On May 17 th of this year, I walked the short walk from a parking lot to a monument on the ridge of a hill overlooking a town in France. There were sheep everywhere. One little lamb had escaped a fence and become separated from the flock; she desperately ran back and forth along the ridge looking, searching, hoping for someway to break through the fence; hoping to join her flock, looking for safety she bleated, she cried as she looked out terrified over the ridge. This ridge, on which she was lost and bleating, is Vimy Ridge As I stood atop Vimy Ridge by the memorial to our Canadian soldiers, the symbolism of this bleating lamb running back and forth, looking for someway through the fence, was not lost on me. April 9 th to 12 th , 1917, a brutal battle was fought as our Canadian soldiers desperately looked for a way to break through the fences and trenches on this very same ridge. Many had tried before. Many had died before. But here were our troops, trying to get over those fences a