Free A View from the Buggy by Jerry S. Eicher

turned and mooed for the calf to follow. I moved on up. Queeny had done a good job of drying it. I lifted the calf ’s tail to discover it was a bull. The calf leaped into the air, running to its mother. Queeny mooed softly, washing it again with her rough tongue.
    It always amazes me how agile a newborn calf can be so soon after birth. I could tell this one had definitely been on its feet before I arrived. But had it sucked? Without nourishment it would not survive the cold night. And if a calf didn’t get that milk within the first six hours its chance for survival became slim.
    I took a guess that the calf must be three hours old, and it kept bumping the side of Queeny’s flank looking in vain for nourishment.
    I moved closer. Maybe Queeny would allow me to help the calf, but no, she took off, pacing away from me. The calf trotted along behind her.
    Frustration raced through me. Queeny stopped some ten yards from me and turned her attention to her calf again. By now the darkness was falling fast, and I turned on my headlamp. It seemed the sun had slipped behind a wall. There was little lingering daylight as there had been during the summer months.
    I approached Queeny again. The calf was still bumping around trying to find the source of nourishment. I kept speaking words of encouragement. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I would have to get Queeny and the calf into the corral and show the calf where to get the milk. I had done this before, and it was never an easy task. Usually any attempts to get the mother inside turned her into a raging monster.
    â€œLord God,” I prayed, “You made the cow and the calf. Only Youcan make that calf suck without my intervention. Please, if it is Your will, show the calf where to find the milk.”
    I let out a long breath as my frustration melted away. In its place came a calmness. I turned my headlamp on the calf and adjusted it to see better. Sure enough, the calf was now sucking. Queeny was reaching back and licking the best she could. She appeared as relieved as I was.
    Looking up into the stars I said, “Thank You, Lord. You care about us—even our little problems.”
    With one last glance at the twinkling lights above me, I headed back toward the barn. My thoughts went back to a time when I wouldn’t have sought God’s help. In those days I even wondered whether God existed. Yet it was on an evening like this that God had reached me.
    Up until my early teens, my Amish experience had been typical. Growing up and enjoying the community. When I was 14, my parents left to join a more liberal church. They called it a spirit-led and spirit-filled group. I joined in willingly, thinking we were on to something good.
    As time went on we laid Scripture aside and depended heavily on spiritual revelations for guidance. Confusion reigned as revelations were given to our leader. He even had a revelation that only he was qualified to read the Bible. Any member caught reading the Scriptures was sharply reprimanded.
    Sinful practices were now revealed as acceptable to God. And since our leader’s wife had died, my brother and I moved in with him—all by “spirit revelation.”
    I was to endure a great despondency in that living arrangement. And one evening I went outside feeling especially low. I couldn’t stand the man who was our leader anymore. I hated what he was doing to me. I felt trapped. Defiled. But this was supposedly God’s will.
    I stared into the dark night, longing for peace. The sky was full of twinkling stars that evening.
    â€œMy life is so messed up,” I muttered. My stomach lurched at the thought of what our leader would ask of me later in the night. I hatedhim. Yet I couldn’t sort out my angry feelings. One moment I was angry at him; the next I was angry at God.
    On sudden impulse I cried out to the heavens, “If there is a God who loves me, show me!”
    Instantly a meteor blazed