THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD

“He will feed His flock like a shepherd.  He will gather the lambs with His arm and carry them in His bosom and gently lead those who are with young.”  Is. 40:11

Let me tell you a little story about a shepherd and his sheep.  Amos was a shepherd boy who loved his sheep.  He named many of them.  There was the young ram, Jonah named thus because Amos often found him hiding in hollows or caves.  Then there was the elder ram Abraham who was known for wondering off on his own.  Amos had many ewes of course and one was named Ruth since she was often by the side of the ram he had called Boaz.  Then there was Esther who was very brave, protecting other sheep from ground squirrels and birds.  There was Eve, who was the oldest ewe in the flock and had given birth to many of them .

In the middle of the night when all was black as ink, Amos woke with a start, his senses suddenly alert.  His ears picked up the soft sounds of sheep moving around in the fold.  Had something disturbed them?  Slowly, he stood up from his customary sleeping place in by the gate, and his eyes searched the darkness for shapes and movement.  Even though he could not see them in the inky blackness of the rock enclosure surrounding the cave at the base of a sheer cliff, he knew many of the sheep were standing, some shuffling about, some quietly bleating.

Clutching his staff, he moved slowly, silently among them touching a head and whispering their names for he knew them instantly by only a touch or the sound of their bleats. The sheep quieted when they heard his soft voice or felt his touch and some  began to lie down.

Suddenly a rock rolled on the cliff near by and Amos grabbed is sling from his belt.  His eyes never left the far wall of the fold where the dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky, as his hand untied the strings of his pouch and found a good sized rock.  His muscles tensed, he strained his eyes in the darkness and the sheep began to bleat as if sensing his fear. Amos stepped towards the wall as the sheep gathered behind him in a tight group.

Without a sound, a shape suddenly appeared on the wall, a lion ready to pounce.  Even though he could not see them, Amos knew the lion’s eyes were focused on his movements. Instantly Amos swung his arm several times in a circle and let go of one side of the sling. There was a thud, a yowl and the cat disappeared.  Screaming out his pain and disappointment, the young lion slunk away to nurse his bruised shoulder.

After walking amongst the sheep and talking soothingly to them as they bedded down once again, Amos sat with his back to the wall, listening and watching the graying skyline.  When there was sufficient light, Amos went outside the fold and began hauling rocks to the wall to build it higher and make it safer for his sheep.

Later when the sun was topping over the far hills, Amos opened the fold gate.  One very young lamb could not keep up with his mama so Amos picked him up and tucked him into a sling that was inside his robe and with his staff in his hand, he led the way down the steep path that cut across a treacherous slope. The sheep followed the shepherd, staying on the path since they trusted that he would lead them to good pastures. Today they would feed in the valley where the green grass grew tall and lush.  He knew just the place where the stream waters were quiet and still, not rushing as would make the sheep nervous, so their frazzled nerves from the scare in the night could be settled.

All day long, the sheep fed on the luscious grass and rested by the quiet stream as the young ones gambled and played.  Amos even joined in the play as he often did, running from the young lambs and yearlings, encouraging them to chase him then letting them gather around him as they jumped and frolicked.  Oh, he loved his sheep. He knew them all by name and touch and sound.  He hated it when they were scared or hurt or sick and would do whatever he could to protect them, even putting himself in danger.

A month later when the grass was brown and scarce, Amos led the flock to the hills where he knew there were still grassy meadows.  They would spend their days grazing and moving from place to place and the nights would be spent in caves he knew of in the hills.  The sheep scattered across the hillsides as they foraged for food and Amos stood on a high   point keeping a sharp lookout for invaders or predators.

Suddenly Amos caught movement near a group of growing lambs who had strayed a bit from their mothers.  A hyena slinking low on it’s belly, moved from bush to bush nearing the lambs.  With a yell, he ran down the hill, brandishing his staff, robes billowing, his yells echoing off the rocks.  The hyena made a dash for the nearest lamb and grabbed it’s leg, as the lamb’s desperate bleats split the air.

Amos bellowed with rage as he ran harder with raised staff.  As the hyena was turning to drag the lamb off, the staff came down with a loud thud on it’s head.  The hyena dropped the lamb and with a snarl turned on Amos, as bloody drool ran from his bared fangs. Wham, the staff fell again.  And again. The hyena was knocked senseless as life ebbed from it’s body.

Amos knelt next to the bleating lamb and gently ran his fingers over her bitten leg.  The bone was not broken and the gash not too deep, she would heal.  With a sigh and a glance to make sure the hyena wasn’t moving, Amos took the ram’s horn he always carried on his belt and poured olive oil on the wound. Then he picked up the half grown lamb and carried her in his arms back to his vantage point.  She would have to be carried to the cave come night fall.

