Life lessons in miniature
We’re celebrating our first anniversary. Exactly a year ago, two little donkeys made their debut on Windy Hill.
Donkeys? you ask. Yes, donkeys. A miniature and a micro, two girls. As someone who’s never so much as owned a dog—the closest thing I’ve had to a pet was a tabletop aquarium my boyfriend gave me on my eighteenth birthday—becoming a donkey owner has upended my life. There are downsides—shoveling manure and breaking up frozen drinking water on winter mornings—but the joys outweigh them. The donkeys have been a constant source of laughter and affection, and they’ve given me new things to love about our Creator.
First, I should tell you why donkeys. Six years ago I was in France with one of my sisters, visiting the family she stayed with as an exchange student in the 1970s. We were in the farming countryside northwest of LeMans, staying in a chateau dating to the 1200s. What I loved more than the delightful family, the gorgeous flowers and doorways draped in blooming vines, more than a stone tower and dinner al fresca and local wine, was the grandson’s donkey. Dark brown, he trotted to meet us when we walked through the pasture, following us like a puppy. He’d push his head against us as we walked, nudging for attention. The cows found us boring, but not the donkey.
He stole my heart.
So, when I came home, I began my campaign. “Phil, we’ve got to get a donkey,” I told my husband. As time passed and we learned a little about them, my pitch changed to “donkeys.” Never, ever put a donkey in a pasture by himself. He hates being alone.
We visited a breeder in Lancaster, South Carolina, and eventually picked out two babies: a spotted-white micro donkey and a light-chocolate miniature donkey. In a nod to France, we named them Sophie (for Sophie Marceau, the French actress in Braveheart) and Coco (Chanel). They arrived at the ages of four months and six months, respectively. They had fluffy bangs, thick coats, and pretty hooves. We were smitten.
In the twelve months since, our infatuation has deepened into love. “I’m going out to play with the donkeys” is a daily announcement, and recounting their antics brings more refreshment than a nap. We’re constantly smiling about them. Sure, there have been mishaps—like the time I overdosed Sophie on Ivermectin (the syringe slipped) and feared she might die. Oh, the anxiety! Eying the vet’s mechanisms for pumping out her stomach, I braced for bucking and trauma. (We opted to ride it out, and she was fine.)
Although earthy and frisky, they’ve often caused me to think about spiritual matters. Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, “Earth’s crammed with heaven / and every common bush afire with God…” Here are some examples.
Donkeys have a cross on their backs, and legend says it was placed there by God, for it was the donkey who carried our Lord into Jerusalem to die on a cross. The vertical shaft runs from mane to tail and the crosspiece over the shoulders. What a mystery. A mark of honor.
Their good qualities are instructive. For example, they run from danger. You have never seen an animal so skittish or skeptical about potential risk. Let’s say I accidentally drop something—anything! A pan, a water hose, a glove. They hightail it as if a firecracker exploded. (If nothing further happens, they return within minutes.) So, they are extremely cautious. They balk at anything with the barest whiff of danger. Ah, if only I were the same. “Be on your guard,” Jesus cautioned regarding the events of the end times. “Be on your guard,” he said, regarding hypocrisy and unforgiveness and greed. Be on your guard.
Donkeys are consistent. Their day starts with braying around 6:55a.m., no matter when the sun rises. They know when the breakfast hay should arrive, and they are ready. They’re most playful during the late afternoon. They love being brushed but not around mealtime. They turn in for the night around 8:00p.m. And they have an incurable love for humans. Step into their pasture and it won’t be long before they’re moving your way. You don’t need to clap or call—they’ll find you. They’re so attuned to their environment that they sense the slightest movement or sound. I’ve seen them standing motionless, staring across the creek for minutes. Eventually I’ll see the far-off cat or dog or deer they’re watching. They’re consistently perceptive.
Such consistency is good for relationship building, which is also true for us two-legged types. Stable, reliable, dependable—these qualities help us to trust others. They also reflect God’s image. Paul wrote to Timothy: “Try your best to please God and to be like him. Be faithful, loving, dependable, and gentle.” (1 Timothy 6:11 CEV) Like donkeys who are dependable in their routines and personalities, friends who are the same win our trust.
They’re always together. If you spot one in the pasture, you know the other’s nearby. They love to run together, cantering along the fence line. They slow to a trot at the same time. They graze together, take turns rolling in the dirt, and when one pees, the other follows. They stand shoulder to shoulder, staring at the house, hoping Phil will come out. If he goes to cut wood in a nearby field, they find the closest place to watch him, again standing shoulder to shoulder. They’re inseparable. This is a wonderful picture of Christian friendship, for they’re not related biologically. They’re different sizes and colors. No matter, they’re content to be together in their daily routines. Which isn’t to say they don’t have their moments. They get annoyed and nip each other, or one will shove her nose in the other’s rearend to push her out of the way. But they are always … together.
“Love one another as I’ve loved you,” Jesus said. He showed his love in friendship. The gospel of Mark depicts a band of brothers traveling from town to town, eating meals together, climbing mountains, walking along the beach. Luke observes a band of women, too. In those days, if you wanted to be a disciple, you had to keep company with the other disciples.
Donkeys are surprisingly fun. They love to play. They’re curious. My husband is constantly thinking of ways to challenge their problem-solving skills. He creates puzzles with chairs and balls and a baby pool. When we kick a soccer ball, they’ll nudge it toward us with their noses, wanting to join in. We recently found a mirror in one of the barns and hung it on the corral archway. We nearly died laughing when they discovered their own faces. Ears up. Ears out. Turn left. Now right. Stare at the eyes. Blink.
They love a game of chase or going under a tunnel of branches. Couldn’t we use a little of their joy? Our future is secure—we’re en route to the best place ever made for humans. We know the wisest Being, and He constantly helps us. Every quality we cherish—kindness, goodness, love, patience, gentleness, and so many others—is a derivative of his character. I know life is hard. If you aren’t in the middle of a trial, you’ve probably just come out of one or are headed into one. Yet even in the hard times, there are moments of wonder.
Phil and Sophie.
In summary, donkeys are marked by the cross. As are we. They run from danger, as should we. They’re consistent. They’re content in each other’s company, as we ought to be. And finally, they’re curious and fun—qualities that strengthen our trust in God and stir up hope in others.
As we celebrate our first year together, we look forward to greater wonders. In another two years they’ll be fully grown, and these days will be behind us. That makes me sad, but I know the older they get, the closer we’ll become. (We’ve seen videos of donkeys running for an embrace from an old friend.) Phil has said, isn’t it wonderful that God has allowed us to have loving relationships with his creatures? It’s a gift to love and be loved by these humble, gentle souls.