is too hot to be wearing them.

            The horse was easy to catch. She always is.

            I whispered in her ear that she has the makings of being a horse if she wasn’t so goofy when she needs to be quiet and listening. She leaned into the comb when I brushed her belly.

            One by one I gave everybody the once over as I worked my way out of the corral with the horse caught for the day. Everybody thought the brushing felt good and it didn’t take a halter to get them to stand for a minute without restraint.

            There was enough hair on the ground to fill a big Tide box if not more. Yessiree, everything is sheddin’. It is that time. It’s also branding time. Sheddin’ and branding is happening whether we are ready or not. The combination signals the season of renewal with all the demands of long days and early mornings, but … let’s emphasize the former and get on with it!

            Short Numbers

            We have had some short numbers around the neighborhood. That sort of thing makes everybody uneasy. Calves unaccounted for is a dark and sleepless quandary. Several years ago, I was convinced we were missing a full load of cows. They just weren’t there. We had ridden, we had worked, and we had reridden. The numbers weren’t adding up. Always with a thing like that there’s the want to say something to somebody to share the burden, but there is also the reluctance to say anything. That is usually the way it is handled, and, usually, it is the correct way in the ranching business.

            In the case of our missing cows, they eventually showed up.

            Our 80-year-old fencing infrastructure was the culprit. Those cows weren’t where they were supposed to be, but our annual rotation eventually brought them back into the fold. They returned to the tally book, and their presence was a huge relief.

            On this most Holy of days, I suspect our Lord has the same view of us. “Too often missing from the Tally Book” is the likely category that he probably places me.

            I suspect many of my peers and colleagues find themselves in the same situation.

All of us do. We get so caught up in trying to make it through the day we forget where we are.

            I Can Only Imagine what His view of that is.

            The Concordian

            I got home earlier than expected. The wind hadn’t gotten up and the shed hair was still in the arena where I had brushed horses before sunup. I stood there with the headstall resting on my left forearm watching the horse that had been with me roll in the sand leaving yet more hair behind when he got up.

We had branded a little bunch of calves from the cows that BJ and Caleb had gathered above the Lazy E dike the night before. It had gone well. We had first sorted off the cows and run them through the chute to vaccinate and worm as they were rotated onto fresh pasture. The calves were then run back into the alley where we roped and drug them to the fire.

            They were then turned back to their mothers and in five minutes the whole pen was quiet. Every cowman knows what that means, and it always bodes relief. Just to make sure everything was paired up, though, we agreed to give them an hour on the hay in the big feeder before the gate was opened into Goodsight.

            Fresh pasture is a step of renewal for sure.

            Little did Pastor Douglas know that I was seeking the same assurance when I called him. I had read his Easter message in The Concordian plus there was a little urge to share a burden. The realization was he seeks renewal and frets over short numbers just like any steward. In his case, the outcome is more important. His flock is mankind and it deals with eternity. Let him explain in his own words:

Can I imagine what Jesus went through to demonstrate God’s love for me?

Can I wrap my head and heart around being abandoned by all my friends?

Can I absorb listening to my friends deny they ever knew me?

Can I handle a whole courtyard full of people screaming lies and insults to me?

Can I persevere as I hear the nails pounded and feel the point tear through my wrist?

Can I accept that Jesus poured himself out for me?

Can I accede that my sin and rejection of God helped nail him to the cross?

Can I fathom the depth of love that held him on the cross for me?

Can I grasp going to the cemetery to find my dear friends’ grave empty?

Can I believe angels telling me he is risen?

Can I not be filled with fear when Christ appears amongst us after we fled and hid?

Can I not be filled with disbelief as I look at his nail scarred wrists and see the gash in his side?

Can I imagine the overwhelming joy to know everything of this world is completely overturned because he is sitting with us eating fish?

Can I imagine the Resurrection?

Come fill your imagination.

Come expose your heart.

Come challenge your mind.

Come and see.

Come and taste that the Lord is good.

Come celebrate the Risen Christ who deserves your worship.

May the LORD bless you this Holy Season.

            Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “He is risen indeed!”