The following is a reflection and pictures by one of our beloved Residents: Danielle McGuire. A version of this was what she shared at the 1-year of the Village Celebration.

I slip on my work gloves and step out into a brisk winter morning. The chilled air shakes awake my senses and fills me with new mercies, as promised each day. Walking up the hill toward the Village that beholds our humble farm life, I hear Festus in the distance bellow out his signature bray, echoing across the acres. This quirky, restless mule - I’m on my way, sweet boy!

Mink, the twenty-one year old mare, gets fed first and she is already waiting for me, stomping a foot and whinnying with urgency. I toss alfalfa hay into her stall from a nearby stockpile and I marvel at how she doesn’t tire of the same meal as I do. How do I know? Because each time, she rips the bundle from her feeder and throws it to the ground for faster consumption. I admire her faithful fervency to go after the all-too-familiar. How she communicates and asserts her need that has grown louder overnight. And I pray for that same spirit of expectancy, that I may resist the temptation to think my daily bread will become stale to my sensibilities, that I too may eagerly receive.

Next, Festus, the 17 Nigerian Dwarf goats, Joan the llama, and Mr. Duck. Their bales of feed are kept in a nearby shed. When they hear my footsteps and the shed door slide open, they lift up their voices in a chorus of bleating, quacking, and braying to announce their readiness for the day. I reflect on how black the night gets here. The darkness robs us of all vision, and the animals huddle in the cold waiting for the skies to light up their lives again. In the morning, their eager voices cry out for freedom. A simple lift of a latch and I have released them back into the light. They funnel out into joyful sprints and gallops, and I get a glimpse of what the entrance to Heaven could feel like.

During the repetitive motion of moving orchard grass into the wheelbarrow, I’m burdened by a sudden thought: the entirety of humankind has had to carry out these tedious chores. Across timelines and timezones, countless caregivers have performed these necessary duties of sustaining animal life, a life not our own. Day after day, rain or shine, it needs to be done. Why must we shoulder this responsibility?

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In the beginning, before man was made, God created living creatures of water and land, blessed them, “and saw that it was good” (Genesis 1). These creatures breathed life before us, they prefaced our creation, yet it was humanity that was given dominion over all - the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and over every living creature that moves on the ground. Some call it the great chain of being. But I am beginning to see how our care for them brings us under submission to their tutelage. The horses, the goats, the llamas…no wonder they came before us. We have so much to learn from them. This duty to animal care was not meant to be burdensome. Their existence teaches us the role of priesthood - we are creation, and we are responsible to the rest of creation, and represent creation back to God. And in learning to attune ourselves to creation and its care, we begin to understand how God cares for us. It has always circled back to the Creator.

Midday arrives and I’m looking for a nature walk companion - I halter Festus and lead him out of his gated pen. Once again, I’m amused by how short and gawky his stature is. At over 300lbs, he comes up to just my waist! And in that moment, the character of Jesus becomes realized: out of all the animals, the Lord of Lords showed favor to a donkey. He chose this animal (appointed, even) to escort him into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. Not a white stallion, not an elegant lofty horse like Mink, not a throne for a king. Instead, a short-legged, stooped-necked, slow-paced, unassuming creature known for its service and commonplace functions. And before this, Jesus in the womb was gently and vulnerably carried on a donkey into Bethlehem, held within his mother Mary and brought safely to his birthplace. Did these donkeys know the significance of whom they carried? Have I ever marveled at how God’s creatures played a part in ushering in the weight of salvation to our world?

Tearfully, I cradle Festus’ head in my arms to say ‘thank you’ for his blessing today - he leans into me in response.

Lenten Reflections - by Danielle McGuire