Today a friend reminded me of the story of the lost sheep. He reminded me because right now, I’m grieving over one who is lost. This one’s old enough to be on his own, but not wise enough yet to manage his independence. He’s cocky and tough on the outside, but his heart is like wax. He knows just enough about the things of the world to endanger himself, and just enough about the things of heaven to run from danger. I have no idea which way he’ll turn, or when.
He knows where I am, and he knows that he’s loved. I only know he’s lost.
Luke the apostle tells the story of the lost one like this: “Suppose one of you had a hundred sheep and lost one. Wouldn’t you leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the lost one until you found it? When found, you can be sure you would put it across your shoulders, rejoicing, and when you got home call in your friends and neighbors, saying, “Celebrate with me! I’ve found my lost sheep!’ Count on it–there’s more joy in heaven over one sinner’s rescued life than over ninety-nine good people in no need of rescue.” (Luke 15:4-7, The Message)