Tag Archives: the Shepherd

An Intimidating and Unsettling Peace

Posted on by

In the past four months, I have lost my beloved counseling job due to restructuring, failed to secure another counseling position and felt convicted that it is time to move on to another profession/direction after spending nine years pursuing this goal, started to head into remission for an overactive thyroid disorder I developed almost a year ago only to lose employment and health insurance, qualified for Medicaid but had to switch doctors mid-treatment, and dealt with a medical crisis and extended medical care situation for the relative I am living with. So, as I am wrestling through anxiety and being overwhelmed on multiple fronts, I turned in my Bible the other day for some peace and comfort to, of course, Psalm 23. And do you know what I found? Some startling and uncomfortable details that I had not noticed before. Y’all, I have had this passage memorized since I was like 6. It’s the universal passage on comfort in times of trial and fear. It’s got all the great sound bites like fearing no evil in the valley of death, still waters and green pastures, and my cup runneth over. And for some reason, I feel like most of us read this passage and hear something like, “Yup, I’m really going through it right now. I’m in the valley. I’m surrounded by enemies. But, God’s gonna lead me out of this valley to green pastures and still waters. He’s gonna deliver me from this trial of poverty or famine or whatever and throw me a feast and that’ll show all these enemies and naysayers.” But, you know what I just found, much to my dismay? That is not what it says!

It doesn’t say He’s gonna yank me out of this valley (well, at least not until the last verse when “I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever”). It says, EVEN THOUGH I walk through this valley, I will fear no evil because He is with me and He will guide and protect me. Well, dang. That’s not exactly what I was hoping for. This is starting to not feel so warm and fuzzy anymore. It is starting to sound kind of intimidating and brave and stuff. Then, I noticed that the green pastures and still waters are mentioned before the valley, not after. What if the green pastures and still waters are not on the other side of the valley, but along the way, in the valley? And that’s why I need not fear in the valley, because I shall not want, even in this valley? Hmm, maybe that’s why He has to “make me lie down”–cause I’m thinking right about now, I’m still looking up at the valley of death on all sides, not at the green pasture under my feet.

But wait! It gets worse. While we’re here in the middle of this valley of death–as if that weren’t bad enough–suddenly we’re surrounded by enemies! And do you know what my Lord the Shepherd does? He prepares a banqueting table. I haven’t quite worked out yet how a sheep sits at a table, but putting that aside, here’s what I noticed about this: I used to think that this just meant God will continue to feed me in the presence of my enemies, and I’ll always have enough. You know, back to the whole “I shall not want” thing. And I’m sure it does mean that on one level. But this time around, I was reading in my study Bible and the footnote pointed out that the images of anointing my head with oil and filling a cup to overflowing are images of a victory banquet for the honored guest (aka the victor, presumably). And this has me really kind of miffed. I mean, is not that somewhat premature? Hello?! We are “in the presence of my enemies!” Aren’t You supposed to, like, go beat them all up with Your rod and send them packing first before we celebrate my victory? It seems a little presumptuous to be dripping in oil and spilling wine all down my shirt with all my enemies glaring at me from across the table, you know? Isn’t that likely to maybe, idk, provoke them? My Lord the Shepherd doesn’t seem to be overly concerned about this possibility. Actually, He doesn’t seem to be concerned at all–which is sort of making me question how much I’m worth to Him. Come on, who in their right mind throws a victory banquet in the middle of enemy territory, while surrounded by the actual enemy, and anoints their prey as the victor?! I mean, really!

You know who does that? The One who has already been their victim and has come back from the Valley of Death Himself. The One who can walk through the Valley of Death without being touched because He has already been swallowed by death and death couldn’t keep Him. Death can’t touch Him anymore, and neither can any of the enemies who live in its territory. Those enemies on the other side of the table, watching me get doused in oil and spill wine all over myself? They recognize my Lord the Shepherd. They remember the last time He was in this valley, when they came for Him, and they thought they won–and then He came back from the dead. They have known since that moment that their days are numbered and that one day it will be their turn. Maybe, just maybe, they are not glaring at me in eager anticipation of devouring me. Maybe they are staring at me in defeat as they watch me dripping in my Lord the Shepherd’s oil and thinking, “Well, that’s a wrap. She’s with Him. We can’t touch her now.”

