Sheep Farmer


Yesterday we picked up the last bits for closing our mum's estate, which sounds so grand and in fact simply means paying the government for every tiny thing imaginable. We've known our accountant for 5+ years and the front receptionist, so while we were regretting the process we knew the players.

All I had to do was sign a few documents with my name on the line that simply said "for Carolyn ...". As soon as I saw her name, tears started falling, the receptionist who had always been so kind was stoic, she simply put her long painted nail on the line and waited. I willed the pen to move but it wouldn't. The office is in a grand old Victorian mansion and the front receptionist is at the bottom of a carved wooden staircase with harried accountants going up and down. Finally my sister whispered "are you ok" and I put pen to paper. Again, the receptionist carved from stone waited while I signed again.
She then silently pushed the credit card machine towards me and stapled receipts, apparently our accountant stuck his head out but never came out to visit. Everyone knew we were signing death documents, but nobody cared.
Flash forward to this morning on our way to a support group at church, as soon as we got into the parking lot I couldn't stop crying. Earlier in the morning I had begun researching real estate in Newfoundland and seriously considering moving and starting a sheep farm. Keep in mind, I know NO ONE in Newfoundland and I am from Toronto, my sheep experience is limited. Nonetheless, I was done - done with church, done with groups, done with BC.
Sat in the car ugly crying, got into the group late with a blown up face all red and puffy. As soon as we walked in, the ladies sweetly welcomed us and thanked us for showing up. And suddenly the sheep farm in NFLD wasn't going to happen, these were my people, this church was my people - I was home, I wasn't going anywhere.
Then as we all departed in the parking lot afterwards, one of the ladies got some bad news and started to cry, three of us surrounded her and just held her while she broke down in tears. I looked up and we were at the foot of the giant cross in the parking lot. I prayed in between tears knowing that the Holy Spirit would comfort her and the 4 of us just stood in a small circle hanging on.
Sometimes church happens in parking lots, in between daffodils waving in the breeze, construction guys walking by while 4 women huddle in a circle under the Cross. That's church - and I am so grateful to be a part of it and today is the reason I am not moving to NFLD to be a sheep farmer.
Photo by Benjamin Sander Bergum

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