The Parable of Tom and the Good Shepherd

Prologue

"That boy Harold is just awful!" Maggie shouted. She was stepping down from the school bus.
Her twin brother, Pete, was close behind. He said, "He's the worst!"
"He makes me sick!" Maggie continued.
"He's…abominamle!" Pete added, though he did not know quite how to say it, or even exactly what it meant. It sounded like a bad thing to be, and Harold, Pete thought, was certainly bad.
They walked down their grandparents' driveway, toward the small white house with large, blue-shuttered windows and even larger bushes in the front. Between the bushes were beautiful flowers—red, purple, blue, and yellow ones, to name a few.
Even the flowers could not cheer up the Adams children, however. Pete flung open the front door, trying to use words like "despicable" and "nauseating" and even "atrocious," though not even Maggie, who always did very well in school, could understand that last one. She had never seen the word "Ashroshish!"
It was right when Maggie screeched, "Ugh! I just…HATE HIM!" that Grandpa came out of his bedroom. He looked very disappointed.
For a minute, nobody said anything. Then, Grandpa said, "What's the matter, Doll?"
"It's this boy, Grandpa. His name is Harold, and he is such…" Maggie started. Then, she stopped herself. She suddenly felt very ashamed. She knew better than to say "hate" in front of Grandpa. She looked down at her shoes.
Pete looked down at his own shoes. He also knew better than to use such mean words as "despicable" and "atrocious".
You see, Pete and Maggie Adams had been taught from a very young age about God and the Bible. Grandpa was the person who taught them the most. He told them all kinds of stories about David and Jonah and Moses, and so many others, and they always enjoyed them. In fact, the Adams children loved to hear Grandpa tell stories, (especially the ones about Jesus Christ), but they still did not always act like they were supposed to.
After all, they were still people, and all people have to deal with things like anger.
Grandpa started walking toward the large, soft, brown couch which had been against the wall for years—at least as long as Pete and Maggie had been alive.
"Come here, you two," he said. He waved his hand, inviting them to sit down with him.
"Now," he said, "tell me about this boy."
That was what made Grandpa so great! He was always willing to listen, even if they were using ugly language.
"Oh, Grandpa," Maggie blurted, "he is SO hard to get along with!"
"He calls people names!" Pete said.
"Yes, nasty names," Maggie agreed. "And he pokes people when they aren't looking!"
"Yes, with pencils, paper clips, anything he can get!"
"And he takes things that aren't his," Maggie continued.
"Like the keychain from my backpack! AND my pencil sharpener!"
"And then he BREAKS them! For no reason!"
"And then he throws them at people!"
"Yes, I nearly got hit this morning!"
"And, and," Pete said, "he is rude to the teacher!"
"He's rude to EVERYONE!" Maggie added, almost pleading to Grandpa to do something.
"Well," Grandpa said, "It sounds like this boy can be a challenge."
"I'd say," Maggie sighed.
Grandpa chuckled.
"Does he have many friends?" Grandpa asked.
"Of course not!" Pete responded quickly. "Who would want to be HIS friend?"
"NOBODY likes him!" Maggie agreed.
"Well, Doll," Grandpa said, "have you thought about what he might be going through?"
"I've TRIED, Grandpa, I have!" Maggie insisted.
"As have I!" Pete agreed.
"But," Maggie went on, "it's IMPOSSIBLE to see his side! He's just so terrible!"
"Horrible!" Pete added.
"I'm telling you," Maggie said, "NOBODY likes him! It's not just us!"
"Okay," Grandpa said. "I think it's time for a story."
Pete and Maggie both looked at each other, then back at Grandpa.
"Well, we love your stories Grandpa," Pete said slowly.
"We really do," Maggie agreed. "But there is no way they can make us like Harold."
"Remember, children," Grandpa responded, "these are not my stories. These are God's stories. And God can do more than any of us can imagine."

The Parable of Tom and the Good Shepherd

Chapter 1
On the pasture
and who lived there

This story starts in a pasture greener than you have ever seen. One so large, you could not possibly see from one end to the other. It stretched for miles and miles, over hills and through valleys.
Right in the middle of it, though, was the very best view. Any direction you looked, you would see gently rolling hills, like beautiful folds in the softest sheets. Bright sun shone on the tops of each hill. Not a hot, dry sun, but a sun with the perfect warmth that made you think of being nestled up near a fireplace.
And oh! the grass! The way it blew in the breeze, flowing like peaceful ripples in a clear pond. Such rich, brilliant green grass! And how the sun sparkled in it! If you looked away just right, it almost looked like gold!
Standing there, you could feel it tickling your legs, not too forcefully, but gently, asking you to play. Small flowers (white, yellow, and purple) were lying in it, dotting the land like stars do the sky. Their sweet smell settled on the breeze and filled the air.
Short, lush trees stood out in the perfect spots. One here, another there, never crowding. No, they spread out freely in the open land. The grass splashed against them like waves on tall, proud rocks. (If you stood near one, you would swear you could hear them crashing and feel a fine, cool mist around your ankles.)
Yes, it was a wonderful pasture! And who got to live there, you ask? Who got to wake up every morning and watch the sun rise over those hills?
That, of course, would be the sheep.