Broken Leg of a Wayward Lamb

Delaney Coldren

He said, “I broke its leg.” Said, “Why did you break its leg? Are you a cruel shepherd?” He said, “No, I love the sheep. But the sheep got to running away from me.”

- ‘The Good Shepherd of the Sheep’, sermon delivered by William Branham

When he snapped your leg in half, he cried, saying it wouldn’t have happened if you had stayed. But you, little lamb, had to wander into the valley to taste Eve’s leftover apples. Was it worth it to understand the world? He had to sling you over his shoulder and press his thumb against your jugular to keep you still. As he caressed your craning neck, you watched the horizon grow as he carried you home over all the rolling hills. Did you not know how far you’d gone? Little lamb, he brought you to a soft green pasture. He led you to the river and made sure you didn’t drink too much. Weren’t you grateful for all he’d given you? He loved you enough to hurt you. He loved you so much his body shook as he split your tibia in two. Why were you willing to risk this tenderness? Little lamb, he grabbed your chin to make you stare at his tears. But he looked away, saying he couldn’t bear to see your brokenness. Did you fnally understand shame? Your leg will never be the same again, and you’ll have to live with this mangled limb. But, he said, you left invisible scars on his palms he’ll have until he dies. Could you feel his pain every time he touched your skin? He held your broken body close to his chest. His heartbeat rattled around your skull as he fed you milk and honey from his palm. Did you understand how hard it was for him to forgive you? He told you how much he loved you as he laid you in the grass. He said he’d do it all again despite the pain. Did you know all he’d do to keep you there, resting by his feet?

He’d break every bone in your body until you understood the meaning of devotion. Again and again, he’d drag you back to the pasture.

Do you really think you can leave, again?

Still, you’ll crawl away from him on broken limbs. You’ll abandon the milk and honey, leaving a trail of blood behind. It’ll hurt to hold your own weight, but you’ll know you can’t stay, little lamb.

There will be an ocean of valleys you’ll have to carry yourself across. You won’t be able to tell the diference between breathing and drowning sometimes, but you’ll keep stumbling forward. The rain will beat against your back, and you’ll wonder if wandering was worth this pain.

But one day, you will fnd still waters, little lamb, and a greener pasture before you. Your refection in the pool will be whole, undisrupted by a hand scattering you across the water. You’ll be able to rest underneath the fruit of the vine, and it will be sweeter than honeycomb.

You won’t need to hold onto fear, little lamb, because time mends broken bones. In this new home you’ll fnd serenity, and slowly, memories of him will evaporate with morning’s dew. You’ll fnd truth and realize it was never made in the image of this man.

Shpresa Ymeraj