im·print Verb /imĖprint/
imprinting present participle; imprinted past tense; imprints3rd person singular present; imprinted past participle
imprinting present participle; imprinted past tense; imprints3rd person singular present; imprinted past participle
- Impress or stamp (a mark or outline) on a surface or body
- Make an impression or mark on (something)
- Fix (an idea) firmly in someone's mind
- (of a young animal) Come to recognize (another animal, person, or thing) as a parent or other object of habitual trust
Check out the third and forth definitions listed above. And here's a story:
I had this pair of geese.
Now...most people hate geese, but not I. I love geese. And my geese were wonderful. The pair came by mail order in a cardboard box. The two were barely a day old, and were attentive and eager to learn. As I watched them, something in goose character became evident to me very quickly.
Sure dogs and cows and other domestic animals learn that people can take care of them and they can be trained, but geese are a little different in the fact that they get very particular about who they will listen too. Geese imprint deeply. You have probably all heard stories about how if you watch a goose hatch and it sees your first, then it will think you are it's mother. Well, that is basically true. I didn't have the pleasure of watching my geese hatch, but in their infancy, they immediately latched on to me as a parent.
First thing in the morning, I'd say good morning to my mom and instantly baby goose noises and peeps would erupt from the basement. They had heard me and knew I was coming. So I'd head downstairs and as soon as they saw me with their eyes the excitement in them doubled. It was like they were screaming "She's here!! She's here!!!" And they'd make a mad dash over to the side of the box where they could be closest to me.
As they got older, they graduated from the box to be able to spend longer amounts of time outside. When I would get them out in the grass, it was an unspoken rule that they could venture out and explore, but as soon as I spoke to them, they would come waddling over to me. They didn't understand what I said, but my voice was familiar to them as I talked to them my voice became something they listened for attentively. I quickly found that they loved to eat out of my hands. I'd pick them grass or dandelion leaves and hold them out for them to take. The geese would come sit on or by my leg and wait for me to feed them. There was grass everywhere, but they especially wanted what I had to picked to give them.
My dad would sometime say in amazement, "Wooooow..." because of how well the goslings knew me. They easily could tell me apart from anyone else, and followed so closely behind me that they would run into my heels at times. Anytime I talked they'd pipe up with their own squeaks (that eventually grew into their honking tones), because they knew me.
They got all mature and all that, so naturally they decided that water was an attractive thing, so we played in water troughs splashing and flicking water all over the place. I had so much fun with them! Right after getting wet was the ritual "dry in the sun" time where I stroked their wings and necks while they slept in a warm sunny spot. Later, when they became more independent, they went on walks without me to the pond for the afternoon, but as soon as I would call them, they'd rush back up to the house or barn. Because I called them. Because they knew my voice. They didn't listen to anyone else. When they'd cause trouble, I would often hear "Brenna! Get your goose!!" So, as was my responsibility, I'd take care of whatever was the issue.
One day the geese came to me, but one was shaking his head at funny angles and the female was making worried croaky noises. Wondering what was the matter (because I knew their behavior wasn't normal), I sat down with them and spoke gently, encouraging them to come close so I could see.
He wasn't thrilled when I grabbed him and pinned him by holding him in place between my knees, and he was even more ticked when I took his beak, and forced it open. Both geese were upset with my by then. They made their distressed noises that broke my heart and the female came close to her mate to try to be of comfort. Turns out, there was a cotton string wrapped around the gander's tongue, and it was making him have trouble swallowing. But even though they were still upset, I knew that this bit of trauma was better for them than leaving the string where it was. I got the string out and released the gander and did my best to comfort them, but it took them a few days to let the grudge go and to forgive (or forget what happened entirely) me for grabbing the gander.
As much as I wished they could see that what I did was helpful, they couldn't understand really. And I knew that. It's just that there was something much more important to me than how they felt about me at the moment. That was their welfare. I had to help! Even if it affected how they typically saw me as protector, provider, comforter, and playmate for awhile.
----
I have two main points for telling you this story.
One point is near the beginning, but is very much linked to the second point. It is this: Both geese and sheep come in groups that are called flocks (more specifically for geese, it is called a gaggle. But the flock idea remains.) Both flocks and gaggles often need shepherds and for my geese, since I raised them and they could distinguish me from other people, I was their shepherd. And just as my geese grew to know, love, and respond to my voice, so should it be with us and Jesus, who is our shepherd.
Just as my geese knew my voice, ate from my hand, trusted me to provide, relaxed and slept in my presence, got excited when I called them, played with me, and honked to/with me, just as I can, as God's child, can know His voice, savor His presence, get excited about what He's doing, etc. etc. etc. We need to be imprinted to God, just like my geese were imprinted to me.
God and I had something in common. We were both shepherds, and I and anyone who knows me well can tell you that I loved my geese very much I loved to go sit with them, talk, care, feed, stroke, comfort, guarde, and play with them. All of it! I loved it!!
The experience of having them has been a highlight in my upbringing. It was one of my favorite things. Like... ever. In the same way, God loves to bee all that for you and me as well.
I know a shepherd's heart. It is well meaning, intimate, and from a more knowledgeable perspective than its flock.
