A Story for the Spiritual Journey

Our hearts are reached in a variety of ways, and one of the oldest and surest is through story. I thought that today I would be writing you a biblical study on how the Lord shepherds our souls. Instead, when I sat down to write, I saw a little lamb. And in that little lamb, I saw myself. I suspect you’ll see yourself, too. So, in the vein of other allegories such as The Pilgrim’s Progress and Hinds’ Feet on High Places  (both classics which are far above and beyond this short narrative), I offer you a story of the spiritual journey. 

CARRIED HOME

Once there was a little lamb. She was strong, independent, and excited to explore the world beyond the safely sloping hills of her pastureland, so she left the wooly warmth of her mother and, promising to remember all the Shepherd’s commands, ventured out. As she crested the first knoll, the land stretched before her wondering eyes in flower-splashed fields, sparkling rivers, dusky forests, and jagged mountains. Oh, how her heart longed to spring across the rocky crags of those mountains, scattering snow under her hooves with each bound, so she fixed her eyes ahead and set out.

She galloped down the hill and into the valley below. A river too wide to cross cut through the green landscape, and her path toward the mountains was diverted as she picked her way along the grassy riverbank. Soon, though, rocks replaced the grass beneath her hooves, and she began to slip and stumble. The branches of long-fingered alder bushes grabbed at her wool as the embankments rose to nearly sheer drop-offs above and below her. 

Tired and confused as to how her journey that began with such beauty and hope could so quickly fall into a dark tumult like the churning river, she lay down in a cleft of the rock and cried. The sounds of her sorrow were drowned by the eerie calls of night. Wolves howling. Water roaring. Winds gusting.

Finally, dawn lightened the still-cloudy sky, and the little lamb stepped onto the trail once more. She glanced behind her, considering turning back for the quiet pastures of home, but then, the sun’s rays peeked through the clouds, illuminating one golden tip of a mountain beyond the valley, and she knew her path lie ahead, not behind. 

One weary step at a time, the lamb plodded out of the dark valley to where the river widened and calmed, offering shallow passage across. Safely to the other side, she shook out her fur, the fear and frustration flying from her like drops of water, and trotted to the center of a wild meadow where she enjoyed the company of rabbits and deer, robins and doves for some time. But, as pleasant as it was, every time the sun rose behind the distant mountain peaks, something called to her. Unable to resist any longer, she struck out once more, this time toward the shadowy woods and the soaring peaks beyond.

At the edge of the glade, she discovered two paths. One skirted the woods and disappeared miles away where it still ran parallel to the mountains. The other, of course, delved straight into the trees where it was quickly engulfed by the tangled undergrowth. Which way to choose? What to do? The little lamb paced at the edge of that wood for many days, mired in uncertainty. Finally, she sat and just stared into those dark woods. She didn’t know what terrible secrets were hidden in the trees. She didn’t know if she would survive the journey to the other side or if she would ever touch the foot of the mountain. Yet as she looked into the shadows, it was as though she felt the nudge of the Shepherd’s crook on her back and heard His gentle words, “This is the way, walk in it.”¹

She stood, and ducking her head low to avoid the overhanging branches, the little lamb tiptoed into the sullen woods. At first, she stumbled over protruding roots as she pushed past thorny bushes and brambles. She trembled at every shadow and jumped at every snapping twig. And once, she almost turned tail and ran at the sight of an ephemeral figure beside the path, but it turned out to be her own reflection in a puddle, and with a burst of laughter that surely startled the silent trees, she lifted her head and passed on by. Eventually, the lamb began to notice delicate flowers in the moss, emerald shafts of light filtering down from the canopy, and birdsong lilting from the branches. She could almost say she enjoyed the cloistered solitude of the trees by the time they thinned and gave way to spare shrubs sprinkled among rocky till that began to slope upward.

The mountains! At last! The little lamb skipped and rejoiced, feeling as though she had found Jacob’s ladder. A stream trickled by, and she happily lapped the coldest water she had ever tasted, refreshed to the depths of her bones. Bits of heaven shuffled beneath her hooves as she pranced the day away at the mountain’s foot. As night fell, the lamb sighed deeply and settled into sleep under a starry blanket.

