A tree dies and the real dying begins. A knife cuts deep and when thick wood finally begins to take shape, the knife continues to peel back, sawdust pieces hitting the floor. The frustrating friction of sand makes it worn and smooth, rough edges removed....
Lord, this task can be so hard. I don't want to lead these little sheep in my fold, the babes looking to their mama and me having to show them you in each moment, me failing in so many moments.
I don't want to be their shepherd......
I can't be their shepherd......
Lord, make me the staff I pray, the one that can be used by the Good Shepherd as He guards His flock. Carve me intentionally, even when the pain seems too much to bear, remove the bark that detracts from my purpose, your purpose. Whittle down the rough spots, and sand me smooth with your Word.
Teach me to stand firm under the weight of Your glory, a tree with tight grain. Let me be content when my desires are cast aside and you throw this old rod down beside you to carry one of these lambs during times of pain. Let me be a comfort on the easy paths, allowing the joy of the journey to point to You. Let me find strong footing under your Hand when you lead our family through deep valleys and the path seems less clear. Let me be worn, deep groves borne from years of being held by You alone.
Yes Lord, make me the staff I pray.
And when I am broken, bruised and err, or if You should call me home, my lambs will not be shaken.
For their Shepherd, their Perfect Father lives.
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