Winds of Change

My body lay crumpled in the corner. I was crying. I was dying.

Of course it wasn’t meant to end that way. It was a common story, really. I was only trying to prove a simple truth. Yet when left to my own desires and no boundaries I proved the only thing I was capable of proving. There was nothing in me of any value.

It started sincerely enough. I was listening to a prominent fellow of great worldly recognition (whose name I have long since forgotten) speak on the origins of the universe. His propositions appeared reasonable and rationale, filled with haughty jargon well beyond my mind, and wrapped up with a succinct and satisfying conclusion. The universe, as well as the earth and its inhabitants, was born from a coalescence of fortunate, if random, occurrences. To put it in terms I could understand, this wise mind offered the illustration that given an infinite amount time and opportunity, wind gusting through the open doors and windows of a house could make a messy room clean and organized.

That’s when inspiration struck! I had been so burdened in my life with people around me who insisted that the universe was created by some grand scheme and designer that it was more than I could bear. Now I had been touched with the perfect way to prove them all wrong.

Now I didn’t live in a particularly windy region, nor did I have power over the air myself, but I did have the next best thing: my gleaming red and black 12,000 horse power leaf blower extraordinaire! (Ok, a bit of an exaggeration on the horsepower, but enough to get the job done). I was also fortunate enough to have a particularly messy room in the back of my house, one filled with papers and knick knacks strewn about, sprinkled with rubbish from the past few days.

I could hardly contain myself as I raced home to prove the theory. I opened every window of that offending room, strapped on my scientific instrument of choice, and cranked it up. A gentle whirring soon burst into a high pitched buzz, and the animal was belting out a storm of invisible fury at the mess inside. Papers and tiny forgotten items flew through the air, spinning and dancing, exuberant in their flight. I let the machines music play for half a minute before abruptly shutting it down. When the noise ceased I watched intently as the last remaining pieces floated to their final resting spots.

It was foolish to expect success on the first attempt. But that is just what I desired. When I looked around the room I found that things had not yet been perfected in their place. There were a few pieces of trash that ended up in the can, but more pieces of important documents ended there as well. I was soon gripped by reality and understood that all would not be proven on the first try.

So I ripped the blower again and swung the nozzle around the room. I pushed harder this time, feeling that earlier I was too passive, and this experiment needed more aggression. I flung the nozzle back and forth with determination. The wind whipped viciously about the room with no regard to friend or foe. I watched as all manner of debris swirled around my head. The orbiting objects became so dense that I was blinded to the room and shut down the machine. I squeezed my eyes close and hoped that a perfectly organized room would be my reward.

Once again I was disappointed. I scanned the room to find things in places where they clearly did not belong. Even trash that had been in the trashcan was now displaced. But what really caught my attention was a small porcelain figure, a white sheep that had been sitting on a shelf, now lay in pieces on floor. It had been evicted from its home and shattered on the unforgiving tile. This was going to cause a problem.

But I was not deterred. If anything I was invigorated. I was going to show just how right I was. Not only would my experiment yield a neat and tidy living space, but it was going to fix that which I had broken. (And if not, it would certainly somehow end up in the trash, and I could dismiss the destruction to user error.)

So I began with reckless abandon. I followed a pattern of running my blower for thirty seconds, shutting it down, and examining the results. Some tests were better than others, but each view was distinct. I was undeterred, buoyed by the fact that no two aftermaths were the same, and eventually I would hit upon the jackpot.

I became obsessed. I lost track of time. Day turned into night and back to day many times. Over and over I had to feed my machine and with each intrusion I got more frustrated at wasting time. I did not eat, drink, nor sleep. I was focused on a task that had to succeed.

That’s when the physical overcame me. It was during one of the rotations of darkness that I finally collapsed, slamming my head against the floor. I did not lose consciousness but in hindsight wish I had. For as I felt a thin stream of blood trickle down my face I heard soft footsteps approaching from the side. It was all I could do to throw off the machine and struggle to sit back against the wall. My breathing was heavy and my sight weak. Through blurred vision I saw a man come close and kneel down as he placed his hand on my forehead.

“Who are you?” I insisted.

