Stubborn Steer…

It is easier to load 20 calves on a trailer than four calves.  If you get twenty calves moving in the same direction, the herd instinct kicks in.  They keep moving forward, make the jump onto the trailer, and move on up.  If you are quick about it, you can shut the gate right behind them, and you are good to go. 

Loading four calves, however, is tougher.  Four is not enough to form a herd.  Instead, four calves usually divide into two groups.  The first, and usually larger group, consists of the timid calves.  They are scared of their own shadow and are not about to walk into a dark, dead-end trailer.  The other group usually consists of one calf.  You might argue that one calf cannot form a group.  My reply is that it can if the calf in question has multiple personalities. 

Lately, I’ve had good luck loading calves.  In my setup, they go into a small pen, and then I load them on the trailer. The challenge is that the pen doesn’t narrow, so I must position my trailer so there is no room to escape on either side. The last two times I’ve positioned it just right, and the calves, after a moment’s hesitation, loaded right up. 

My luck changed this week.  I had weaned off four calves a month earlier, and it was time for them to go to the market.  Three of the calves were in the timid group.  One steer, however, was possessed by some sort of evil spirit.  To make matters worse, he was a bad influence on the others. 

I got my trailer set up, but I was a little concerned I left an inch or two too much on the right side.  Foolishly, I thought, “There is no way a calf can get through there.”  Then I got the calves into the pen, and the trouble started.  I could get all four of them up to the trailer, and then they wouldn’t go in.  They stood at the back, looking into the trailer, and wouldn’t move.  I tried to push them in; that didn’t work.  I hit them gently on the back with a stick.  Nothing.  I grabbed the tail of one of them and tried to force her forward.  She wasn’t having it. 

Then my crazy steer had his insanity gene kick in on him.  He turned and charged me.  No big deal; I’ve been charged by 1800-pound bulls.  I stepped out of the way and let him pass.  The other three followed his lead, and we started over.   

I began to tire after thirty minutes of this game.  I needed to get these calves loaded and get them to the market so I could get back for some “can’t miss” meetings.  At this point, the insanity gene in the steer released some kind of chemical reaction in his brain, and he decided he, too, was tired of this game. 

Every cowman I know has seen this: that stubborn steer, who would not load, found that two-inch gap I had left, and somehow jumped, squeezed, and wiggled his way through it.  Five hundred pounds of beef went through a gap that would have given a mouse claustrophobia.  He was off and gone.  

Now I was faced with the dilemma of either loading the three remaining calves and taking them or waiting until next week.  I tried to load the three, but inspired by their stubborn brother, they began to hurl themselves against the guardrails that make up the pens and the gates.  They even tried to squeeze through the gap their brother found, but apparently, they were not as flexible as he was. 

The wise philosopher Kenny Rogers said, “You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold 'em.  Know when to walk away and know when to run.”  I felt that if I continued, either I or a calf was going to get hurt.  It was time to fold.  I turned the three timid calves back to their own pasture, unhooked the trailer, and went looking for my stubborn steer. 

He was right where I thought he would be: next to his mother.  Though he had been weaned for thirty days, he still wanted to be with her. 

I often ask God to help me learn from the events of my life.  What I learned from that frustrating morning was that I am like the stubborn steer.  God wants to direct and guide my life.  Sometimes the direction he wants me to go scares me.  So, I dig in and refuse to go.  I think I know better.  If God urges me forward (“Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me”), I start to panic.  I blindly charge around, running into one obstacle after another.  I can be so stubborn. I see a gap and try to escape.  Sometimes I succeed.  I go off in my own direction, which works out poorly.  Like the stubborn steer, I have this insanity gene that confuses me, making me think that up is down and down is up.   

I bet you some of that insanity and stubbornness is in you.  This is why Paul wrote, “I know what I ought to do, but I find I do the very thing I should not do.  Oh, wretched man that I am.” 

Next week, I will position my trailer correctly, gather the calves, and try again.  This time, I’ll be better prepared.   

The good news is our Heavenly Father knows we are stubborn, but grace upon grace, he gives us another chance.