“Sign here, please.” – Words that strike fear into hearts every minute of every day.
“Sign here, please.” – What do these words imply?
They imply agreement, sacrifice, and worst of all – commitment.
When I think of blank terror, I always remember the scene in Disney’s The Little Mermaid where Ariel is so desperate to become human that she signs away her voice in exchange for a chance to meet Prince Eric.
Everything in her body language says, “I really don’t want to do this,” but, if you’ve seen the movie, you know in her heart she felt like she HAD to sign it.
The farm has taught me many lessons. One lesson that will forever stick with me is the idea that a bucket can’t carry itself.
Why, you might ask, would a bucket’s inability to carry itself be a lesson of any value to anyone?
Well, it all started in a calf barn.
When I was 4 years old, the farmer my father worked for gave me a feed scoop. It was orange, plastic, and had a Purina logo embossed in the handle. The purpose of the scoop was to fill the stainless steel bowls that were mounted on the front of each calf’s stall. My purpose for having that scoop was so I could be the filler of those bowls.
I was elated. Those calves were the best part of the farm in my 4-year-old mind. I loved how they smelled like sour milk and straw. I giggled non-stop at the way they sucked on my fingers. I cried when they were sick or when it was time to move them out to pasture with the larger calves. I was proud to be their caregiver.
There was just one problem.
The bucket my father filled with feed weighted more than I did. The task of feeding those sweet, spotted calves was a tough one because I often spilled feed going from bucket to stall and back again. Spilled feed is almost worse than spilled milk, but I wasn’t supposed to cry about either.
I soon became discouraged when my father would lose patience over my slow progress and pick up that burdensome bucket to deftly pour just the right amount of feed into the remaining bowls without so much as spilling one kernel of corn.
Why couldn’t I carry that bucket that way?
Nothing frustrated me more than not being big enough to do a job. My father knew this.
One day I noticed the bucket wasn’t quite full. After a scoop or two, I tested my luck. With some effort I was able to pull it closer to my sweet calves and didn’t have to truck those precious scoops of feed quite so far. I was doing it! I was carrying the bucket!Continue reading “That Bucket’s Not Going to Carry Itself”→
Yes, it was only by one point, but we had beaten them.
With the first whistle blown and the tip off tapped in our direction, the game felt like nothing but ours to win.
As the first few shots bounced out and dully rolled off the side of the rim, we struggled to ride the wave of adrenaline. If we just kept shooting, passing, rebounding, we were certain to make a basket sooner or later.