“You are hurt,” he said calmly. “What are you trying to do?”

“I need to prove it,” I panted through the fog. “I need to prove how we came to be.”

“Curiosity is not a bad thing,” he replied gently as he tended my head. I tried to make out his face, but I couldn’t focus. “I can help you.”

“You can help?” I chuckled. “I’ve been at this for a long time. I don’t think you can help.”

“What is it you need?”

The question was stated so confidently that I had to ponder my response. I concluded it was folly to hope for anything from this stranger. He couldn’t give me what I really needed. So I tested him. “You really want to help me? Give me endless energy and an infinite amount of time. That’s what I really need.”

The man did not respond to my ludicrous request. He simply stood up and walked away. I tried to stand and follow him but collapsed against the wall. The night was silent and I cried out into the darkness for the man to return. There was only silence and finally I was overwhelmed by exhaustion.

Sometime later my eyes opened slowly to find that it was still dark. I groped around the room and came upon my blower lying next to me. I tried to stand and found that sleep did me better than I could have hoped. When I got to my feet I was filled with a strength I had not known for a very long time. My mind was clear and focused and I had a resolve that was beyond words. I looked around the room and smiled. The obsession was now under my control. I was going to win.

I flung my machine over my back and attacked the room. Over and over again I fought and failed. But I was not saddened or deterred. My strength was not leaving me and my mind was not failing. Night turned back into day and day back into night. But that seemed like an instant. The days and nights crowded together in a string that had no beginning or end. I did not grow weary, and my beast did not need refreshed, for we were on a mission. Time became insignificant as with each failure to produce a perfect room was met with intensity to make it work the next time. I refused to stop. I had a singular purpose.

If I knew how long I struggled I would hardly believe it. But the truth is I fought through my lifetime and many others. To my credit I never gave up those long years that turned into decades and beyond. I was so certain that I could prove the randomness of creation that I failed to see creation at all. The gift I was given to prove out my experiment was lost on me. Lost, that is, until it was finally taken away.

It was dark then, much as it had been long ago when I first met that man. Whatever generation of failure I was on finally laughed at me as I heard a great stroke of thunder pass overhead and rain begin to sprinkle on my head. I was inside, but the moisture I felt belied my sense of protection. Finally the rain became too much to ignore and I lifted my head to peer at the ceiling.

I gasped in horror at what I saw. As I gazed upward, rain pouring in my face, I noticed not a leak in my roof, but gaping holes in what I thought only moments before had been a sturdy structure. I looked around at the walls a ceiling too find that they too were lacking integrity. Windows were busted and drywall lay smashed on the ground. The wood frame was eaten by time and inattention. My house was crumbling around me.

I grabbed my chest and fell backwards. Reeling, I felt all my strength leave, and dropped my machine and crashed against the wall. That is why I was weeping.

How long had it been? Why had I been cursed so? The pain of defeat was worse than any physical malady I could conjure. I felt death approaching and nothing on which to grab hold. I was too weak to even take my own life if the opportunity arose.

But through the darkness and rain I saw a man. I thought my eyes deceived me, for it reminded me of the same man that long ago tended to my head. He approached me again in the same way, though now I was very afraid.

“What have you done?” I screamed. The man said nothing and stretched out his hand. “Please, don’t let me die,” I begged.

“Take my hand,” he replied. Reluctantly I grasped for it, and he lifted me to my feet. He led me around the house, and without saying a word, made me understand what had happened. My house lay in ruin, defeated not by man but by time, and outside all manner of nature had been reborn. I was surrounded by an army of trees, brush, vines and weeds that took advantage of my departure.

The man led me back to where we started. I surveyed the room. It too lay in ruin, and for too long I had been blind to its deterioration.

“All I wanted to do was prove our origin,” I said as I looked over at the man. “It was going to be a triumph.”

“But you did prove it,” the man said as he gestured to the shell of my home. “Don’t you see?”

My shoulders slumped. “All I see is a wasted life.”

The man shook his head. “No! You were given a gift. You had all the time, all the strength, all the determination you needed to prove how it all came together. And you did!”

“Ha!” I cried. “It was an abysmal failure!”

