One night in early December
I was grumblin' to my wife.
It was way after dark and chores were just done,
And I was complainin' about the rancher's life.
"You and I both have worked hard all year,"
I said as I frowned over supper.
"But with snow comin' early and hay priced sky high,
Things will only get tougher.
"And I saw on TV that we ranchers are bad,
'Destroying the land,' the man said.
Cows and sheep are to blame for everything wrong,
From methane to diseases, I've read.
"City folks think that we're all gettin' rich
And workin' just 4 hours each day.
They think ranches are run by big corporations
Or that the work that we do is just play.
"Maybe it ain't worth it no more,
No matter how many mouths that we feed.
I'm of a mind to sell the whole ranch;
Maybe a job in town's what I need."
In response my wife picked up a leather-bound book
Whose cover was tattered and worn.
She thumbed back to just the right page -
It'd been read so much it was torn.
She read me a story that never grows old,
Though I'd heard it many times before.
She read to me the second chapter of Luke,
Which tells of the birth of our Lord.
"Don't ever feel bad," she said as she smiled,
"About workin' all day around stock.
Remember the very first people to greet baby Jesus
Had been out watchin' their flocks.
"And while city folks may not understand us,
And they criticize the things that we do,
Remember that God chose shepherds, not city folks,
To share in the first Christmas news.
"So be proud of the life that you've chosen,
And don't worry what others are sayin'
Thank God that he made you a rancher
While this year at Christmas you're prayin'."
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