One Saturday before Easter, my husband heard baby lambs mewing in the corner of our barn. Their first-time mother accepted one but not the other twin. Perhaps it was because the second appeared premature, its eyes unopened, its mouth too weak to suckle.

He was a “bummer lamb.” A lamb rejected by his mother. This wee bummer lamb spent the night in a laundry basket inside where we tube-fed him colostrum.

Lambing season always brings lessons about birth, rejection, death, and life.

 We knew this little fellow would face certain loneliness and isolation unfamiliar to the other lambs who all cuddle together. If he tried to nuzzle the other mama ewes in the nursing pen, he would be head butted away, never receiving a motherly connection. He would lack siblings to skip around with in play.

I sympathized with this bummer lamb. Due to the quarantine, we too were isolated and removed from friends. We, too are imperfect, sometimes rejected by those we most need.

But someone loves us dearly and we are not alone.

That Easter morning, I looked for the lamb, but he wasn’t in the laundry basket. Then I heard him bleat from under my daughter’s bed. With bottle in hand I tried yet again to get him to suckle. This time he quickly guzzled three ounces. I gently stretched his fuzzy face, at last opening his eyes. What did it look like for him to first see the world on Easter Sunday?

I hope we all have the vision to see life anew on Easter Sunday. We have been adopted by my heavenly Father and can run to Him, calling out, “Abba, Father.”

My Heavenly Father sent His Son, the Perfect Lamb to make Himself known to all of us. The Perfect Lamb died and rose again that others may have life and have it abundantly.

“Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29)

Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. (John 14:6)

I’m reminded of the William Blake poem:

The Lamb

Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o’er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?

Little lamb, I’ll tell thee; Little lamb, I’ll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb: He is meek, and He is mild, He became a little child: I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little lamb, God bless thee! Little lamb, God bless thee! (William Blake)