When morning broke, the lamb arose to the cooing of doves and the babbling of the spring. She gazed up the steep base of the mountain and started off once more, this time sure she would reach the summit by nightfall. First, she tried to scramble up the slough of rocks, but they kept sliding beneath her hooves and she made very little progress. Next, she skirted the mountain in search of a trail, but the first one she found was blocked by an enormous boulder and the next one had been completely washed out in the middle by a landslide. Eventually, she decided to use her untested sheep skills of leaping from rock to rock up the backside of the mountain, but the farther she ascended, the more slippery the rocks became as moss gave way to snow and ice. Discouraged, the lamb garnered her remaining strength and gave one tremendous leap, hoping to land with sure footing on the next boulder, but her little hooves found no purchase on the icy landscape and she fell, tumbling backward down the mountain.

There the little lamb sat, bruised and bewildered. How could she have come so far only to lack the strength and skill to make the final ascent? With a moan, she laid her head down across her bleeding legs and wept. She thought of the comfort of her mother in the fields back home, the joy of her friends in the wild meadow, even the embrace of the stillness in the deep woods, and she let out one pleading, lonely bleat. 

As her cry’s echo reverberated off the rocks around her, she began to hear another sound. A growling. A scraping. Terror seized the lamb as she envisioned a mountain lion ready to pounce upon her. She jumped up in fright and spun around. Behind her, seated on a rock, sat not a lion, but a man. And the noise wasn’t growling, it was humming. The scraping wasn’t claws, but the whittling of coarse knots from his staff. The Shepherd smiled at his little lamb and put down his staff and knife to open his arms.

With a sob, the lamb limped a ragged run into her Shepherd’s embrace. He warmed her with his arms and soothed her with his voice. After a few moments, he sat her down and opened his satchel. Removing a small vial of oil, he gently dabbed some onto a cut on her brow, then the scrapes on her knees. “Better, little one?” he asked.

The lamb nodded, still blinking away tears. “How did you find me?” she asked. “You’re so far from the pasture.”

The Shepherd nodded. “Indeed, I am. But finding you was easy. I just never let you out of my sight.”

With a start, the little lamb wondered, “You’ve been following me?”

“Yes, little lamb. I never let my sheep go. I’ve watched over you the whole time. When you were scared in the valley, I sheltered you while you hid in the cleft of the rock. When you were alone in the field, I brought friends to your side. When you were uncertain which way to go at the woods, I nudged you forward. Did I not?”

“You did. Yes, you did. I can see now how you were there all along.” The two sat quietly for several moments while the little lamb pictured her Shepherd with her throughout the long journey, rewriting the story in her memory. But then, something else began to bother her. “But why couldn’t I climb this mountain? Is there something wrong with me?”

“Why do you think you need to climb the mountain, dear one?”

This gave the lamb pause. “I . . . I don’t really know. I guess it just feels like I belong there. It feels like home.”

The Shepherd smiled his easy smile again, and said, “That it is.” He waited, a softness in his eyes.

“Why can’t I go there, then? Am I doing something wrong?” The little lamb felt the weight of her disappointment again as another tear slipped from her eye.

“No, my dear. But the mountain trail can only be navigated with my help. We’ll go there together someday, I promise. But first,” he stood slowly, rising to a height that seemed much taller than he appeared when kneeling beside the lamb, “let’s get you rested and well. You look like you could use a good meal, too. Shall we return to the pasture for a while? I can carry you, if you’d like.”

The little lamb gave a brief nod, all thoughts of independent adventure banished. The Shepherd lifted her tenderly, and as she settled around his shoulders, she finally felt at home.

Soon the Shepherd’s humming gave way to song, and his voice rang across the fields and forests as he sang, 

“The Lord is my shepherd;
I have all that I need.
He lets me rest in green meadows;
he leads me beside peaceful streams.

He renews my strength.
He guides me along right paths,
bringing honor to his name.

Even when I walk
through the darkest valley,
I will not be afraid,
for you are close beside me.
Your rod and your staff
protect and comfort me.

You prepare a feast for me
in the presence of my enemies.
You honor me by anointing my head with oil.
My cup overflows with blessings.

Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me
all the days of my life,
and I will live in the house of the Lord
forever.”²

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¹See Isaiah 30:21
²Psalm 23, NLT

Find more on the spiritual journey here and here.

For other beautiful depictions of the Lord as our Shepherd, see
Isaiah 40:11
Ezekiel 34:11-16
Matthew 9:36
John 10:1-18
1 Peter 2:25
Revelation 7:17