As the sun sank, Amos stood, gathering the injured lamb and tucking her in his sling, he walked to the center of the scattered flock.  He let out a high pitched whistle and thumped his staff on the ground.  Most of the sheep raised their heads and started towards him, but Abraham and a couple others ignored the call.  Amos put a small pebble in his sling and swung it several times before letting it go.  The pebble landed just on the other side of Abraham and the stubborn ram, spun around to trot towards his shepherd.  There were a few other rebellious ones that needed the reminder of a falling stone to urge them to the shepherd’s side but soon the flock surrounded Amos.

Amos stood for a moment his eyes roaming the flock.  Something was wrong.  One was missing, he could feel it.  He counted and sure enough, one out of the 54 sheep were missing.  After surveying the flock he knew who it was, the young yearling ram who surely was a son of Abraham’s since he had wondered off before.  Amos called him Jacob since the patriarch, like his grandfather had also wondered far from his people.

After making sure the flock was safely in the cave with the opening blocked securely with a large rock, Amos set out in the dusk of the evening to search for the lost one.  Whistling often, he searched the rocky, rough hills, looking behind boulders, in dips, and in the midst of thick brush.  Already worn out, his feet pained him terribly, his stomach growled since he hadn’t yet had supper, but he would not stop searching until the strayed one was back in the fold.

Darkness was closing in and it was even darker in the deep gorge where Amos struggled over rocks about a quarter mile from the grazing grounds of the day when he thought he heard a faint bleat.  Stopping he whistled, then listened intently.  Sure enough from up ahead he heard the bleating of a sheep. Stumbling and falling over rocks he rushed up the gorge.

“Jacob!”  He called and there was an answering bleat from a patch of brush near by.  Pushing his way into the thorny bushes with his rod, Amos fought his way to the ram.  With legs hopelessly tangled in the brush and his wool snagged in numerous places with the thorns, Jacob was securely trapped.

Amos’ robe was torn and his face and arms scratched by the long thorns, but he carefully hacked away the vines with his knife. Using the crook on his staff, he dragged the young sheep out of the brambles. He wasn’t sure if the blood on the white wool was from himself or from Jacob.  Pulling out his olive oil he rubbed it on the ram’s many cuts and talked soothingly to him until the sheep quieted and leaned heavily against his breast.

“Come, my wandering one,” he said in a low voice, “let’s get you to the fold.”

Then standing the strong shepherd heaved the young ram to his shoulders and carefully began his long trek back to the fold.  Oh how he loved his sheep, even enough to sacrifice his own body for their safety.

“The Lord is my Shepherd and I shall not want.” 

The shepherd takes care of all the sheep’s needs and wants, shelter, safety, food, water, rest, play, protection and rescue even when they wander.  Jesus is my Shepherd.  I shall not want for anything.

“He makes me to lie down in green pastures,”

The sheep will only lay down when they feel secure.  Not only does He lead me to the best grass, but I can be so secure in His care that I can lay down in the pastures.

“He leads me beside the still waters.”

Sheep are afraid of fast moving streams and will not be calm near them.  Sometimes I have to face the fast water and even cross it, but sometimes God leads me to places beside the still waters where it is safe and quiet, where I can relax and rest.

“He restores my soul.”

He gives me times of restoration, of quietness when I can bask in His presence and be restored.

“He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name sake.” 

Like the sheep, I need to follow my Shepherd, trusting blindly that the path He leads me on is the best way possible, even if the trail is hard and rocky and dangerous.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,”

Even when His path leads to a deep shadowed valley, such as great loss or tribulation.  Or when I wander away and find myself lost and trapped.  When that dark valley where death looms, is ahead, I will have to walk through it.  Maybe more than once in my lifetime. The question is:  How will I walk that rocky path?

“I fear no evil.” 

Not that trouble won’t come, but I will not fear the trouble.  Why?

“For You are with me.”

In the deep, dark night when I am hopelessly trapped, bleeding, bruised and crying for help, my Shepherd comes. Always.

“Your rod and Your staff they comfort me.”

He is always with me, yes, but my loving Shepherd does more. If I am lost, if I am in danger, or in dire straights, He searches until I am found.   He hacks away the vines, and with his staff, He pulls me from the brambles.  He beats off the enemy.  He saves.  He always delivers.  He completely restores.

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.”

Even with great loss, even in grief, even in the midst of trials, I am blessed beyond measure by His great bounty.

“You anoint my head with oil.”

He gently touches.  He heals.

“My cup runs over”

With His great love.  With His joy. With His peace.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.”

I am pursued by His unbounding goodness and undeserved love all of my days.  He will never leave me. He will be my Shepherd always. I shall not want.

“And I will dwell in the house of the Lord Forever!”

I will be with my Shepherd, my Savior, my Jesus in His family as His child, in His Glorious Heaven.  Forever and ever!  Praise be to God!

Ps. 23