About donkeys, but not really

Grant’s Farm used to have three little spotted donkeys that I looked for every day on my drive to work.  I first noticed them on a pretty day, swinging their tails and looking generally happy about life, and from that moment on I started counting on seeing them.  It’s funny how little things like that can mean so much to me, but at that time, my husband had just left and I was trying to scrounge up happiness from every possible source.  Those donkeys basically became living good-luck symbols for me-on a bad day, I’d strain my eyes to look for them across the field, and if I found them, a little bit of peace would find me and put me in a better mood.  

Five years later, I knew something was wrong after a few days of only seeing two of my donkeys.  I thought about calling Grant’s Farm to ask if something had happened to one of them, but didn’t want to be a bother.  That day at work, someone had brought one of the pieces to our life-sized nativities into the shipping area, and there was my answer- a ghost-white donkey statue sitting on my table.  Strange little coincidences always happen that way for me, so I took the “sign” seriously- I knew then that something had happened to the real donkey in question.   Saddened, I stayed there for about 30 seconds and petted the statue… which is probably strange, but I’ve always had a soft spot for all things animal, even inanimate ones. Then I called Grant’s Farm.

I wasn’t expecting a response, but I got a call back from the Curator of the Deer Park.  In the message she left, she was extremely kind as she explained to me that I was correct, “Granny” had passed away earlier that week.  She went on to tell me the story of how the donkeys were donated to the park, told me about the ages and health of the other two and offered to answer any more questions if I wanted to call her back.   I was crushed of course, and actually shed more tears than I should have over this news, but I was touched as well.  I appreciated the fact that this busy woman had taken the time to call a stranger.  I could hear not only sympathy and regret in her voice for having to tell me the news, but also that I wasn’t alone in my attachment to the animals. 

Although this happened months ago, I’m writing about this now because I came across something interesting in the Bible that I hadn’t noticed before-a passage about a donkey in Numbers.  Balaam was sent by some local king to put a curse on the Israelites, but his donkey kept veering off of the road because she saw an angel in the way and she was afraid.  Although her master beat her, the donkey would not walk that way and eventually lay down.  The story goes on to tell of how God allows the donkey to speak to Balaam and question his cruelty, then how his eyes are finally opened so that he sees the angel.  God tells Balaam that he was in the wrong and that the donkey knew it, and that He would have spared her life even if He had to kill Balaam to stop him from going down that path.

As a vegetarian and huge animal lover, that story holds a lot of meaning for me, because 1) the donkey recognized God and 2) God cared enough about the donkey to spare her life, even if He would have killed the man that was riding her.  It gives me comfort to believe in a God that has love and compassion even for the creatures beneath us.  This Bible story probably ties all of my worries and blessings involving the little brown and white donkeys together in some way  that I have not yet seen, but for now I know that nobody can guess how much something will mean to someone, no matter how small or insignificant, but that God cares about all of those little details.