SHEEP

Through the mullioned windows I saw the sheep,
Illuminated by the sun,
As I gazed at them my spirit danced,
Then they disappeared behind the hill,
Now, again, all seemed dark,
I waited, hoping that they would come back.

To my delight they soon came back,
Huge was this flock of sheep,
When they returned it was no longer dark,
Again I could see the sun,
But they went again, behind the hill,
So I got on my feet and danced.

I remembered another dark day when I’d danced,
Though I knew he was not coming back,
With him I climbed that enormous hill,
Rugged, just as it was for the sheep,
I longed for him to see the sun,
So his journey would not be so dark.

I danced at his bedside that day in the dark,
Holding hands, we danced,
Many days we had spent in the sun,
But now I knew he was not coming back,
So my heart danced as I saw the sheep,
Coming out from behind the hill.

He once climbed that enormous hill,
Sometimes in the sun, sometimes in the dark,
I thought of him when I saw the sheep,
And remembered how we had danced,
Soon, none of us will be coming back,
May we always see the sun.

Even when in the dark we remember the sun,
Letting it guide us up the hill,
The one thing we know, we can never turn back,
Be forever in the dark,
All that will matter is how we danced,
May we take our cue from the sheep.

Sheep climb safely up the hill,
Whether in the sun or the dark,
I remember how on a dark day I danced, never looking back

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BLIND WILDERNESS

Today, as I write, I am in a world with no waymarks, no clear paths, no guide, and extreme loneliness.  It can often be a very harsh path.  I am aware constantly that I am on this path alone – that no one else can tread it for me or with me.  My life feels as blurred and unclear as the dark, blurred shapes that I see around me when I open my eyes.  I am going to invite you into this world of mine, however, despite the fact that you cannot actually walk the path with me.  In my extreme solitude, I have discovered a way through this, through the Cross of Christ.

 

There have been many words said, and many words written, about suffering, making suffering seem almost glamorous.  It may be presented as glamorous, in a way, to suffer with Christ.  But let me assure you that suffering is far from glamorous, and that there may be times when, with Christ, we cry out, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” I want to be able to show you that even when we have uttered those words, we can, with Christ, ultimately say, “Father, into Thy hands I commit my spirit.”  As you read here, I pray that you will find peace in your struggles and in your own wilderness.

Lorri.