The Day Before

Amy and me - my very first bottle calf heifer!

Amy's waiting for her fifth calf ...

 It's Saturday morning. I am on 10 o'clock heifer check. I pull on long johns, extra layers, flannel shirt, silk scarf. An old felt hat, a gift from my sister many years ago. Grab the blanket from the stair rail in the porch: "It looks like rain," the Good Rancher had said as he went to bring in his horses.

I drive out, through the horse pasture, through the little gate into what he calls the Storm Field. It's a haven for calvy heifers and pet cows on days of inclement weather, such as this one.

It's mizzling and extremely windy. Even the crocuses are shuttered against the onslaught.

I circle the perimeter slowly, trying not to disturb these heavily pregnant mums.

Each is settled in her chosen spot.

They are all quiet.

At rest.

Waiting.

Tomorrow's the official day that new life will start to be seen, the GR says. It's the official heifer calving launch.

But it's the day before. All is quiet in this garden. All are at rest.

I back the side-by-side into an unobtrusive spot and let my mind drift back some 2,000 years ago to that "day before" where there was little to no activity on the streets of Jerusalem in honour of the Sabbath. 

Rest day.

Waiting.

Tomorrow - little do they know - will be different from any other day anyone has ever known. A massive stone will be rolled from a brand new tomb. The broken body, placed in it so tenderly by friends just days before, will not be found in the cave. 

Angels will attest.

The ladies will come. Peter and John will come. Friends walking to Emmaus in bewilderment and sorrow will speak to and break bread with Him. 

Death will have been defeated.

Nothing will ever be the same.

But that's tomorrow.

Today the sleet spits in my face.

The thunder rumbles.

We rest.

And we wait.

Canada Day 2020

O Canada!

Our home and native land!

True patriot love 

in all of us command.

With glowing hearts 

we see thee rise,

The True North strong and free!

From far and wide,

O Canada,

we stand on guard for thee.

God keep our land 

glorious and free!

O Canada, 

we stand on guard for thee.

O Canada, 

we stand on guard for thee.

Corona

This week. News reports eager to update us incessantly on new cases, rising death tolls, lost jobs, empty grocery shelves, restrictions on travel, restrictions on livelihoods, restrictions on freedoms. 

There are varying schools of thought presented, of course, as to the efficacy of treatment plans, the necessity of preventive measures, the degree of separation required, from quarantine to self isolation to social distancing.

So I am trying to do my part, from remaining largely at home to washing hands till they are raw to helping out where I can. 

This week. Very similar to last week, except that this week started with Palm Sunday and ended yesterday, Resurrection Sunday.

This is how I had envisioned Passion Week, as it is known, unfolding:

On Palm Sunday the Church at Endiang was due to have a service and the songs, story and teaching would reflect the triumphal yet humble entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, mounted on a young donkey.

(Credit: Brian Jekel)

Resurrection Sunday was all planned too: Allan and Angie were going to lead a special Easter song service, Susanne would have told a story, Pastor Allan would have reminded us that this is what the entire Christian faith hangs on - the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ, providing the way for us all to be forgiven of our sins and to have a personal relationship with God our heavenly father.

We had even distributed posters to be hung, and a few of the invitation cards had gone out:

And then, Corona. 

About ten days ago, the most beautiful calf was born. His mother, a large, placid Belted Galloway cow, released her baby to the world almost reluctantly. 

He is white, except for two sort of jet black circles of hair, one around his neck and the other around his hips.

I named him Corona. 

I remember the first time I had ever heard the word Corona. Mum called me outside: "Come quickly! We are in an eclipse! Look at the sun's corona! "

The sun looked like it was blotted out; the only way I could tell its form was that it was outlined with a shimmering halo, making it magical, fearful to a child.

"Why is it so dark? Is the sun dead? Will it be like that forever?" I asked my mother anxiously.

"Oh no - keep watching; the moon is blocking the light of the sun!" she replied cheerily; and of course, she was right. The axis of my world righted itself before too long and the dark unsettledness lifted. "As long as you can see the corona, you know the sun is still there," she reassured me as we walked back into the house.

The moon - who has no light source of its own apart from the sun - was blocking the sun? And the sun let it?!

I loved the word Corona from then on. It signified beauty, mystery, humility, royalty, something to be treasured and stored in the box of memories I keep tucked away in my heart. It was a promise that the sun was still there, that its light and warmth would return.    

I have spent long moments observing baby Corona. He is so, so white, for one thing! His mum and he love each other dearly. 

He practises social distancing, at least part of the time. 

And wherever he moves in the pen, it seems like the light follows him.

I showed my friend Ivy pictures of Corona and she exclaimed at his markings. She told me this: In days gone by, when a mother cow lost her calf and you had a calf that needed a mother, you would skin the poor dead little calf and place its hide over the orphan calf. The mother would smell her baby and because of that would accept the new little calf as her own. That's what your Corona looks like ...

Maybe it's because it's Easter in the time of Corona, but of course I thought of Jesus and His ultimate sacrifice: He freely gave up His life in order to bring us to God. Like the little dead calves of that earlier era, He is the go-between between God and us, the link between death and life. Because of His death we can approach God. And God, recognising His son's broken body, forgives us our sins and accepts us as His child if we will just ask Him to.

A brutal corona was crammed viciously on Jesus' head shortly before He was taken out to be crucified. A crown of thorns:

"The Crucified One" by C. Michael Dudash

The Bible tells us that as He hung on the cross darkness fell upon the land, the forces of evil trying one last time to extinguish the Son.

But Resurrection Sunday showed that at the other side of the darkness, the light of the world was not extinguished!

(Artist unknown)

So in this age of Corona, in the isolation, the not-knowing and the fear - for life and for liberty - don't lose hope. Remember, Corona is the light encompassing the darkness. This darkness will pass. Trust in the One who endured the greatest darkness of all and emerged triumphant on the other side.

Wash your hands.

Be kind one to another.

And let your light shine!