The county fair.
Three words that bring all sorts of emotions to your mind.
I’ve always enjoyed ours; it’s nice to catch up with old friends – even if you can’t walk 3 feet without seeing someone you know and starting a conversation. Our little county churns out a pretty competitive dairy show, one my family has regularly attended.
This year, my little brothers stepped up to the plate and got our show string ready to go. Here’s a little genealogy for you: I’m the oldest of five and the only girl. My brothers – Kael, 18, Trey, 16, Kayson, 14, and Stockton, 11, are my best pals. Kael has a big-kid job at a mechanic shop, and I’m married and moved away, so the younger three have really stepped up their game around the farm. They broke all of the heifers and cows and got them ready for the show season this year, and the county fair was no exception.
I took a few hours off work to help them on the morning of the open show. The fitting crew (my dad, Trey and I, but mostly my dad and Trey because I hate clipping) prepped heifers and got things ready to go.
As most know, show mornings are crazy. They start well before sunrise and don't slow down until late afternoon. Breakfast? What's that? You're running around a million miles an hour making sure everything looks right, is clipped right, is eating right, etc. Pulling top lines, assembling show halters and harnesses, double-checking exhibitor numbers, using Clear Magic and a tail comb to finish doing your own hair... (c'mon, everyone has.)
I pulled Stockton’s beloved red heifer – Porcia – into the chute to prep before the Junior Champion drive. I handed Stockton a tail comb and, as I sprayed an unnecessary amount of Final Bloom on Porcia, I glanced over to see him standing at the front of the chute. His arms were folded and his head bowed.
In the madness of the moment, he had stopped to pray.
Now, I’m not one to preach, and I don’t care if you stop reading here, but I got a little teary-eyed at the sight of my little brother stopping to pray in the middle of a crazy environment.
“Are you praying?” I asked. He grinned shamelessly and said, “Yeah, I always do before I go in the ring.”
I patted him on the back and said, “Let’s go,” while fighting back tears. My heart swelled with pride.
I don’t know many 11-year-olds that would stop their day to pray. Heck, I don’t know many grown adults who do. I know I could use some work in that department. But watching him take the time to say whatever he needed to the man upstairs without regard for the place or time was the reminder I needed.
It seems like in this day and age, it’s pretty easy to go with the flow. If you have beliefs that differ from the mainstream, keep your head down so you're not ridiculed. Stockton’s example has lit a fire in me and reminded me to be proud of who I am, where I come from and what I believe. I’d encourage you to do the same.
Oh, and don’t forget to say your prayers.
