One of our lambs died last week. Butterfly, the weakest little guy. It came to the point where there was nothing we could do but make him comfortable. He came into the house, and was held and patted and sung to by the four of us at home.
Something about the death of the lamb so close to Easter brought it all home again ... as we wept for him, how much greater would the weeping of those who had known and loved Jesus on earth.
Although our little lamb couldn't resurrect himself, we're thankful for the lesson we learned from him all the same.
A joyous and thoughtful (but belated) Easter to you all.
Karen
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