Lost Lamb

The Good Shepherd was my first understanding of my relationship with God. The naughty grey lamb was me and Jesus loved me and rescued me all the time. My copy of Jon and the Little Lost Lamb had a white lamb on the first interior page, so I took a pencil and colored it in. I suppose it was on purpose to show the new, clean life of the lamb, but to my mind I was grey. 

My grandmother could be dramatic, particularly when telling a Bible story that might spare us some sin. One afternoon, she told me the story of the lost lamb embellished with everything she'd learned about shepherding after decades of teaching Sunday School. She was an extraordinary storyteller and she had me in the palm of her hand when she got to the part where the shepherd broke the lamb's legs, reset them and spent the next few months carrying the lamb on his shoulders while they healed. I still prefer to access that memory with only one eye open.

If that is what God has to do, then that is what God has to do, but wow, how does one avoid it? I don't do perfect--these days not even pretentious perfect. Every day of my life reminds me I'm falling short. I want to do better. I'm trying to do better, but from my perspective at least, I'm not doing better.

Good thing he is faithful even when I am faithless.