My Lord the Shepherd is not particularly concerned that my enemies are present because He has already defeated them–even death–and He already knows my victory is a done deal. So, He celebrates, and He welcomes me to remember and celebrate the fact that this valley is not my defeat and these enemies are not my lords. While I would reeeeally, reeeeeally like Psalm 23 to say something like, “He lifts me up out of the valley and flies me over the heads of my enemies, while He zaps them all with lightning out of His fingertips. He carries me to green pastures and still waters far away from the valley, to my idyllic beachfront cottage, and makes me sip tea from cozy mugs. Surely sunshine and unicorns will follow me all the days of my life, and I will never have to struggle like this again.” (Well, actually, I’d prefer dolphins or fairies to unicorns, but you get the idea.) That’s not what He promises. But He does promise me, in the midst of my intense and painful struggle:

  1. He will never leave my side. He will guide my steps and protect me from harm. (:4)
  2. He will provide rest and refreshment for me, and will make me lie down when I forget. (:1-2)
  3. He will restore the strength of my soul after every attack. (:2)
  4. He will not allow evil to rule over me. (:4)
  5. He has already secured my ultimate victory. (:5)
  6. While I live here, in this valley, goodness and mercy shall follow me, even here, all the days of my life. (:6)
  7. Even after this life is done, I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my Shepherd forever. (:6)

So, it would appear that I am not going to get out of this valley any time soon. And while whatever specific enemy I am facing down today may not be there tomorrow, it will just be replaced by a new challenge or trial. The presence of enemies is not going to disappear. They will just change their faces from time to time. However, I do not have to fear. I will always have green pastures and still waters to rest in and drink. My victory is already assured. And I am not in this battle alone. Maybe I should stop looking so ardently for a path that leads out of the valley and start looking more at my Lord the Shepherd. I’m sort of tired and hungry anyway, and He seems like He’s got this.

Broken Legs: Forced Lessons of Dependence on God

Posted on by

Luke 15:5 “And when he has found [the lost sheep], he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing.”

I can’t remember when I first heard about the supposed tradition of shepherds in the Middle East in dealing with a wayward sheep which continually wanders away from the flock on its own. The story goes that, if a sheep persists in leaving the shepherd’s protection and attempting to be self-reliant, the shepherd will find the sheep, break one of its legs so that it can no longer wander off, and then bandage it. Then, as the leg is healing, the shepherd carries the sheep on his shoulders until it learns total dependence and trust in him. By the time it has healed, the sheep becomes so dependent on the shepherd and so close to him that it no longer wanders off.

I do remember always seeing this story  as a very poignant one showing that God uses our brokenness. It reminds me of another verse I love, Job 5:17-18: “Behold, blessed is the one whom God reproves; therefore, despise not the discipline of the Almighty. For He wounds, but He binds up; He shatters, but His hands heal.” I think my meditations on the broken sheep previously only extended to reflecting on how gentle and sweet it must be to be carried and how loved the sheep must feel so close to the shepherd’s heart. When I came across Luke 15:5 in my devotions a few years ago, I again had this idyllic, pastoral picture in mind.

In recent years, however, I have begun to realize that the process of being broken and forced into dependence is not actually a romantic or nostalgic experience. Because of my own uncertain circumstances in life for the past several years, I have been forced to realize how incapable I am of controlling the factors necessary to provide for myself—health insurance, gainful employment, reliable income, etc. I have also realized that even what I do have—my health, my possessions, a functioning car, etc.—I have no control to keep. Everything I tend to find security in is completely vulnerable to breaking down due to circumstances beyond my control. I used to think I recognized my dependence on God’s provision and was grateful for my blessings, but these past years have shown me that I really had no clue how dependent on God I really am or how much I trusted in circumstances rather than Him. So, I have been meditating a lot on the wandering sheep with the broken leg with some new insight.

Here’s what I have discovered: Having your leg broken and then being carried is not a very pleasant experience. Broken bones hurt! And, honestly, the shepherd is the last person a sheep would expect to inflict injury. (This sheep’s initial reaction to having her leg broken is distrust, betrayal, and confusion, not deeper intimacy with the Shepherd.) Then, to add insult to injury, the wounded sheep must be carried around by the person who just inflicted pain and injury. It cannot flee its attacker because it can’t walk. The shepherd, of course, provides for the sheep during the healing process—tending the wound, bringing it food and water, protecting it from predators. However, it must take some time for the sheep to realize that the shepherd has its best interests at heart and is trustworthy. (This sheep tends to spend a certain amount of time cringing, anticipating another blow or injury, after a forced reminder of dependence; although, by God’s grace and with repeated practice, I don’t stay cringed as long as I used to.)

