Mortensen Family Memoir: A Story From Grandma

Hello blogging world.  How long has it been?  Too long I am sure.  I have been feeling less than stellar for the past month.  I'm still not myself, but am getting better.  I am slowly trying to resume the normal activities in my life: cleaning the house, taking care of my kids, going to the gym, TWD, grocery shopping, actually getting ready for the day, visiting teaching and blogging.  Oh how I have missed my life!  

To ease back into the blogging world, I thought I'd share a story that my Mom told me.  I thought it would be a wonderful story to keep for future generations....

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At a campground in Provo Canyon that we manage, we occasionally get unwelcomed visitors.  On one particular occasion, seven sheep decided that our campground looked like greener pastures to graze upon.  These sheep belonged to our neighbor, Steve Ault, whose property is across the river from us.  The sheep wandered about the campground guarded by three huge Great Pyrenees dogs. We tried to lead them out of the campground, but every time we tried these capable and imposing guardians would get into a triangle formation and warn us not to get close.   This particular breed of dog commands respect and one does not cross the line.  These dogs were willing to lay down their lives for their sheep should the need arise.  After several failed attempts to get close to the sheep, we gave up and let them wander about wherever they pleased.  We watched as they grazed until their hearts were content and rested in the park under the vast shade of our trees.

I was getting a little concerned because some of our campers have somewhat of a warped sense of humor.  After the second day of the sheep wandering about, the campers were putting in their menu order of leg of lamb, lamb chops and the like.

They got a big chuckle out of the whole thing.

I tried to reach Steve to let him know that his sheep were at the campground, but was unable to reach him.  After three days, he got my messages and called to say he would be by to pick them up. Soon after that, Steve drove up to the campground in his old pick-up truck with his eight-year-old granddaughter, Shelby.  I wondered how he was going to manage to get all those sheep into that old pick-up truck with only a little granddaughter to help.  I thought this should be interesting to watch.

The minute Shelby got out of the truck the sheep saw her, heard her voice, and ran toward her.  They were baa, baa, baaing all the way and surrounded her as if they had just found their long lost mother. I stood there in stunned amazement at this marvelous sight.  Shelby had raised, bottle-fed, and cared for the sheep from the time they were babies.  She called their names as they ran to her: Brownie, Smoky, Nellie, Joey, Troy, Gabriela and Krispy. She knew each and every one of them, and they knew her.

As Shelby walked down the middle of the road with a bucket of treats, the sheep followed her with the guard dogs right behind them.  She walked down to the end of the road, up the hill, down the railroad tracks, across the bridge over the river, and on to their property where they belonged.

As my husband and I marveled and pondered over such a sight, we concluded we too are like sheep, and our Savior Jesus Christ is our shepherd.  He knows each one of us.  He knows our names, and when we see Him and hear Him, we will know His voice.  We will run to Him as those sheep knew and ran to Shelby.

I am grateful for our Savor Jesus Christ and His immense, unconditional love for us, and His willingness to lay down His life for us.