SHEEPISH

            Most days I am keenly aware of my need for a shepherd.  I  think I have found my own pasture and am peacefully grazing on  family, peace and security and then the rich green grass begins to turn a dry crackling brown making me thirsty for a stream I can not find.  I come out of my feeding stupor and see the enemy lurking on a hill nearby, grinning at my dumb independence and I feel vulnerable and afraid as I frantically bleat a prayer for rescue to the shepherd I took for granted.  And I do not look around long before I see Him, holy crook in hand , and hear Him calling to remind me that I have gone too far to independent meadows, but always inviting me to His protective pen once again.  Sometimes I feel the painful rod on my backside but never for any purpose but restoration and so  the pain always feels like holy love.  And my fuzzy mind recalls that it was the shepherd who found the satisfying meadow and measured in His hands all the waters of this stream from which we drink.   But He did not intend for me to replace His protection and provision with this green earthy sort.   I am again refreshed and happy to graze with fellow flock for a while, until the further meadow and the green distant knoll seem better, richer, fuller.  Seems I quickly forget the enemy standing there waiting to sully my white wool with doubt and fear and self righteousness. Too easily I lose sight of  my shepherd who weighed those distant knolls on His holy scales. He should get tired of my forgetful ways but He does not.  He would and did give his life for me, this Shepherd of my soul,  to rescue me from the fate  and the teeth of the devilish lion on the hillside. He carries me home with gentleness and patience. And I count on Him to lead my young with the same care.    This provision in the presence of that enemy is meant to point me to His power and His love and inspire me to follow.   And even the dark valleys, many of which I have foolishly, willingly wandered into, may not provide opportunity for the lion to devour, for he can only  stalk and prey as the shepherd wills.   My shepherd is goodness and He is mercy,  following the flock as we graze through this life into the eternal pasture of shepherd presence and lion absence, clothed in our snowy white wool, a gift from His scarlet blood soaked son to our simple flock.  

He tends his flock like a shepherd:
    He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
    he gently leads those that have young.

Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand,
    or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens?
Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket,
    or weighed the mountains on the scales
    and the hills in a balance?  Isaiah 40:11-12