So dumb, in fact, that in ancient times, a gracious shepherd would cure a self-willed, wandering sheep by breaking one of its legs.
A sheep who did not follow the shepherd's voice was in grave danger of death, whether by a predator, a cliff, or exposure to the elements. So, to prevent this from occurring, the shepherd would break and bind up the leg and carry the sheep upon his shoulders, hand-feeding it as it healed. In this way, the little sheep would learn to depend on and trust the shepherd, and to respond to his voice.
This severe measure would seem cruel to some at first glance (including me), and certainly to the sheep itself, but the reality is that the shepherd's action would save the sheep's life and benefit the herd as a whole.
As the bone was mended, the hope was that the sheep's waywardness would be, too.
Well, praise the Lord for broken legs! I can fully attest to the true nature of this process in his great love for a dumb sheep like me, who has the most terrible case of wanderlust. It goes something like this:
a) I wander, seeking out my deceitful heart's desires (new territories, independence, satisfaction in health, praise, success, people) and trying to be filled by them.
b) God sees that I am continually putting my bucket down into dry wells and either 1) allows me to drink deeply of the bitter disappointment that comes when those things are taken away, or 2) instead of pure, life-giving water, he allows my well to come up dry.
c) I am heart broken and driven to the Shepherd's feet, sometimes after one broken leg, sometimes after a few. In my broken-hearted, broken-legged existence, he is still there whether I feel his presence or not. In leading me to depend on him again, he wraps me around himself for fellowship.
d) When I am healed, I know the pain of straying, and I desire nothing more than to stay close to him. The more broken the leg, the more I want never to wander from him again.Looking back on the stones of remembrance laid down over the course of my life (namely, journal entries dating back to middle school that walk through the valleys, the desert, up the mountains, over cliffs, into briars and through soft, green fields of life), I see my broken legs so much more clearly, and begin to understand the Shepherd's intention involvement in every part of my life, using darkness to draw me close and then making light out of it.
In the grand scale of suffering, I have not suffered nearly as much as some courageous souls I know, but as the Bride of Christ, all of us must suffer. The difference, for a beloved child of God, is that "all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose" (Romans 8:28).
What a beautiful thing to dwell on!--that in all the sin sickness and long seasons of walking in shame, in broken relationships and crushed knees, in loneliness and depression, in facing my own painful imperfections daily and with remorse, God has drawn me closer to Himself, that I might hear and know His voice and the comfort of His loving presence.
When we suffer, it is for our benefit and His glory! He is such a lover of souls.
"Both the child and the cynic walk through the valley of the shadow of death. The cynic focuses on the darkness; the child focuses on the Shepherd.""The still, dry air of the desert brings the sense of helplessness that is so crucial to the spirit of prayer. You come face-to-face with your inability to live, to have joy, to do anything of lasting worth. Life is crushing you.
Suffering burns away the false selves created by cynicism or pride or lust. You stop caring about what people think of you. The desert is God's best hope for the creation of an authentic self.
Desert life sanctifies you. You have no idea you are changing. You simply notice after you've been in the desert while that you are different...
The desert becomes a window to the heart of God. He finally gets your attention because he’s the only game in town."
-Paul Miller, A Praying Life
Let the bones
that you have broken
rejoice.
(Psalm 51:8)
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