The Courage To Be Still: Aspen’s Story

Aspen is the name we softly coo to a young lamb, no more than four weeks old. He arrived underweight and wide-eyed, carrying more pain than any little being ever should.

Aspen, like the tree, is known for resilience. For sprouting anew from even the deepest wound. For growing in places where others cannot. For standing tall, even when broken.

And though he is no tree, Aspen is exactly that.

It isn’t the quaking of leaves we hear as we cradle him in our arms—but the beat of his tiny heart, pressed close to our own.

His swollen thigh and fractured hind limb tell a story we’ll never fully know. But this much is clear: he was seen beneath a horse, their hoof raised.

Again.

And again.

Those injuries are not fresh. They have lingered. And so has his pain.

X-rays confirmed what his trembling body already told us. Young bones. Old breaks. A system weakened by hunger and heartbreak.

And the absence of his mumma’s love.

When offered milk, Aspen turned sharply away—gripped by fear, and his suckling reflex gone.

But not our fierce belief that every life matters.

We gently syringed formula into his mouth, hoping its warmth and sweetness would awaken some small memory of comfort.

And, just now—it did!

His lips enthusiastically wriggled to life. His body softened as a flicker of trust found its way in.

That distant rumble you may have heard? That came from our hearts. Singing loud. Because Aspen is learning that fear cannot protect him—but trust, when placed well, can.

This little fellow is understandably wary of calm. The last time he lay in stillness, a hard, merciless hoof found him. But now, with each passing hour, he lets us inch in.

Surrender, Aspen shows us, is not a weakness. It is the bravest kind of courage.

He carries a history we’ll never fully piece together. But from here, a new chapter begins.

One written with kindness as the pen.

Our pain meds have eased his leg. Our touch, his fear. Our hope, his heart.

And, come next week, skilled veterinary hands will mend his leg, too.

So now, as he rests quietly among his ever-growing flock of lamby pals, Aspen reminds us of the quiet power of recovery.

Of resilience not born of force—but of trusting faith.

Though he may seem small to the world and lie still, make no mistake—there is a storm of strength within him.

And, if you look closely enough, you just may see a reflection of yourself in a stoic lamb called Aspen.