THANKFUL FOR THE TEARS

Granddaddy banged on the door early Friday afternoon. He'd found a dead cow and an orphaned newborn calf in the field by the pond. He needed Ben and Helen to help get the calf up to the barn.

We weren't sure how long the little fellow had been out in the cold and damp without food or care. A day? Two days? Last week was so bitterly cold. When one is very new to the world, every hour is the difference between life and death.

To me, the calf was an answer to prayer. My youngest has had a difficult couple of months. Too much hurt, too much sadness, too many tears. I was thankful for the tiny calf - something to captivate my daughter's heart, something to draw her thoughts from her own grief to the needs of another frail creature. You can see from the picture that although Friday began with a gray countenance, it ended with a smile.

Orphan calves often do not survive. Helen did not want to name the calf. "If he makes it past a couple of weeks, then I'll name him," she said. Granddaddy was not so reluctant. He named the calf Sam. (The name Sam Kendall is a bit of a joke inside the family, and it always makes us smile.)

So, Friday and Saturday and Sunday and Monday, Helen was often at the barn. Sometimes, she headed over toting a giant bottle of milk/calf formula. Sometimes, she headed over empty-handed, just to check on her charge and spend time with him.

Monday evening, my daughter and I walked to the barn together for Sam's 5:00 feeding. He had been lively and eager to see his adopted mama earlier in the day. Monday evening, he was dead.

And so Helen and I sat in the barn and cried.

"I am so sorry, Helen," I said through tears.

"It's okay," Helen sniffed.

"No, it's not," I replied. Death is never okay. Death screams at us that all is not as it should be, that something is badly wrong with the world. Death is a dark shadow that testifies to sin and its consequences. It reminds us how desperately all of creation needs a Savior.

Helen has grieved the deaths of other orphan calves before this week. She knew from the get-go that Sam might not make it, probably wouldn't make it...but still, she hoped. And I hoped with her, hoped this bright spot in the midst of a gray season would last. But it didn't.

There is something therapeutic about tears...something healing about embracing sorrow and crying freely, away from the callous comments of those who would press our hearts in its tenderest places. No need to explain, or justify, or give an answer.

Before we left the barn yesterday evening, Helen took off her coat and spread it over the little calf. She knew her warmth could not revive him. She covered him as a loving Amen.

I need to walk back over to the barn today to retrieve the coat. Granddaddy will dispose of the body.

I am thankful Helen had Sam for a short time. I am sorry that he did not live.

I am thankful for the privilege of tears shared in a dim, dusty barn.

I am thankful for a God who is sovereign over every detail of life and death - mine, Helen's and Sam's. I am thankful for a God who sees our tears and counts them as precious.