“Through random actions, over the course of infinite time, there was nothing intentional you could do,” the man said. He walked over near the remnants of a shelf and picked something off the ground. “But when things are done intentionally, with a purpose,” he said as he stretched out his hand and showed me the broken pieces of the white porcelain sheep I laid to waste long ago, “then order can be achieved.” The man closed his hand and placed upon a remnant of shelving my sheep, whole and new.

“How did you….?” I started, but before I got too far realization washed over me. I had proven how we came to be. It just wasn’t what I expected.

I fell to my knees before the man. “I am so sorry. I have wasted everything for a lie!”

“No,” he replied as he put his hand back on my head. “You have been given a gift. Go home now, and tell what you have learned.”

The tears the flowed from my eyes matched the intensity of the storm. “I am home and it is ruined. Everything is gone! I am lost!” The man pressed his hand hard against my head, and soon I felt a curtain of warmth flow over me. I slid into a deep sleep on the floor as rain massaged my body.

When I awoke the bright morning sun was flowing through my surprisingly fully functional window. This window was attached to the solid undisturbed frame of a complete house. I jumped up and looked around to find my room was filled with the same mess I remembered from the first day I set out to prove a lie.

 A smile crossed my face and heart. I was home. I walked around the room and began to gather things together and put them in their rightful spot. “With a true intention, and a true design, I will make this place in order again.”    

I did. When I was finished, I closed the doors and window, lest a rogue gust of wind pass through and disrupt everything.

The Good Shepherd

There is a sense of familiarity with the parable of the lost sheep. In this story, the Good Shepherd knows His sheep, and they His voice. He undoubtedly loves all in His flock. Yet when one goes astray, missing from the herd, the Good Shepherd risks all to bring that one back into the fold.

This is the undeniable truth of the Good Shepherd.

Yet as confident as we are in the knowledge of the desires of the Good Shepherd, are we aware that there is another shepherd roaming about? We can be blind to the deceitful actions of that other purveyor of flocks. How often we overlook the games of the imperfect shepherd who is focused on his own corrupt desires and oversees a flock that is blind to its own captivity.

It is the imperfect shepherd that must be brought to light. Christians are called to take up the mantle of the Good Shepherd and become locators of the lost. We must bring truth to them and give them an opportunity to understand. This is our greatest command and many are willing to search hard after the lost and bring them back into the fold.

But the lost are not always hidden among craggy cliffs or stuck in a thistle bush. All too often the lost are herded together in a flock that is under the watchful eye of the one who would have us fail. That is where I found myself one day, straddling the ledge of faithful services and the abyss of hopeless rejection.

I was traveling the narrow road, heeding the call to seek out the lost sheep and bring them to their rightful Shepherd. It had been some time since I started down that road, and in that time I had encountered many individual sheep, all of which heard but only some of which choose to follow the road. This particular day found beautiful weather and ideal conditions for the work, and as evening approached a gentle breeze swept through the trees that lined the path. It wasn’t long after that I noticed a clearing at the end of my vision, where all manner of trees disappeared and the grass shone bright and welcoming.

I picked up my pace, for I was excited but thought it was deception to my eyes. In the distance stood a flock of sheep in larger numbers than I had ever seen. This group was nestled together in the middle of a field, and a single figure cloaked in a dark covering leaned against a giant oak tree with his staff propped by his side.

I burst forth into the open, and as my eyes finally confirmed that which my heart yearned. I rushed towards the flock silently preparing my words. The sheep were bleating aimlessly and I could tell by their markings that they had long since abandoned the Good Shepherd. My heart pounded with excitement as I approached the flock, and before I said anything I looked over to see that the dark figure was asleep against the oak. I did not know recognize him nor understand his purpose, but I wanted to gather as many of the sheep together to follow me back before he awoke.

No gate or enclosure surrounded the flock. There was nothing that would keep them in place. Yet they all appeared inhibited, and were filthy and aimless. They stared out in all manner of direction, a lost look in each of their eyes. Some looked at the ground, others at the sky, and still others aimlessly toward the four winds. I recognized that evening was upon us and darkness was fast approaching the land, and I hurriedly devised a plan to convince and harness such a large group. I paced back and forth in front of the flock as I muttered to myself the possibilities. Excitement and anticipation were now residing in me, and the treasure I was going to bring back to the Good Shepherd would surely be met with celebration. Finally, when I was satisfied with my intended plan, I took my first step into the flock.

