When I was 12, I had a friend who lived off the
main road of town. Next to her house was an empty lot where we used to
run and play tag. But these activities became old, and one day we
decided to wander over to the house on the left. Actually, to the
fenced-in yard of that house.
In this pen there were seven small goats. As we watched them, an old car drove by and its engine backfired. Right then we saw every one of those goats fall over. We stood wide-eyed in amazement as each goat lay lifeless before us: We thought they’d died. Then, slowly, each one got up and continued grazing as if nothing had happened. We dubbed them “Jesus goats.”
The rest of this article is only available to subscribers.
© 2014 Augsburg Fortress, Publishers