Rebel Sheep

A sheep,

lured out of freedom and locked in with those wiser than myself,

let out in strange pastures,

to graze in green grasses

richer than than any I had before known,

yet so very far from the forests where I had roamed.

A taste,

of things I had known I wanted,

but would not trust to go to.

A trick,

that brought me forward,

surrounding me with those I did trust

as the Shepherd took his flock

and trained them in new ways.

A trip,

alongside still waters,

even in a shadowed valley,

the howls of the wolves so close,

but disregarded for the delight of the repast laid before me,

though each bite burned within

and demanded new trust to consume.

A taste, a trick, a trip, a meal.
A beginning.

(The sheep in the picture above is nicknamed Rebel. The day we brought our five lambs home, he bull-rushed us and vanished into the woods for a week. When he finally showed up, the only way I could catch him was by luring him in with one of the other sheep. Amazingly, it worked, and I got him shut in with the rest so he could bond with me and the farm and figure out that this is home. Incidentally, a similar technique may have been how God got me to go on that recent mission trip. Maybe.)


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