He Points Us Home

I closed my eyes for a twenty-minute nap on the couch, only to be awakened fifteen minutes later by a blood-curdling scream directly outside the window behind me. But as frightened as I was, I was completely disoriented and didn’t want to risk motion.

The sound came again, this time closer. I slowly crept to the window and peeked out the corner of the glass. There in front of me stood a baby goat, whom I shall call Kid for the purposes of not having to call him “baby goat.”

If I had watched that video of the screaming goat singing Taylor Swift, I would have known what the horrific sound was. But I hadn’t, and thus I was completely surprised by the sheer volume of noise coming from the tiny creature.

I had recently moved into a house on a goat farm. Kid had snuck under my fence to eat the rather long grass in my yard and couldn’t figure out how to get back. The mother goat had long since headed into the barn for the night, apparently deciding that if ol’ Kid wouldn’t listen to her about staying on their side of the fence, he could deal with the consequences all by himself.

I put on my shoes and headed out to the backyard to help him out. I untied the knotted twine on the gate, pushed it open to the goat pasture, and stood aside, waiting for Kid to run happily home to his mama. Instead, he stood stock-still in the middle of my yard and continued to yell. I walked toward him to help herd him toward the pasture.

Now, I’m a rather friendly person. I do have classic ginger hair, which occasionally and, unfortunately, frightens some small children, but for the most part, people don’t run from me when I approach them. Kid, though, took off, screaming like a banshee and darting aimlessly around the yard in the opposite direction from the gate. I gestured toward the gate, saying, “Look, baby goat! There’s the gate! Go on through!” and then I walked into the goat pasture. I turned around to demonstrate my success, but he didn’t seem to care. It was like he couldn’t process what I was doing.

At that point, I realized that shepherds and goatherds actually have to herd their flocks, as in “walk behind them to convince them to move in a particular direction.” So I walked back to Kid and stood behind him. “Come on, Kid! The gate is over there!” Once again I waved in the direction of the gate, to no avail. He simply turned around to face me and started yelling again.

My next attempt involved going to get some carrots (goats like carrots, right?) and enticing Kid through the gate with delicious food. Well, he was not interested. It seemed like he didn’t even know what carrots were. So, just as I did with my son when he was little, I pretended to eat the carrots. “Yum, these are so good! Do you want some, baby goat?” Kid took two tentative steps toward me before–you guessed it–sprinting away, screaming.

Come ON, I thought. I am TRYING to HELP you.

I began doing my very best goat imitation, feeling very much like Old MacDonald with a “maa maa here and a maa maa there.” It was at this point that, although I had recognized that English wasn’t the goat’s first language, I understood that goat was not a way I could communicate.

Did you see that deer last week?

How do you feel about the snapping turtles in the pond?

Is the grass on my side of the yard really that much better than the grass in your yard?

Whatever I was actually saying, it clearly wasn’t what I wanted to get across. Kid continued to holler and hop while I became more and more annoyed.

Then, just past the open gate, Kid’s mother goat appeared like a vision out of the barn. She rolled her eyes (seriously!) and made one exhausted-sounding yell, after which Kid ran directly through the gate into the barn, followed closely by his mama.

I stared in amazement at how easy it was. The baby goat couldn’t understand my directions, but when his mother showed up, he knew exactly what to do.

I’ve lived on the goat farm for more than a year now and have lost count of how many screaming goats I have saved from, well, themselves. The truth is, though, that each and every time, I’m actually not the one who makes the difference. My opposable thumbs certainly help the situation, but it is always another goat or two who comes over to show the way to the one who is so wrapped up in its own scenario that it can do nothing but yell.

I am reminded of God as our mother hen, gathering her noisy, cute, unpredictable chicks under her wings.

I think of the Good Shepherd, patiently situating the whole flock of sheep in a safe place so he can go find the noisy, cute, unpredictable lamb who was distracted and didn’t hear the shepherd’s call.

I remember Christ’s incarnation, the Word become flesh long after we really should have found our way, a face we know and love appearing out of the darkness to point us noisy, cute, unpredictable people back home.

Bethany Beams is an elementary school office manager and certified doula who can’t get enough of storytelling, which she pursues through website design, photography, and freelance editing. Her many loves include her son, napping, libraries, ice cream, singing, snow leopards, Bagel Bites, 75° weather, the color turquoise, and lists. She blogs very occasionally at bethanybeams.com and designs all sorts of pretty things for Bethany Creates.