Even once the sheep realizes that the shepherd is not angry but demonstrating love, it must still be uncomfortable to be atop the shepherd’s shoulders. It can’t just graze when it’s hungry anymore. It has to wait for the shepherd to stop the herd and put it down. Meanwhile, it gets to watch all its fellow flock enjoy snacks as often as they choose, as they walk along. This might be stretching the cognitive powers of sheep a bit, but I imagine the broken sheep feels somewhat isolated from the flock, unable to commune on the same level. It may even feel embarrassed by public spectacle as its brokenness is on display on the shepherd’s shoulder—for all the world to see. Maybe it wonders if the rest of the flock pities it, despises it for its helplessness, or just tolerates it. Even when it has regained its trust in the shepherd, the sheep must wonder if it will ever be able to walk on its own again without pain. Will it ever be able to function as a normal, contributing member of the flock again? Will it ever be able to prove to the shepherd that it has learned its lesson and desires to be faithful by not running away again? Does it feel guilty that it is burdening the shepherd and taking his time and attention? It must feel useless, helpless, and pathetic; not to mention uneasy, sore, and apprehensive about the future.

In the midst of all this tumult of emotion and confusion, however, the sheep is close enough to hear the shepherd’s heartbeat. It constantly feels his shoulders and arms bearing it up. And, for the first time, it is able to see the world from the shepherd’s perspective rather than from the ground. Perhaps it is able to see some of the dangerous cliffs or other hazards that make it dangerous to wander off. Perhaps it sees where the shepherd is leading the flock. Perhaps it realizes how much smaller the sheep are than the shepherd. And all the while, according to Luke 15:5, the shepherd is “rejoicing” over the sheep on his shoulders, not resenting the burden or begrudging the necessity. The shepherd doesn’t just take care of the sheep; He cares for the sheep as well.

After almost five years of practice now living in forced dependence on God, I am overjoyed to report that it is possible to function as a member of the flock—even while my legs are broken, and while I’m begin carried. In fact, one of the greatest treasures I have found in this timBrandywine Creek State Park 018e is the gift of community with the body of Christ. As I have learned to lean on and be vulnerable with my Shepherd, even when it hurts, I have also learned to be vulnerable with my flock. And I have often felt His arms bearing me up through my church community. I have been richly blessed with brothers and sisters in Christ who do not despise, tolerate, or even pity me; instead, as I have been brave enough to show them my broken legs, they have responded by actually valuing me—finding strengths and gifts I didn’t think I had, and drawing them out for the strength of the body. They have encouraged me, enjoyed me, prayed with me, cried with me, and perhaps the most life-giving thing of all—they have believed rock-solidly in God’s perfect love and plan for me, especially when I can’t muster the strength to believe it for myself. This is a priceless treasure, worth more than any job, or paycheck, or 5-year-plan. Jesus has been faithful to His promises in Psalm 23 to make me lie down in green pastures, to lead me by still waters, and to restore my soul–even while He’s carrying me.

I am also happy to report, that I have come to know Jesus and to fellowship with Him on levels of intimacy I never would have imagined possible before, or known I was missing. I have begun to explore the depths of His heart for lost sheep, the reality of His suffering on every human level while on earth, and His passion to be my partner through every trial I face. I am slowly learning how to let Him love me. I would like to say that I have become the perfectly reformed sheep—who never wanders off or loses focus on the Shepherd, who always feels her Savior’s presence close by her side, who no longer cringes when some fragment of independence is snatched out from under her again. Unfortunately, I am still a sheep. Even when I think I’ve learned to walk in reliance on God and fully trust His plan, some new upset throws me into panic again, despite the fact that I know He’s carrying me. But…that’s okay because even when I’m scared, frustrated, skeptical, or apathetic, He’s still carrying me. The relationship between the sheep and the shepherd does not depend upon the sheep (praise God!), it depends on the faithfulness of the Shepherd. And I know that His love for me and His commitment to His promises never falter even a fraction. If I quiet myself in the midst of the circumstances, I can still feel His arms bearing me up and hear His heartbeat—close, close, close. And eventually, if my five-year-plan ever does work out, I’ll have a better appreciation of the fact that, in reality, I’m still being carried.