“Excuse me, sir” a voice beckoned from the oak. My head jolted to see the dark figure arise, his head cloaked and his hands grasping the staff.

“Hello,” I replied nervously, stepping away from the flock. I was caught off guard and frantically gathered my thoughts as the dark figure moved closer. “I did not mean to disturb you. I am here on business.”

“I was not disturbed,” the figure said gently as he rested close to me. The dark figure moved as if frail, but as I peered into his face I was struck that it was handsome and young. His eyes burned towards me and his gaze did not depart from mine.  I thought I had no reason to fear, but my heart began to sink in my chest. The dark figure took notice. “What business could you have with these sheep?”

I took a step back and straightened myself, stretching to exude the most formal and imposing impression I could muster. My mind continued to grow foggy, so I cleared my throat, clamoring for that extra moment to gather my thoughts. “I am here on behalf of their Good Shepherd,” I finally said shakily. “Their Master.”

“Their master?” the figure asked softly but with incredulity. He looked over at the flock. “I assure you, these sheep need no master. They have found each other, and themselves. They are happy and ask for no disturbance.”

The figure spoke confidently about the sheep and this raised my curiosity. “You speak as if you know these sheep. Do you claim them as your own?”

The figures lips curled into a wry smile. “I do not claim them, but they are here.” He paused for a moment. “As long as they are here they can share this space with me. I am happy to have them.”

“But their master wants them back,” I quickly countered. “He loves them.”

“Is that why you are here? To bring them back?”

“Yes.”

The figure looked over the flock and back at me. “If you think they belong with their master then gather them together and bring them to him.” I looked at the flock then back at the figure as I anticipated a caveat. When none came I turned and headed towards the flock. I was upon them when the dark figure spoke again. “I wonder why that ‘good shepherd’ didn’t come for them himself.”

As the figure’s words pierced my ears I stopped “What did you say?”

The figure watched as my eyes met his. “I asked why your shepherd did not come himself.”

I turned my whole body towards the figure. “He sent me,” I responded confidently.

“Oh,” The figure said as his face perked. “Then you must be as great as he to command his sheep.”

“Of course not,” I retorted indignantly as I took a few steps back.

“No?” the figure asked. “Then I am certainly perplexed. This shepherd sends a lesser to do his work? If you are not as great as he then you are incompetent to bring back the sheep and he must not truly care about his flock.”

I stood stunned.  The dark figure’s frail body turned back towards the tree and leaned against it, his eyes searching me as he rested.

I was stalled. The words I heard were not eloquent or long in voice, trying to convince me with reasoned and rational arguments. They were terse and simple, slipping into my being and rattling around as they contaminated everything I thought was secure. I watched myself as I stepped back further in silence and sat myself away from the flock upon the trampled grass. My heart was in distress as the sheep continued their sounds and the figure rested silently. I sat picking at the grass as my mind whirled.

“You should go,” I heard his voice whisper as I fell into my thoughts.

It is true that I was lesser than the Good Shepherd. I knew that. But did I really understand my incompetence? This figure was right. I had not real authority. I had not real knowledge. Was I resting on a façade, fooling even myself, walking in a lie of my construction? I stared at the ground as dusk consumed the land.

If I was to believe that I was competent and filled with authority, then I still had to question why I was sent. Was the Good Shepherd mistaken in sending me? And if He was mistaken on that, what else could He be mistaken about? If I couldn’t trust Him on knowing who to send for his flock, I couldn’t trust Him on anything.  

“You should go,” the figure said again with urgency.

Despair set in. I continued to look down and only occasionally sneaking a peak at the sheep. I wanted to stand up and go forward, but my heart was downtrodden and my body weak. I finally looked back over at the dark figure to find him content in his rest. Yet he was silently beckoning me to return home.

