There are sheep and there are shepherds and being a sheep without a shepherd is one thing, but being a sheep with a shepherd is a horse of an entirely different color.
But I know he’s as real as the smell of coffee in the morning, or the feel of my husband’s hand in mine, or the way fall leaves always change into glorious shades of decay.
I don’t have all the answers. I’m just one little person. Nobody, really. Just a still, small voice in a rushing, noisy world. I can’t dispel all your arguments, I can’t take away all your fear, and I certainly can’t explain away all your pain.
But I can tell you once you’ve met him, you’ll never be the same.
And this might come as a shock (it might even blow your mind), but you don’t have to meet him surrounded by stained glass windows or buried in a dusty book on your grandmother’s coffee table.
I met him back when I was waiting for my front teeth to grow in, but I haven’t always followed him like a good little sheep should.
He never pushes, he never demands. But whenever I’m ready to look to him, he’s there waiting to give me joy indescribable, peace inexplainable, and rest otherwise unattainable.
He is my shepherd, my savior, my rock. He is my reason, my answer, my hope. He is my definition and my destination.
He is as real as the soul inside me that stopped searching as soon as I met him.
And this little sheep’s gonna follow him all the way home.