Point numero dos:
Sometimes, the shepherd has to "hurt" in order to help. Like when I upset the geese to get the string out of the gander's mouth and throat. But it was for his benefit. Similarly, God may "damage" or remove something from or in you or me to HELP. He can see the hurt it is causing and know that a little pain and uncertainty now will be so much better than leaving things how they are.
Allow god to change whatever it is. Don't grudge Him for it either, because it is for your benefit.
I had this pair of geese.
Now...most people hate geese, but not I. I love geese. And my geese were wonderful. The pair came by mail order in a cardboard box. The two were barely a day old, and were attentive and eager to learn. As I watched them, something in goose character became evident to me very quickly.
Sure dogs and cows and other domestic animals learn that people can take care of them and they can be trained, but geese are a little different in the fact that they get very particular about who they will listen too. Geese imprint deeply. You have probably all heard stories about how if you watch a goose hatch and it sees your first, then it will think you are it's mother. Well, that is basically true. I didn't have the pleasure of watching my geese hatch, but in their infancy, they immediately latched on to me as a parent.
First thing in the morning, I'd say good morning to my mom and instantly baby goose noises and peeps would erupt from the basement. They had heard me and knew I was coming. So I'd head downstairs and as soon as they saw me with their eyes the excitement in them doubled. It was like they were screaming "She's here!! She's here!!!" And they'd make a mad dash over to the side of the box where they could be closest to me.
As they got older, they graduated from the box to be able to spend longer amounts of time outside. When I would get them out in the grass, it was an unspoken rule that they could venture out and explore, but as soon as I spoke to them, they would come waddling over to me. They didn't understand what I said, but my voice was familiar to them as I talked to them my voice became something they listened for attentively. I quickly found that they loved to eat out of my hands. I'd pick them grass or dandelion leaves and hold them out for them to take. The geese would come sit on or by my leg and wait for me to feed them. There was grass everywhere, but they especially wanted what I had to picked to give them.
My dad would sometime say in amazement, "Wooooow..." because of how well the goslings knew me. They easily could tell me apart from anyone else, and followed so closely behind me that they would run into my heels at times. Anytime I talked they'd pipe up with their own squeaks (that eventually grew into their honking tones), because they knew me.
They got all mature and all that, so naturally they decided that water was an attractive thing, so we played in water troughs splashing and flicking water all over the place. I had so much fun with them! Right after getting wet was the ritual "dry in the sun" time where I stroked their wings and necks while they slept in a warm sunny spot. Later, when they became more independent, they went on walks without me to the pond for the afternoon, but as soon as I would call them, they'd rush back up to the house or barn. Because I called them. Because they knew my voice. They didn't listen to anyone else. When they'd cause trouble, I would often hear "Brenna! Get your goose!!" So, as was my responsibility, I'd take care of whatever was the issue.
One day the geese came to me, but one was shaking his head at funny angles and the female was making worried croaky noises. Wondering what was the matter (because I knew their behavior wasn't normal), I sat down with them and spoke gently, encouraging them to come close so I could see.
He wasn't thrilled when I grabbed him and pinned him by holding him in place between my knees, and he was even more ticked when I took his beak, and forced it open. Both geese were upset with my by then. They made their distressed noises that broke my heart and the female came close to her mate to try to be of comfort. Turns out, there was a cotton string wrapped around the gander's tongue, and it was making him have trouble swallowing. But even though they were still upset, I knew that this bit of trauma was better for them than leaving the string where it was. I got the string out and released the gander and did my best to comfort them, but it took them a few days to let the grudge go and to forgive (or forget what happened entirely) me for grabbing the gander.
As much as I wished they could see that what I did was helpful, they couldn't understand really. And I knew that. It's just that there was something much more important to me than how they felt about me at the moment. That was their welfare. I had to help! Even if it affected how they typically saw me as protector, provider, comforter, and playmate for awhile.
----
I have two main points for telling you this story.
One point is near the beginning, but is very much linked to the second point. It is this: Both geese and sheep come in groups that are called flocks (more specifically for geese, it is called a gaggle. But the flock idea remains.) Both flocks and gaggles often need shepherds and for my geese, since I raised them and they could distinguish me from other people, I was their shepherd. And just as my geese grew to know, love, and respond to my voice, so should it be with us and Jesus, who is our shepherd.
Just as my geese knew my voice, ate from my hand, trusted me to provide, relaxed and slept in my presence, got excited when I called them, played with me, and honked to/with me, just as I can, as God's child, can know His voice, savor His presence, get excited about what He's doing, etc. etc. etc. We need to be imprinted to God, just like my geese were imprinted to me.
God and I had something in common. We were both shepherds, and I and anyone who knows me well can tell you that I loved my geese very much I loved to go sit with them, talk, care, feed, stroke, comfort, guarde, and play with them. All of it! I loved it!!
The experience of having them has been a highlight in my upbringing. It was one of my favorite things. Like... ever. In the same way, God loves to bee all that for you and me as well.
I know a shepherd's heart. It is well meaning, intimate, and from a more knowledgeable perspective than its flock.
Point numero dos:
Sometimes, the shepherd has to "hurt" in order to help. Like when I upset the geese to get the string out of the gander's mouth and throat. But it was for his benefit. Similarly, God may "damage" or remove something from or in you or me to HELP. He can see the hurt it is causing and know that a little pain and uncertainty now will be so much better than leaving things how they are.
Allow god to change whatever it is. Don't grudge Him for it either, because it is for your benefit.
