Little Farm Hand

These are my new barn boots. Whenever I wear them memories of my days as a mom of young children crowd into my mind. As long as we've lived here, wearing the boots has been a symbol of being out one the farm. The following is one of my stories....

I remember the day my #2 son got lost.
He was tall enough to reach the door handle.
But he was too young to remember that he needed to call back to mom when she called him.
Out he went.
On a big-kid adventure.
I had no idea that he was gone.
Except that after awhile, I heard the silence.
When I realized that he wasn't in the house, I began looking for him.
I went upstairs and downstairs.
I looked in the garage and on the driveway.
I called and called to him.
No answer.
I put my boots on and started out into the field.
There's a creek at the bottom of the hill.
I worried that he'd gone down there and fallen in the creek.
More calling.
More silence
He wasn't at the creek.
We have a lot of acreage.
I began to panic just a little.
The "What if's" got louder in my head.
I wasn't sure where I should look next.
More calling.
More deafening silence.
Except for the occasional bird and a passing vehicle.
Where should I look?
I began praying. "Dear Lord, keep him safe".
My heart was pounding in my ears.
I started up the other hill.
All I saw was cattle.
Then, like the Red Sea, they parted.
And there he was.
Out in the middle of the field.
Cows all around him.
Waiting.
Not calling back to me.
Just waiting for me to find him.
Perfectly content to be surrounded by livestock.
Not worried in the least.
I scooped him up in my arms and hugged him close.
He hugged me back.
"I was so worried about you! I didn't know where you were" I through my tears.
"Mom, I was right here!" he said.
I carried him back to the house and breathed a prayer of thankfulness.