My Lord and My God

My Good Shepherd

The insistent high-pitch cries of my three-week old son signaled his need to feed. Drying my hand on an already damp towel, I turned my back on the stack of dirty dishes scattered over the kitchen cupboard. I pushed my Bible and notebook aside to make room for my still heavier than normal frame on the sagging couch. Reaching for little Samuel, I gently pulled him to myself. My one and a half year old had already dumped the box of toys on the floor beside me and was making boyish car sounds; my three year old, book in hand, crawled up beside me hoping that I would read him a story. Ralph, my husband was out fixing the car again. I sighed. I knew this was a picture foretelling what the next three years of my life would be like.
Psalm 113:9 mentions “the happy mother of children.” Sometimes I felt anything but happy. The endless diaper changes, sleepless nights and for us as oversea workers, the lack of routine.
We knew that God had called us to the life of pilgrimage for the sake of expanding His kingdom and we willingly had put our hands to the plow, 1but now that we had three tiny ones depending upon us, we were more than ever in need of His grace.
I stared around at the big windows with their blue and white striped curtains, the worn sofas and rugs, the coffee tables which we kept littered with books and tea cups. We were so thankful for this cottage-like home which our pastor and wife had allowed us to use over the summer. Now in two weeks, they would return and take their rightful occupancy. We would move to our fourth house of the year.
This time we would move in with Ralph's recently widowed mother. We desired to be a blessing and not a burden, but how does one do that with three little ones in tow?
Suddenly the feelings of inadequacy stormed down upon me. I recalled how three years earlier with our first son, I had tried to follow a popular Christian teaching on how to raise a child. I had failed. I could not live up to those requirements. The longest our family had any semblance of routine before a major move seemed to be three months. Since we were missionaries, I sometimes suspected that our supporters unconsciously required us to be the perfect parents. I knew I did not measure up. I felt that many other women were much better moms than I was. I would keep trying. I would keep striving, I promised myself. Just thinking about it, however, made me exhausted. “Lord, how can I face another three years like this?” my heart cried out.
“You do not need to be the perfect mom. “
The Lord's response came like a spring bubbling up to sun-parched ground. My shoulders and body relaxed as they absorbed what the Lord's words meant. I could just enjoy being a mother, without the stress of having to be the perfect mom. I could be free to make and learn from my mistakes. My kids did not have to be perfect kids. My heart began to sing. Perhaps I could enjoy being a mom after all.
The Lord reminded me of the promise He had given for all mothers of young in Psalm 113:9, “I will gently lead those who have young”. I took comfort that God would be gentle with me. He would not condemn. Also, He would lead. My role, like a mother sheep, was just to follow the Shepherd. As I followed the Shepherd, my lambs, during the earlier stages of their lives, would naturally follow behind.
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The mother tried desperately to hold back the tears. She must be strong for the sake of her sons. Losing her husband only six months earlier had been hard for all of them. Having their creditors daily knocking on their door demanding to be repaid added greatly to her stress.
Now as she looked around her house, she knew that they had nothing more to give the creditors. Only a few drops of oil remained. Creditors had already taken everything they had. All that remained was her sons. She fought to gain control over her fears. She knew the law allowed creditors to enslave children until their debts be repaid. She shivered in spite of the heat of the afternoon sun.
Memories flashed across her mind from the boys' childhood days. They had never been wealthy but they had always had enough. Her husband had been a man of faith. He had taught them to take every need to God in prayer. God had provided. Now with him gone, her own faith was being tested. Would God still provide for them? Did God really care about her sons and her?
Suddenly an insistent knocking at the door interrupted her thoughts. With trepidation she slowly opened the door. Was this the end?
stead of the demanding stance of a creditor, the excited gestures of a wife of another prophet greeted her. “Elisha has come.”
Without stopping to close the door, the woman followed her friend down the dusty road. “Where is he?”
He is resting under the huge sycamore tree. I will take you there.”
Oblivious of the stares that the sight of two grown women racing through the streets in the heat of the mid-day sun caused, the women pressed on.
Finally they came upon the respected prophet. At this point her kind neighbor took leave of her. Falling down at the older man's feet, the widow did not wait for an invitation to speak; her words tumbled out. “Your servant, my husband is dead, and you know that he revered the Lord. But now his creditor is coming to take my two boys as his slaves.”2
Elisha wasted no words. “How can I help you? Tell me, what do you have in your house?”3
“Only a few drops of oil.”
“Go around and ask all your neighbors for empty jars. Get as many as you can. Then go inside your house and close the door. Take what little oil you have and pour it into all the jars. As each one is filled, put it to one side.”4
With eagerness, the woman hurried back to her house. She instructed her sons. “Go and ask our neighbors for jars.”
Soon their little house was filled with pots. Then according to the prophet's words, the woman shut the door and started pouring the oil. Her sons removed the filled pots and brought the empty ones. “Bring me another one, and another,” the woman continually repeated.
“Mother, they are all filled,” her son finally announced. Then just as miraculously as it had started, the oil stopped flowing. The woman gazed around the room at all the filled pots of oil. The money that they would sell for equaled more than she could have ever imagined. They could pay off their creditor.
The woman, in gratitude, grabbed her two sons’ hands and knelt down. She lifted up her face to her Heavenly Father. Quoting David's words she said: “You are indeed my Shepherd, I shall not want.5 Thank you, thank you for saving my sons.”

Reading: 2 Kings 4:1-7
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The Good Shepherd: the one who completely understands his sheep and gently guides them to green pastures.