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We walked beside the still waters of the pond the other night. It had stormed all day.
We held hands. We feed ducks. We sat in a swing meant for two. We laughed. We talked.
God has answered many prayers lately. Provision in a time of drought. A place to find comfort in, that makes this feel more like home, after five years of living here. A quiet walk in the woods, the adventures of little boys as they discover this and that. A fallen tree with lichen on the side. A big spider. Raccoon tracks in the cement. Canada geese that chase white puddle-ducks away from growing goslings. The reflection of the green trees on the still lake, making it green ripples. The sound of frogs. A blue bird family actively participating with the air.
To enjoy each others company. We two, two of ours, the wife of one and his children, our grand ones.
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The Shepherd

Jesus is the Shepherd.
He is my Shepherd,
Therefore,
I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down beside the still waters of my quiet time,
I find Him there, at my chair beside the window, cup of tea close by, Bible in lap, glasses perched on the old ewe's nose, pen in hand to write down what it is that He whispers to me, for I know my Shepherds voice.
I am His sheep
He is my rest, my encourager, my courage, my song.
He is my Chief Shepherd, Ruler, Sovereign, Determiner of my life.
He is my Good Shepherd, I trust in His mercy, love and grace.
He is my Great Shepherd, coming again, King over all, Ruler of the Universe
And my Shepherd
The Shepherd of this old ewe
thank you Lord.

The Old and the New Ewe

I was a teenager attending a youth meeting. In fact, it was the very first youth meeting I had ever been to. I had been invited by the pastor's daughter and so dutifully showed up on time.
Can you imagine my shock? I entered the dimly lit room where benches had been lined up, candles were the only light, and in the front stood a black box that, yes, looked just like a coffin.
I sat down in a state of confusion. If I remember correctly, my friend, (you know, the pastor's daughter) got up and started to talk. Sure enough, it was a mock funeral. There was a "person" in the coffin, looking as white and dead as could be. This Old man was dead. The eulogy was spoken, as if it was a good thing this person had died. No regrets.
All of a sudden the person in the coffin, (I thought it was a dummy) leaped up, arms extended to the sky, and he shouted for joy. I jumped a foot. I wasn't sure this was so funny.
Then the lesson began. A strange tale I had never heard before, never considered. There was a me, and same-old me, that was meant to die. And there was the possibility of a new me, a forever changed me that could be born. It was the first time I had ever heard the term, "born again."
That was over forty five years ago. I am still trying to understand the reality of it on a day to day basis.
This old ewe, is a new ewe made new all the time by the Spirit of Christ living in me. It was Christ who was crucified for me, so that He, who is God could be God in my life. He was meant to make me into the new ewe He had always meant for me to be all along. A new ewe living in the power of Christ and no longer in the power of the old ewe.
The old ewe is dead, the new ewe will live today in the strength of that realization. Let the old be made new for you.

The Old Ewe's Views

I see green trees and traffic from my part of the pasture. Not what I would choose to see you see. I would rather find the pastures green of some far off flung fanciful place, preferably in England.
Ah, that is where the grass is greener.
Or is it? I, in my fanciful mind only suppose it to be so. The reality is that my romantic notions are a far cry from black bold face of the thing.
It was there through a window in York, there in the north of England, where my blurred vision cleared up. Chimney tops and blackened streets, cawing crows atop dirty brick houses, this is what I gazed out on. The sun had refused to go down that evening, so it was very late and still light enough to see the guttersnipe youth lurking as near the buildings as possible. I wondered what no good he was up to, but refrained from yelling so at him.
It had been raining. I had left my Bible open there on the bed. When I had come home in the evening, there is was, with the dew of England forever embedded onto the pages.
Tears exploded that night, and would not stop. I cried most of the evening and off and on the next day. My poor bewildered husband had no idea what the matter was.
The matter was that I had discovered how foolish I found myself to be.
The old thing, the foolish old thing had to die to self that night, in the cool of a York night. Die to self and alive to Christ where I ought to have been all along. Silly old ewe.

The Old Ewe in Danger

I suppose it is the nature of a sheep to underestimate the power of the wolf, or bear or lion. There he lurks just behind the tall grass, over by the boulder. Patiently he waits, not moving a muscle. He waits for the sheep to get used to him and to the fact that he isn't bothering her just now. He waits for the sheep to wander ever so slightly away from the rest of the flock, away from the protection of the crowd or the nearness of the shepherd.
The intention of the wolf, or bear or lion, isn't to play tricks on the sheep. He isn't out to make life difficult for the sheep. His intent is to eat her. He wants to capture and kill and eat her for lunch.

I am just an old ewe. What do I know? I know to stay close to the Shepherd. I have seen many a careless youngster go down in a flash and eaten in an instant. I have seen the subtly of the enemy, the strength and yes, the beauty of the beast, just waiting to pounce.
And I am a tired old ewe and that is what makes me the most vulnerable now. It is my tiredness that the enemy uses on me. He whispers words that tired ears, dusty ewe ears have a hard time fighting against.
So I pause, and drink a long draft from the springs of Living Waters that refresh and remind me just who my Shepherd is. I have been reminded that to Him, I am a dear old ewe. He loves me more dearly than I love Him.
So while the enemy is relentless and I am powerless, the Shepherd is far more dangerous to the lion than the lion is to Him. His overwhelming love is a powerful reason for me to stay good and close to Him. For His staff comforts me and His rod is a sight to behold when it is being used against the wolf.
So today, I am lying down in the green pastures of His love and protection.

Control of the Old Ewe

Okay, now that the rant is over, maybe I can start again.
God, (you know, the One I refer to as my Shepherd) has assured the old ewe that He is in control.

I fight with myself sometimes, over who the control belongs to. I like my ducks in line. I hate surprises, other than the kind my husband gives me. I like to know what to expect and be able to handle it. This happened the other day and in my haze of frustration, the Shepherd gentle nudged my aging elbow and said, "Just who is supposed to be in control here?" "You are Lord, forgive me." was my answer. Death to self again.
So I tell myself, "The old you must die for the Old Ewe to be what God means her to be. Recreated to be what God intended me to be all along. Letting Jesus be God and letting God be God in my life. Letting Him have the controls of emotions, of mind, intellect, heart and soul and body.
Control me then Lord. "I can't but you never said I could. You can and You always said you would." (I.T)
Thank you.

I really hate this. In order to see my daughter's blog I have to do the obscure. All because one silly woman wanted to invade her life. I am, at best, technically challenged. But I have to find ways to creatively see her site and add comments without having to go through the rigamarole of writing old blogs sites. So here it is. A rant at best.