Gently He leads
“Yes.” One word, falling to my desk like a stone; a rock; a chunk of ice. For years, I’d driven past the school, Baby Boy strapped in behind me. I’d seen the notices. And seeing, I’d whisper a prayer, “Thank You for three more years. For two. For one.” Now, the years had run out. Had slipped through my fingers like Florida sand. This time, that sign was for him.
Change, once more, is coming. Some I hate, and some I love, but that’s life. Good and bad, joy and sorrow, threads all tangled together, weaving the tapestry of our days.
It was just earlier this week that a message had come. “Please pray,” she’d said. “The cancer’s back.”
No. No. Please, no. Sweet Lord, this wasn’t what we’d wanted. We’d heard the story over Christmas. Listened, hearts beating, as she’d told us of the fire. Told us how life had changed on a dime. Told us, too, of the awful diagnosis that came the very day the shovel was set to touch soil, rebuilding their home.
He’d had surgery then, and the doctors, grave, had said, “If it comes back, it will be aggressive.” And now, it was back.
All these changes. My lamby; a school house. Her husband; an operating room. Boy Two; a stage and diploma.
In it all, there’s still laundry to be done, bills to pay. Floors to mop, reports to type. Taxes to finish, stories to read. Life, moving, flowing, changing…
This one thing I know – to this I cling. Through the seasons of life, we have a Rock. A Shepherd. A fortress strong. There’s no shadow of change; no shifting or turning with Him.
Asking Him to give me a word for my friend, this is what He gave: “He tends his flock like a shepherd. He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart. He gently leads those that have young.” Isa. 40:11.
I don’t know what you’re facing today, my friend. But you – like me, like my classmate – can rest in this. You have a Shepherd. He tends you and your little flock. He gathers you up, you and your lambs, carrying you close to His heart. He gently leads those with young.
And all is well.