LifeDate Fall 2025 – Life … as We Age
by Erika Peterson, LFL Events Coordinator
Before we know we are lost, Jesus the Good Shepherd, by His grace, seeks us.
May 5, 2025 – This morning as I led our flock of ewes and lambs to pasture, I delighted in thinking about Jesus as our Good Shepherd and how He leads us in goodness and to goodness. In the case of my sheep, I was leading them to the goodness of the pasture for fresh grazing, sunshine, and exercise. In my own life, He led me out of the darkness of depression and melancholy to the joy of freedom and life in Him, each day holding new treasures of His love and mercy. As I pondered His goodness, faithfulness, and grace, He gave me an object lesson of His tender love.
After walking slowly, to ensure the youngest lambs were moving with the herd, we arrived at the field of alfalfa and orchard grass. I smiled as they crested the rise on the terrace, picked up speed, and bounded onto the pasture below, foraging for the hidden grasses they had not consumed the day before. I did a quick head count. Where was Little Red? She was the youngest, along with her 10-day-old twin brother, who was hopping around with the older lambs. But she was missing. I scanned the pasture again, certain she was among the flock of dozens of sheep. I searched near her momma. Nope, she was not there either. I paused and listened. Young lambs bleat more often than their older counterparts, as they are solely dependent on their mothers for food. Older lambs graze alongside their mothers, but young ones cannot yet digest forage, so they survive only on their mother’s milk. No bleating meant she was not nearby.
Leaving the flock on the pasture, I walked back through the winding fenced alleyway to the barn, 100 yards away. Nothing along the path. No solitary lambs in the barnyard. Only chickens free ranging around the barn and under the old camper turned chicken coop. This was very strange. She should have been bleating, calling for her mother, if not with the flock. I scanned the barn again, searching in nooks and crannies, behind the feed troughs, concerned she may have gotten stuck. All clear. Where was she?
Then I heard the dogs barking intensely. They only do that when they have prey in sight. Could Little Red have snuck out through the electrified net fence somehow? Did I leave the barn gate open when doing chores? Could my German Shepherd (who is a good dog, but not a Good Shepherd!) have gotten hold of Little Red? If not the dog, what about danger from the skies? Were the eagles hunting this morning? Little Red is under ten pounds. Might she have gotten snatched up by a hungry aerial predator? That might explain the silence. My pulse quickened. She needed to be found, now!
I walked briskly back to the pasture for a re-check. Maybe I had miscounted. Nope, only 24 lambs. Little Red is #25 this season. Back to the barn I went. This time the flock followed. As I moved at a quick pace, they too trotted along, their hooves thundering behind me. They rushed into the barn, expecting a second breakfast. “Sorry, girls. No food right now,” I thought, or maybe even said aloud to them. “Little Red is missing. I need to find her before something else does.” A solo lamb is a dead lamb, vulnerable to predators and injury. If lost for an extended period of time, sheep can die of loneliness in their isolation.
As some of the bigger ewes gathered around the feed trough, I saw her, curled in a small auburn pile under the unlit heat lamp in an area which had been her “crib” for the first four days of life. Smaller than the full-grown hens milling about the barn, I must have missed seeing Little Red among the chickens when I did my first sweep of the barn. There she lay, asleep. She was so deep in slumber, she did not hear when the flock noisily left the barn the first time for grazing. She also missed when I approached her now, as well as the other ewes clamoring around her for food. I nudged her, hoping she was alive and well. Like groggy newborn she was, she awkwardly raised her head, stumbled onto her little hooves, and stretched. She didn’t dart from me, as I expected. So, I scooped her sleepy little self into the crook of my arm and began walking out of the barn, down the winding 100-yard alley, toward the pasture. Lamb in hand, flock in tow, off we went again. My shepherd’s heart was happy. The lost sheep had been found. None were lost to predators, and the flock was together again, grazing in green pastures.
Little Red was lost, but she didn’t know it. Away from the shepherd’s gaze and the security of the flock, she was vulnerable. We can be that way, too. Caught up in our own world, thinking we are fine, we let down our guard.
Before we even know we are lost, Jesus the Good Shepherd, by His grace, seeks us. While we are asleep to the dangers of our condition, He eagerly comes to find us. Through Baptism, the Lord rescues us, scooping us into the shelter of His arms, drawing us into His flock, safe from the jaws and claws of those who seek to steal, kill, and destroy our souls. When the journey is long and winding (100 yards is a trek when you have tiny legs!), we can draw strength and confidence walking daily with Jesus in His Word, trusting He will guide our steps. If we find ourselves separated from the Lord, lost in sin, or alone, through Holy Communion, we find His loving presence and mercy for every need. Jesus, our Good Shepherd, comes to our side, scoops us in His arms, and leads us home.