I wanted to leave but couldn’t find the strength. Night fell over the land and with it came the most unusual sight. Out of the darkness of the road that brought me here I noticed others make their way towards the sheep. Men and women much like myself, carrying a small light to illuminate their path, walked past me and towards the flock. I knew them as tasked with the same job as I. A spring of hope leapt in my soul that they could help me get to the flock and bring them home. But as each approached, they heard the voice of the dark figure, and each would engage. My brief hope turned back to despair as one by one, each man and woman, hearing the voice of the figure, turned away from the flock, and disappeared down the road behind me.

Time passed and I no others came forth. The night was late, and I wished that dawn was soon approaching. “Why do you remain?” the figure stood over me and snapped me alert as pity streamed from his lips. “I do not force you to stay. Be on your way. Don’t worry yourself with the likes of these.”

I wanted to follow his instructions. Hopelessness consumed me, as each word he spoke raised doubts that I could no longer scale. My time there was fruitless, and I would be comforted to leave the presence of these sheep and this figure.

“I want to leave.” I mumbled as I hung my head. “I will leave.”

But I was weak and needed more time before I could escape this arena. Silence engulfed the camp, and soon the bleating of the sheep was quiet, as though they too had caught my despair. I closed my eyes as I felt the figures victory over me. I closed my eyes.

I don’t know how much time had passed, but something shook me, and I awoke with a jolt. I noticed light breaking through the trees, and saw that the figure was still standing and staring at me.

“You need to go,” The figure said with great intent. “Go now.”

I looked around and saw nobody else there. My mind began to race. The figure was intimidating me yet my body refused to move. As hard as I pressed I could not move myself off the spot in which I had become planted.

“You are not welcome here!” the figure finally yelled.

“Don’t you think I want to go?” I cried back. “I can’t!”

“If you don’t go now, I will hurt you! You will regret your choice! It will be terrible.”

I put my head down. “Then do it. “ I replied. “I can’t leave.”

I closed my eyes and waited several breaths as I expected this figure to unleash fury upon me. His frail countenance had turned so aggressive, so quickly, that I was filled with terror. Yet my body and my heart betrayed my baser instincts to flee. I could not stand, I could not run. All I could do was submit.

When I felt no swift punishment I raised my head. The figure had moved away from me, still visibly seething, but failing to fulfill his promise. I watched as he slowly walked back to his tree and leaned against it.

I studied him for a moment, and only for a moment, for that is all it took. My mind and my heart, which had earlier betrayed me, finally understood. I rose to my feet and walked towards the sheep.

“Go away!” The figure yelled. “You are not worthy.”

I stopped once again at the edge of the flock, this time with intent, and directed my words back at the figure. “I know. You are right. I am not worthy. But I come in the name of the one that is worthy. I come in the name of the Good Shepherd, who has given me the ability to speak in his stead. You and I both know that I am nothing of myself. That is why you said what you said. That is why you want me to leave. You counted on the fact that I knew I was nothing. But that is on my own. In the name of the Good Shepherd I am worthy, acceptable, and able. It is in that name that you have no power over me.”

The dark figure soaked in my words and unleashed a barrage of curses directed at my mind and heart. He threw all that he had, but I pushed my way into the midst of the sheep. I knew not how, but the curses flung my way hit their target, yet bounced harmlessly off, crashing to the ground beneath my feet. I no longer gave the figure my attention, and the more fruitless he saw his attacks, the harder he attacked. But no matter his efforts I was protected.

I spoke to the sheep in a language I hoped would touch them inside. I offered them the chance to head back to their true Shepherd and to be done with the dark figure. Daylight swept over the field as I proclaimed the message. My voice rang out to the flock, and each sheep heard my words. I looked into the eyes of the sheep, and saw many shake off their vacant stares and light up with hope. When I was finished, I beckoned for them to follow me back to the path and into the folds of their loving Shepherd.

I walked out from among the sheep and headed back down the road. Many of the sheep followed me, while still others remained behind. I think the figure continued to hurl his insults my way, though it is hard to say, for I tuned him out and did not look back. I headed down the narrow path, a trail of sheep behind me, my heart grateful for those that followed and hopeful that one day I may return for the others.