It would have been funny, if it were not alarmingly familiar. 

 

By chance I happened upon a video of an alpaca being born. Astonishing, really, that the owner was willing to follow her laboring mama around the pasture for twenty minutes, so that outliers like myself could witness a miracle that she has no doubt seen dozens of times. 

 

The accent was Aussie, I believe, though I could be mistaken. Mistaken being a theme. The woman whom I will call Betty was clearly at home with her herd, and they with her. She provided a monologue which included background information like the alpaca's name and the daddy's breed, and what Betty was hoping for in terms of coloring. Betty reassured us that this particular animal is comfortable with humans and would not be put off by an audience. Fortunately for Betty the alpaca cannot read. If she could she would have been distracted from the crucial task at hand, by the incessant criticism being typed from half a dozen countries. 

 

"Why is the woman following her? She should put down the camera and help."

 

"It's too cold to give birth! She should be in a barn."

 

"Someone pull on those legs and get that poor baby out!"

 

Now I am a fan of the Golden Rule. It has gotten me out of numberless jams. But I think it was awkward to apply it in this case.

 

"I would not want to be giving birth in a field!"

 

"I would not want all those other llamas around poking their noses at me!"

 

Sadly even the newborn herself did not escape the tirade. When she plopped on the grass the dialogue launched into her, too. 

 

"She should be moving!"

 

"Her legs are too spindly!"

 

I laughed out loud. Here was a wonder, orchestrated by God, in which new life appeared and was licked into vivacity. Yet onlookers who may or may not be board certified vets leaned into unfettered opinions about the mother, her family, the owner, and the weather. 

 

There was relief from the farce, when I notice that it did not alter the circumstances one whit. The baby emerged gradually, neither hurried nor slackened by public sentiment. The mama did not suffer from low self esteem originating in the deluge of distrust, and since Betty was busy savoring the day she did not bother to read the comments either. 

 

I wasted some energy this week with my own brand of nonsense. Informing no one in particular I announced that the hurricane had been too scary, the decisions by people I will never meet face to face are unfounded, and the trajectory of politics misses the mark. 

 

It is my good fortune that God is not swayed by my grumbling. He regularly surrounds me in splendor regardless of my willingness to hold my tongue.