So, the verse in 1 Peter spoke to me. Or I guess God did, through the verse.
1 Peter 5:2-4 Be shepherds of God’s flock that is under your care . . .
I typically describe myself as a mama, not a shepherd, but I’m digging the title ‘shepherd.’ It makes me think of my responsibilities in an entirely new light. I am a shepherd to my flock. It’s a small flock. Only two sheep, as different as night and day, given to me to watch over day and night. Of course, real shepherds tend to dozens of sheep at once, but I assure you, for this shepherd, two sheep can be a lot to handle. They have minds of their own and bodies that obey those minds, despite the fact that those minds – oh, there is still so much those precious minds don’t understand.
My sheep used to stay close to my side, always watching, waiting for my cues. As they grow, so does their confidence, along with their innate desire to flee. More sure of themselves than ever, they have begun to wander off too frequently, moving farther away each time, rarely looking back to see if I approve of where they are going.
I once found my focus in feeding my sheep, in protecting them from all the
dangers that seemed to hover in every direction. They were helpless, dependent . . . my life so
necessary to sustain their own. These
days, my role is shifting so fast I can barely find solid ground to stand
on. My sheep have learned to feed themselves;
protect themselves. I’m not so necessary
anymore. I must relinquish some control
and become a different kind of shepherd.
I can no longer pull my sheep along behind me in the direction I wish to
go. I must follow them, watching to see
if they will stop and allow me to come near, to provide guidance when they
aren’t sure what lies ahead.
It’s hard, this new role. I felt
much more comfortable in the old one. I
was in charge of my sheep. They were
willing; they did things my way. Now,
they must discover their own ways, and sometimes, that means my sheep will feel
pain. They will get lost and hurt and
find themselves all alone. When they do,
they won’t want to snuggle up close to me for comfort and reassurance. They will want to blame it on me, get angry
with me, find fault in all my ways.
I’m trying to embrace this new role by opening doors – fence doors, if
you will, which allow my sheep to discover new pastures. I don’t love what’s behind the fence doors – I
usually find tough topics and difficult questions I don’t want to answer. But my job is no longer to feed and
protect. My job is to lead and
nurture. I can only do that if I’m
willing to walk through some open doors with my sheep, because despite my best
efforts, I can only keep them closed for so long, and my sheep are eventually going
through them with or without me.
A door opened this week with my littlest lamb. She’s only seven, but she’s infinitely curious. She asks questions all the time, many of
which I have to answer with, “That’s a great question. We’ll talk about that when you get a little
older.” She doesn’t hear the truth in my
response – that I’m trying to respect her maturity level - that I want to keep
her naiveté intact as long as I possibly can.
What she hears is a door slamming, right in her face. And if I keep slamming doors in her face, she
will eventually stop knocking on doors and offering me a chance to walk through
them alongside her. Instead, she will
barge through them herself, unaware and unprepared.
So a door cracked open unexpectedly, and though my first instinct was
to slam it in her face – I’m an avoider after all – I took my little lamb by
the hand and stepped inside with her. And
now, Libby knows all about tampons.
Yep, that was the door she wanted to enter, and it was NOT the first time she
knocked on that particular one. My stock
answer to her “What is this thing for?” inquiry has previously been, “That’s a
band-aid for moms,” which I usually spurt out at warp speed right before
changing the subject. This time, I
looked deep in her big blue eyes and I thought of that verse in 1 Peter. This lamb is under my care. She trusts me, right now, in this very moment
to give her what she needs, and if I slam the door in her face, who knows when
she will come to me again. And God . . .
God believes I can handle it. He’s the
one who made me a shepherd. He has
confidence in my ability to know when a member of my flock is ready to walk
through a door I once kept locked tight.
My response came out more easily than I imagined, and while I certainly
didn’t provide all the details, I think I did a good job explaining that God makes
human bodies so incredibly that he gives girls signs to let them know they are
turning into women. My lamb was totally
grossed out and immediately told me she never, ever wanted to go through
puberty, so I consider that a win.
Truthfully, I had some second thoughts about my honesty in the hours
that followed, but not many. It was a
good step for me . . . for us, sheep and shepherd. We walked through a door together and
found out what was on the other side. Hopefully,
my willingness to open that door will mean my little lamb comes knocking again,
over and over in the years ahead. Because she has much to learn, and I want to be the one to teach her. Yes, my little lamb has much to learn . . . so many doors to open . . . before the day, God willing, she becomes a shepherd with
a flock of her own. 
