Sunday after dinner, I’m standing at my kitchen sink watching a two-day old goat standing alone, unprotected in my neighbor’s field…

He’s tugging at my heart-strings as he stumbles over tufts of grass, bravely testing unsteady feet. I can’t tell if he’s limping or not, but the lurch of his gait is adorable.

Did I mention?–he’s brown with white spots and my heart is melting.

Mama goat is nowhere to be seen.

He’s over by the miniature horses now.

I won’t tell you what happened next, only it was bad, and I was angry, and I almost couldn’t watch, and I was standing there helpless and then running out the door even though I knew I couldn’t get there in time.

And I’m yelling, “Hey! Hey!”, trying to scare off the bigger animal. Now I see my neighbor in his field hurrying over. And I’m seeing it’s going to be okay…for now.

Still–where is Mama?

I want to pick him up and cradle him in my arms and hold him close and keep the danger away.

I watch the field for the next half-hour or so. Only once do I see him try to nurse. He has barely gotten the hang of it when a rooster came over and started pestering him. However inattentive she is, Mama’s body at least provides good cover. Baby ducks under and to the other side. The rooster leaves, but he doesn’t try nursing again.

It’s been a while since I’ve spent much time with goats, but I know what a good, experienced mama looks like. And I know what a bad mama looks like.

A first-time mama who doesn’t quite get it–she’ll catch on. It’s the older, indifferent mamas who make me mad.

They’re goats, I know. Maybe they can’t help it.

But when I see that baby standing there by himself and think about the sun going down, I get angry.

And I thank God for shepherds.

Our neighbor puts Baby and Mama in a separate enclosure, sheltered from the wind. I know it’s best if he’ll suckle from Mama, but I offer to bottle-feed him if it comes down to it. I doubt my neighbor will ask me to, but it makes me feel better anyway.

And then I think about shepherds and human mamas who bring baby goats in the house, cradled in loving arms. I think about a spunky old German woman and Gabriel Oak and the Good Shepherd.

I think about going out in the cold at 2am to bottle-feed a tiny spotted goat. And I hope I’d have it in me, if I needed to.

I think about all the babies in the world whose mamas can’t or won’t take care of them, and it tears me up inside. And I think about the people who do take care of the helpless ones, and my heart fills to the brim.

I think of grandmothers and foster children and brave, big-hearted people who show love whenever it’s needed. The kind of love that’s there for you even when it’s inconvenient. Especially then. When it’s needed most.

And then I think about joy. Tables where all are welcome and the hungry ones get to eat. Loving hands abound; there’s no stumbling along on your own.

My neighbor reports that Baby Goat is eating, nursing from Mama. And I think about hope.

Maybe she’ll be a good Mama after all.

And then I thank God once more for shepherds.