The Harsh Truth

As you may or may not have guessed from my blog title, I'm five feet and four inches tall. I weigh a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. I'm not one of those really short but well-built girls that manages to do as much heavy lifting as any boy in the world. I'm little. Yes, it's a blessing to be skinny. Yes, I've been told my size is perfect and adorable. But that doesn't change the harsh reality that I'm not big enough to do what I really love. I'm too small to properly pull my weight in a manual-labor type job, at least without hurting myself. 

I love being outside. I love shoveling cow sh*t and pressure washing out trailers and operating tractors and watching cows chase after round bales as they unroll down the hill. I love bringing new lives into the world even if it means pulling the calf or lamb or whatever. I love holding those babies down to give them their first round of shots because it means they have a good chance at growing up strong and healthy. 

As much as I love all of those things, they require more strength than I possess. Sometimes life throws things at us that we feel like we absolutely should be able to handle. The thing is, that's not always the truth. Sometimes the things life throws at us are meant to be lessons in humility instead of ways to prove our own strength.

Do I want to keep busting my butt and working the hard-labor jobs in ag? Hell yes. Ever since I started halter breaking my first 4-H steer at twelve it's all I've wanted. Sure, I almost wasted twenty thousand dollars on beauty school so I could have a decent way to work my way through college, but the ultimate goal was still to get a degree in ag. I want it so bad.

I want my career and entire life to center around cattle and farming. I want to be the mama that stays at home but still makes money by feeding cows with a baby on her back and a toddler waiting not-so-patiently for her to make up a bottle so they can feed their favorite bum calf. I want to care for my own herd as well as I want to care for my future children. I want to be the one to help my child halter break their first 4-H steer and give them that same sense of pride I had the first time I walked out of the show ring towards my dad holding a shiny blue ribbon. I want all of that and more. But you know what? Life disagrees.

Here's the thing, though. I could go on griping like I've done for the last five paragraphs or I can get over myself and find a different job--still in ag--that's easier on my body. Here goes nothing!