The Empty Trough

“Wake up, young'uns. It's time.”

One by one, the sleeping calves were nudged to their feet and encouraged to follow. Sleepy and confused, nary a one of 'em knew what was going on.

Finally, the youngest yawned. “Time for what?”

“No need to fret, little one. Come along now.”

It was bitter cold that night, the kind of cold that steals your breath. Ordinarily, we'd stay bedded down on the sheltered side of the hill, out of the wind, where we could get some rest.

But not tonight.

Tonight, the elders led the herd away from the shelter, across the pasture, right through that cutting wind, under a sky so clear the stars looked like you could reach up and touch 'em.

We walked in silence — well, the elders did, anyhow.

The calves whispered amongst themselves, trying to figure out what in the world was going on.

Amari spoke a wee bit too loud. “The frost looks like diamonds tonight.”

A few of the others murmured their agreement.

One stern look from the elders put a stop to that right quick!

“Where are we going?” the least'un asked his mama.

A shush from the elders let him know he'd best save his questions for later.

Something important was happening. Even the littlest calf could feel it.

But what?

We walked along until, at long last, the herd stopped at the trough just outside the Snack House.

No lights.

No snacks.

Just silence and an empty trough.

Nobody said a word about why we'd come. We elders just stood there with our heads lowered, each of us lost in thought.

One new baby — wore plumb out from the long walk — curled up beside the trough and fell sound asleep.

The older calves looked around, puzzled.

The trough's empty.

Snack Lady ain't nowhere in sight.

What in the world is going on?!

Hazel, boldest of the spring calves, couldn't stand it another second.

She marched right up to the trough and declared, “Why are we just standing here? It's cold, and there ain't one bite to eat!”

Her mama, Tilly, scolded, “Hush, child! We come here because our kind remembers.”

Hazel looked at her, confused.

“Remembers what?”

That's when I took a long, slow breath.

Everybody got still.

Seventeen winters I've seen come and go. That's a good many winters for a cow.

And I've learned that some things are too important to let slip away.

“We stand here, little one,” I said softly, “because the Creator Himself was once laid in a trough, with nothing but straw for His pillow. Every year on this night, we gather here to honor Him.

“Long ago, Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem. While they were there, the time came for Mary's baby to be born. There was no room for them at the inn, so when Jesus was born, Mary wrapped Him in cloths and laid Him in a feeding trough.”

“Just like this one?” Hazel asked wide-eyed.

“Very much like this one,” I replied.

We looked down at the empty trough before us, and I remembered the words of the Creator:

“So she wrapped the baby with cloths and laid Him in a box where animals are fed.”
— Luke 2:7 (ICB)

All at once, the calves understood.

Their tired little eyes grew wide, and for quite a spell, nobody so much as shuffled a hoof.

The wind was still cutting across the pasture, but somehow, the cold didn't seem nearly so bitter.

The Creator — our very own Creator — had once been laid in a feed trough.

One by one, the young calves bowed their heads, just like the elders.

Most folks wouldn't give a feed trough a second thought. It's just a place to feed the critters, after all.

But us cows — we remember.

For a moment, the whole world seemed still enough to hear a heartbeat.

Then, just as quietly as we'd come, we turned around and made our way back toward the sheltered side of the hill.

The calves didn't say a word the whole walk back. But once they were tucked back in for the night, I could hear them whispering amongst themselves, their eyes still wide with wonder.

I reckon they'll remember this night for the rest of their days.

Now, I'm getting on in years. I don't know how many more winters the Creator has in store for me.

But as long as He grants me one more, I'll be right here, leading the little ones through the cold, making sure they remember.

Because some things ought never be forgotten.