Dog and Lamb

God I am broken and my heart is heavy. I have lost what little joy I had. I am the lost lamb and the sheep dog at the same time.

I saw you point so I ran. I didn't know why, but I always want to go where you point so I went. Then I crested a hill and could not see anything. I could not see you. I looked around. I didn't know where to go. I yelled for you. In the distance I thought I heard your whistle. But I couldn't tell where. I yelled again and your whistle was fainter, but I thought it was the signal to go on. Maybe I would find what you sent me for.

The way has gotten rocky and cold, wet and dark. I cannot see the sun. I cannot hear you. I yell and yell.

When I can't see you, I listen for your whistle or the thumping of your staff on the ground. But I can't see anything. I can't hear anything.

I don't know where to go or what to do, so I will find a sheltered place and wait. It's too dark to see. I am cold and lost and hungry, but I will wait for you to find me, to carry me home.

Have I failed? I want to say I acted in faith, but a voice inside says, "did you?" I would not blame someone else in this case, but I want to blame myself. So I will not listen to this voice. I don't want to hear it any more. Even if I am at fault, don't I also receive forgiveness?

I hear the scratching and clawing of beasts around the crevice of rock I crawled in. It is cold but dry and the crawling things that live here do not bite. They have let me in. But the beasts can smell me. I can smell them. I have fought them before. I have been brave when you were coming, when you sent me. But I am too cold and sick. I hurt in many places and I can't see in this dark. They keep reaching for me, but they haven't found me yet. When light comes, I will try to find my way back to where I last heard you. If the beasts don't get me first. But even that seems better than this cold lonely dark.