It was Saturday evening when I heard the kids excited voices as they were approaching the house and calling me — A-ya, A-ya…

– What? What? I rushed to the door.

When I opened it, I saw Michael standing on the stairs with a little lamb in his hands.

“What is this?!”

“Its a little lamb. She was born yesterday and her mother doesn’t let her near her. She is very weak. She may die”.

Michael got in, followed by Dan-Dan, his brother, and Deon, his friend.

Before I had a chance to say anything they laid her down on their spider-man blanket and covered her with an old rug.

The little lamb didn’t look so good. She couldn’t stand on her feet and her eyes were gazing at one imaginary point.

“We took her to Rebeca”, said Shahar as he came through the door. “She said that these things happen from time to time. We found her too late and there isn’t much chance that  she will survive as she needs her mother’s milk to strengthen her immune system. We can try to give her some cow milk from a bottle”.

And then he added: “I need to go soon. Will you take care of it?”

To my own (untrained) ears it didn’t sound like I had any choice… but this is another topic for another time.

As I stayed with the four kids and apparently a dying lamb in the house, I noticed how much I wanted her to live. How full my heart was with compassion to the fragile creature which has just landed in my life. I was willing to do whatever it takes to help her survive. And I was not the only one.

40 years old me, 8 years old Michael, 6 years old Deon, 5 years old Dan-Dan and 3 years old Dana all had the same response, in my interpretation, unconditional love and care for the helpless vulnerable animal baby.

As Dan-Dan put it in his own observational language: “Aya, I can not stop thinking about the lamb, and I don’t know why”.

“I can understand that Dan-Dan”, I said, “because I experience the same thing as you do. I am having frequent thoughts about her too. I believe it is in our human nature to feel compassion when we are facing life in its vulnerability. We humans care. This is how we are”.

Michael was “in charge”, as he appointed himself. He began feeding her with a bottle, but the lamb was too weak to suck from it….

“She will live, right Aya?. She has to live”, Said Michael, desperately looking at me for reassurance.

“We just need to feed her and love her and she will live” He continued, as if repeating what he wanted to happen will validate its becoming  truth.

“Me and Dana even told her that we love her. And I made a wish with a wish flower”.

“I don’t know, Michael. Sometimes these things happen. Sometimes newborn babies do not survive…” – I began saying… and stopped as I felt uncomfortable with the words that came out of my mouth.

At that moment I woke up and realized that I was feeling really helpless and afraid, and was trying to “rescue” myself and Michael from the potential pain of facing the loss of the lamb. I was hoping also to avoid the pain of witnessing my beloved son’s heart break as he was to face his own helplessness in the face of death.

I could see how wanting to protect myself led me to trying to take him away from the fullness of his experience by telling him that “this is how things are… babies sometimes die..” and therefore sending him the message that he should not feel so afraid or helpless and that he should protect himself by avoiding his feelings so that his heart will not be broken-open….

But the price! – Closing his heart, disconnecting from his own humanity, from his vulnerability, where life itself resides –  in order to protect from pain.

Oh, how I don’t want to protect him from his heart break. How I want him, and everybody else for that matter, to experience the aliveness, strength and empowerment that are gained from being present with our hearts under all circumstances, from opening ourselves fully to our experience in the moment.

How else would we fully live the life we were meant to live?

Quickly I chose to change direction, wanting to offer Michael the experience of being met where he was, being understood and accepted for what he was feeling and needing in that moment in time. How I long to offer this gift to my children on a regular basis !

And so I said to him:

“My heart is touched deeply by how much you care about this little creature, Michael. I am witnessing how you want to protect her life. You are willing to do whatever is needed to save her, and I can imagine how helpless and distressed you feel when you neither have the certainty nor the power to decide what will be the end results of your efforts.

Michal’s tears confirmed my understanding. He hugged me and cried quietly. I felt relieved and grateful for making this turn on time, as I could support him in connecting with his feelings, by empathizing with him, instead of contributing to him adding a layer of protection to his heart.

I remembered Marshall Rosenberg’s words about learning to enjoy somebody else’s pain. Finally I got what he meant. It was the sweet pain of being with what’s real, with being with What Is. For the first time ever, I was enjoying my son’s tears…

As I sensed that Michael was ready to move on I decided to offer him a piece of education.

“You know, Michael, I feel peaceful when I am doing everything that is within my power to live my values, which are, in this case, to care for life in all its forms and protect it.

And as far as I can tell, you are doing the same. We have taken the lamb into our house, offered her food and shelter, love and care. I think this is all we can do. If she is to live or not, is not in our hands. And therefore I’m letting go of being “in charge” of it.

When I’m able to let go of worrying whether my efforts will bring my desired results or not,  I notice that I can focus my energy better on how I want to respond to the moment. It frees me to do whatever my heart is really moved to do in the situation, and therefore I have no regrets later on.

Does this make any sense to you?”

“Yes Aya, I’m doing everything I can. There is really nothing else to be done. And if she dies I will bury her myself and I will look for the most beautiful stone to be put on top of her grave so I will know where it is. Look at her Aya, isn’t she beautiful?”

I nodded with my head as we continued feeding the little lamb and petting her.

She survived the night and died on the next day.

Michael and Dan-Dan buried her in the back yard and put the wood sword that Dan-Dan made in preschool on top of it. It made a perfect cross.

On top of the sword Michael put his pink crystal stone. I watched both of them from the porch as they leaned forward to the ground and silently sent the little lamb to her next journey with an open heart.

I stayed there for a few more minutes, taking in the moment, grateful for the rich connection, learning and meaning we were all able to take from the little lamb’s short appearance in our lives.