Awakening to the shrill beep of my alarm, I reach to turn it off and slither out of bed as best I can without fully waking up. It is 3:00 am in the morning.
I go to my closet, slip on a pair of sweat pants over my pajamas and grab my coat, hat, gloves and scarf. I meet my daughter upstairs as she prepares the bottles, two of them, made from large soda bottles.
We sleepily step out in the cold of the night, with the warm milk wrapped in our coats. The crisp air wakes us up quickly and we hurry our pace to get this over with.
Opening the barn door causes a stir inside and as we reach for the light switch and walk across the cold floor, we are greeted by little white puffs of warm wool jumping around wanting to play.
And as we gaze into their little faces and bring out the warm bottles, our hearts are warmed by their smiles. And we feel the joy of caring for something special and the sacrifice of the early morning ritual is no longer seen as something to dread.
He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.