Once, when I was a child, my dad traded a hog for a cow. At the time, I didn't think it was a very good trade. The old cow suffered from what we called "holler horn," and besides, I did not relish the chore of milking. "Holler horn" is caused when some one dehorns a cow and doesn't take proper care. The holes become infected.

I learned two things about that old cow. One, she had her horns removed for a reason. She suffered from what modern psychologists would call antisocial behavior. Two, she was suffering from hollow belly as much as she was suffering from "holler horn." The second thing I learned caused me to feel sympathy for her. The first, however, tried my patience. When we milked, we put out feed for the cows to eat. She could eat faster than a famished teenage boy. When she finished, she would run away. If you tied her with a rope, she would jump back and forth, either kicking over the bucket of milk or sticking her foot in it. There was no way to milk her when she had eaten all her feed. I would milk frantically, but alas, it was all for naught. Try as I did, I could not finish the milking before she finished eating.

One cold north Alabama morning, I decided I was going to finish milking that ornery old cow if it killed her. And further more, she was not going to ruin the milk by knocking it over or sticking her foot in it. I had about three-fourths of her milk in my bucket when she finished eating. She began her little dance while I did my best to finish milking her and, at the same time, to protect the milk bucket. I decided she needed to know who was boss. I doubled up my fist and chose the soft spot between her rib cage and hip, then let fly with all the strength I could muster. Did I mention it was a cold morning, and that I was wearing a nice sturdy denim jacket? When I connected with her, my fist and arm sunk into her gut up to my elbow. Well sir, instead of quieting down like I thought she would, or at least moving away from me, she jumped on me. This knocked me to the ground, at which point she proceeded to stick her right hind foot down inside the front of my jacket, pinning me to the ground. As I surveyed the situation from my vantage point, I decided I had made a big mistake. The milk was spilled, and I was at the mercy of that old cow. Luckily, she decided to let me up, once she understood I was the boss.

As I think of the lesson I learned on that cold Alabama morning, I think of what the Lord teaches us about our dealings with one another and how we need to learn longsuffering. "Put on therefore, as God's elect, holy and beloved, a heart of compassion, kindness, lowliness, meekness, longsuffering; forbearing one another, and forgiving each other, if any man have a complaint against any; even as the Lord forgave you, so also do ye." (Col 3:12-13) I have too often been guilty of dealing with situations without practicing longsuffering. When longsuffering is missing, efforts to teach, reprove, and rebuke will illicit the same kind of counteraction I got from the cow. How often would a brother or sister have heeded our admonition, if we had not doubled up our spiritual fists. We perceived them to be stubborn and ornery and in need of a lesson, so we let them have it.

Even in the face of sin, we are to practice longsuffering. Listen to the words of Paul, "... admonish the disorderly, encourage the fainthearted, support the weak, be longsuffering toward all." (1 Thess. 5:14) Lest we think it unChristian to be longsuffering with the erring, consider our personal condition before the Lord. "... but is longsuffering to you-ward, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance." (2 Pet 3:9)

The next time your patience with your brethren wears thin, and you want to grab hold of one of them and shake him till his teeth rattle, think about a teenage boy, an ornery old cow, and a cold north Alabama morning.