The Shepherd

darkness settles over the mountains
i stumble in my haste
my feet begin to bleed
i search here
i search there
i cannot find it
cautiously i climb the mountainside
it's lost
i hear it's cries
i run forward
i fall on my face
i begin to crawl
my hands and knees are cut by the stones
i touch it's body
it kicks my face
it runs
almost tumbles over the edge
i reach for it
it moves ever closer to it's death
slowly i follow
suddenly i grab it
it squirms and kicks
tries with all it's might to get away
i must do the inevitable
i break it's leg
tears fill my eyes as i hear it's bleating
gently i lift it into my arms
it raises mournful eyes to mine
my heart breaks
it no longer fights me
carefully i carry it home.

I am thankful, so thankful for a God who rescues me from myself. who sometimes gently draws me back to Himself. And then other times must allow pain to draw me back.  He is so good. so very good.

[note: this is not supposed to be poetry, for it has no rhyme or rhythm. it is simply supposed to be a story written haltingly, or perhaps it's said better, written in spurts]