Marie

Driving Into a Parable

Shanna drove along a road she had driven much too often, feeling bereft as she did so. She was a competent adult, a professional in her work and adept at solving problems. But this was not something she could control, and she felt like a scared and angry ten year old.

At the end of this road would be a too short visit with someone who was making a final journey too soon.

“Where are you, God, in all this? Couldn’t you leave her with us a little longer? But without the suffering? It isn’t fair that your faithful servant lives gasping for breath and in pain!” Her tears blurred the road ahead and she almost missed her turn-off.

She left the highway and turned onto a country road that ran between two sheep farms. It had been a dry spring. To the left, she saw a field of cracked earth with tufts of desiccated grass struggling to survive. Last night’s rain left patches of water that the hot sun had not yet evaporated. They were brown with mud.

Listless sheep stood motionless in the hot sun, their heavy winter coats fouled with filth and dragging on the ground. She tried not to think of the pests that must be infesting that wool, of untended sores and festering scabs hidden under the clumps of tangled fleece. Even the little lambs wandered aimlessly, heads down.

She would later learn that the price of both mutton and fleece had cratered that year. The cost to shear a sheep was more than the sale of the fleece would bring. Even the mutton of a slaughtered sheep was worth little. It seemed wrong to honour the individual responsible for these creatures with the title of shepherd! Anyone could see that in that person’s judgement, the only worth these animals had was the cash they could bring. They certainly were not loved.

To Shanna’s right, there was a vastly different view. The grass was lush and green. Someone had irrigated the field. The newly shorn sheep were basking in the warmth of the sun and feeding contentedly. The little lambs played tag and “King of the Mountain,” climbing up the rocks at the edge of the pasture and bunting heads. Water in the troughs sparkled. There was a sense of joy in the almost-summertime spring day. These sheep had a shepherd who loved and cared for them. This shepherd would see that they had feed and water, that they were comfortable and healthy, despite the cost.

She pulled the car to the side of the road and watched these two different fields. In her heart she heard Jesus say, “Fear and anger are poor shepherds indeed. They are hired hands that have a purpose for a time, but in the end, they leave those they control to hunger and brokenness.

I am the Good Shepherd. You can trust me to care for my dying sheep. I am holding her in my arms, close to my chest. She can hear my heartbeat. She is precious to me and I love her. She trusts me in the midst of her pain. She is at peace. She has taught you how to live in faith throughout your whole life. Now let her teach you how to die in grace. And let me care for you, too, little one. I will not leave you as an orphan.”

Shanna put the car in gear and drove, trusting the Good Shepherd who loved this little lamb and her mother.