The SHEPHERD Called Them Home

 The quaint old man in knee high boots prepared to call them in.  “Get behind the barn,” he said. “If they see you they won’t come.”

“How many sheep?” I asked.  “‘Bout 300, lambs ‘n all,” he replied.  Now, gesturing toward distant fields, no movement was revealed.

Obligingly, I took my place behind the aging barn.  Waiting, watching as I hid, chuckling as I did his bidding.

Toward a crumbling fence he moved, following a trampled path. Now he stood near leaning gate and I began my wait.

With steady steps, he called and walked. No words escaped his weathered lips, just eerie, high toned wailing sounds known only to his flock.

Behind the barn I waited. Then, I peeked toward leaning gate.  All I saw were endless fields. He stood alone to wait.

Suddenly a far off hill was filled with moving masses.  Out of sight, no movement seen.  A quiet moment passes.

At the crest and nearer now, all racing through the fields toward Him who waited calm and still.  His presence did not yield.

Three hundred creatures fell in line behind the One whose voice they knew.  Now through the gate, into the fold, now safe at last.

The SHEPHERD brought them home.


Photography by Mary Anne Whitchurch Tuck



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