Elijah secured the gate behind the flock. Ninety-nine sheep, safe. Accounted for. But his eyes drifted to the hills.
“One’s missing,” he muttered.
He knew which one. The small lamb with the crooked ear—the wanderer. Always trailing off. Always looking for something that wasn’t in the pasture.
He didn’t hesitate. He lifted his staff, adjusted the strap on his shoulder, and turned toward the hills. The wind carried the fading bleats of the flock behind him, but he listened for something else. A faint cry. A single voice.
The terrain was unforgiving. Jagged rocks. Steep inclines. Shadows stretching long as the light began to fade. But Elijah walked on.
His mind drifted as his feet climbed. He remembered the first time that lamb had gone missing. He’d been irritated then—frustrated that one would risk so much for so little. But now? Now he only felt urgency. And something more tender. Something like… ache.
He pressed onward, calling softly into the dusk. No answer.
He paused. Closed his eyes. Prayed silently.
And then—a sound. A faint bleat. Fragile. Afraid.
He moved quickly now, stumbling toward the sound. Down a narrow ravine, beneath a scrub of brush, he found it: the little lamb, caught between thorns, trembling.
“Oh,” Elijah breathed, heart tightening. “There you are.”
He knelt, arms wrapping gently around the trembling body. The lamb pressed against his chest, its heartbeat frantic at first… then slower. Calmer. Safe.
“You silly thing,” Elijah whispered, stroking its matted wool. “Always running. Always searching.”
He sat for a while there, the lamb curled in his lap, the sky above deepening into night. He looked up at the stars.
“I used to run too,” he said quietly. “Thought I knew where I was going.”
The lamb made no sound.
“I was lost. For a long time. And Someone came for me, too.”
The lamb shifted, nestling deeper into his arms.
He stood slowly, cradling the lamb close as he began the climb back home. His body ached, but his heart was light.
The pen came into view, and the other sheep stirred at the sound of his approach. He placed the lamb down gently. It stumbled, then found its footing. The others made space.
Elijah leaned against the gate, breath steadying. He watched as the little one settled among the ninety-nine.
And then, he wept. Not from exhaustion. Not even from relief.
From love.
Because he had left the ninety-nine. And he had found the one. And in doing so, he had found something in himself he hadn’t known was missing.
He stayed there long after the stars had taken their places. The flock slept. The lamb rested. And Elijah stood watch.
Not out of duty. But out of joy.
He had searched. He had found. And he was no longer lost.
Elijah secured the gate behind the flock. Ninety-nine sheep, safe. Accounted for. But his eyes drifted to the hills.
“One’s missing,” he muttered.
He knew which one. The small lamb with the crooked ear—the wanderer. Always trailing off. Always looking for something that wasn’t in the pasture.
He didn’t hesitate. He lifted his staff, adjusted the strap on his shoulder, and turned toward the hills. The wind carried the fading bleats of the flock behind him, but he listened for something else. A faint cry. A single voice.
The terrain was unforgiving. Jagged rocks. Steep inclines. Shadows stretching long as the light began to fade. But Elijah walked on.
His mind drifted as his feet climbed. He remembered the first time that lamb had gone missing. He’d been irritated then—frustrated that one would risk so much for so little. But now? Now he only felt urgency. And something more tender. Something like… ache.
He pressed onward, calling softly into the dusk. No answer.
He paused. Closed his eyes. Prayed silently.
And then—a sound. A faint bleat. Fragile. Afraid.
He moved quickly now, stumbling toward the sound. Down a narrow ravine, beneath a scrub of brush, he found it: the little lamb, caught between thorns, trembling.
“Oh,” Elijah breathed, heart tightening. “There you are.”
He knelt, arms wrapping gently around the trembling body. The lamb pressed against his chest, its heartbeat frantic at first… then slower. Calmer. Safe.
“You silly thing,” Elijah whispered, stroking its matted wool. “Always running. Always searching.”
He sat for a while there, the lamb curled in his lap, the sky above deepening into night. He looked up at the stars.
“I used to run too,” he said quietly. “Thought I knew where I was going.”
The lamb made no sound.
“I was lost. For a long time. And Someone came for me, too.”
The lamb shifted, nestling deeper into his arms.
He stood slowly, cradling the lamb close as he began the climb back home. His body ached, but his heart was light.
The pen came into view, and the other sheep stirred at the sound of his approach. He placed the lamb down gently. It stumbled, then found its footing. The others made space.
Elijah leaned against the gate, breath steadying. He watched as the little one settled among the ninety-nine.
And then, he wept. Not from exhaustion. Not even from relief.
From love.
Because he had left the ninety-nine. And he had found the one. And in doing so, he had found something in himself he hadn’t known was missing.
He stayed there long after the stars had taken their places. The flock slept. The lamb rested. And Elijah stood watch.
Not out of duty. But out of joy.
He had searched. He had found. And he was no longer lost.
