The Lost Lamb

            It was cold. And it was raining. I guess I wasn’t surprised-there is no such thing as a warm rain in Montana. I pulled the collar of my anorak tighter around my throat and shifted my poncho to cover more of my saddle as well as my legs. The wind had come up, and I was already soaked.

            I was herding sheep on the sugar beet fields near Bridger, Montana. My job was to herd them onto the fields that had been already harvested, letting them forage on the rejected beet tops as they fattened for slaughter. Since the fields weren’t fenced, I made the rounds during the day keeping all two thousand head in the fields they were meant to glean, then penned them up every night in a large pasture west of the home place. As well as preventing them from wandering, I also pulled several head out of the irrigation ditches daily as they wandered in for a drink, then got water soaked and were unable to climb back out. Many died in this way, eventually unable to hold their heads up long enough to be rescued. When I found these unfortunates, I would loop my rope around their heads and drag them off to the “bone pile.” Sheep tend to die easily, but I agonized over every one and never got over feeling sorry for each one that died.

            It was nearly dark now, and I was heading back to the barn and warmth, the sheep safely penned for the night. I tucked my head against the rising wind that drove the rain like sharp needles into my hands and legs. My horse lowered her head and settled into that running walk that she always managed to find only at quitting time.

            We were heading slightly into the wind,and had covered about a mile when I heard it-a sound that didn’t belong with the others that nature was spewing out. It carried faintly with the wind, and I pulled my mare up short to listen more closely.

            It was so faint: so hard to discern. But I heard it, nevertheless. It was the pitiful bleating of sheep. I had obviously missed some, and would have to go find them. Heaven only knew how many there were, and I couldn’t leave them to perhaps wander out onto the highway during the night and cause an accident. They would also be easy prey for coyotes, as safety often lay in numbers with sheep. I reined my mare, Talley, to the west, harder into the wind, and went looking for the origin of the faint bleating

            As I rode, I reflected back on the circumstances that had led up to my current sheep-herding experience.

            I had been separated from my husband for several months now, and needing to get my two children into school, had found this job near Bridger and a home to rent that was just across the street from the school. It seemed my life had fallen totally apart, and there were so many days when I bombarded heaven with pitiful cries. “Why have you left me, Lord? What did I do to deserve all of this? Where are you, Lord? I feel so vey alone!” I just didn’t understand why my carefully planned life had ended up “in the toilet!” And I was weary of feeling so abandoned.

            I topped a small hill, and there below me was the source of the pitiful sound that had carried across to me in the wind and rain. There was a lone sheep, wandering in small circles, bleating continually.

            I rode down to him, and tears instantly filled my eyes. It was a yearling lamb, and it was totally blind. It must have been sleeping when the rest of the flock had wandered off to another field, and when it awoke some time later, it was alone. Being blind, it was afraid to go any farther than the small circle it was now making, over and over, around and around. Left alone, it would surely be dead by morning, as a coyote would find him a very tasty, and easy meal.

            Lost and alone, it would easily follow me back to the rest of the flock. But the shortest way led across several ditches, and already soaked from the rain, I knew he would never make the trail to his fellows. Desperate and terrified, the blind lamb ran up to me and wound around my legs. Even a human was comfort in the dark of the storm!

            I could see no other way; praying my horse would tolerate the soggy, smelly, wooly mess, I gathered the sixty pounds of sheep and roughly fifteen pounds of water into my arms, then hoisted him across the saddle. It took a few tries-Talley wasn’t very happy about carrying one of those “things!” and he was pretty heavy to be lifting over my bead, but eventually I got the job done. After calming my mare down, I carefully climbed up behind the saddle, and balancing the soggy lamb with one hand, reined Talley back the way we had come.

            It took over an hour to get that miserable, wet lamb back with the rest of the flock. But what joy when he found he was no longer alone, and was back with his friends! His happy bleating made the whole excursion worthwhile.

            Life went on. I ended up divorcing my husband, and went back to school to become a Registered Nurse. Talley died of old age, and my children are now grown and gone. Though I questioned it at the time, I know now that God never gave up on me. But it wasn’t until the other day, when I was reminiscing about those sheep herding days and remembered the story of the lost, blind lamb, that I saw it all in context.

            God had never left me, even in my darkest moments. He had heard my cries, and He had come to me in my despair. I just couldn’t see Him at the time, so absorbed was I in my troubles. Just as that little lamb couldn’t see me, but I heard him and came for him, so God had heard my cries for help, and had come to me in various ways. That lamb hadn’t recognized me as his shepherd any more than I had recognized God as mine, but just as he had accepted my help without question, so I had accepted the help the Lord had sent to me without acknowledging the source of my help.

            I thought about the story in the Bible about the Good Shepherd searching for the lamb that was lost, and realized that I had done essentially the same thing in rescuing that little blind lamb. I know, now, exactly what that story means. I now understand how God lovingly cares for us, and when we are lost within ourselves, He is there, calling to us to trust and follow Him. He never gives up on us, and even when we question His presence, He is there. He loves us, and we are His sheep, mo matter where we are or what we have done. All we have to do is call on Him, and trust Him not only with everyday things, but with our very lives.

            When life gets me down now, I remember my “sheep rescue”, and am comforted that if I was willing to go through that awful storm for one little lamb, how much more does my Father in Heaven care for me, one of His sheep.