The Ninety-Nine

May I never leave

the One who slipped away from the ninety-nine,

their wool like a living cloud,

their bleating a lullaby of safety,

hooves pressing the earth

into patterns of belonging

He left them in the fold-

the safe, the counted,

the ones with eyes turned homeward-

and He stepped into the dark places

where my shadow wandered,

where thorns grew like iron.

I was the single stray,

caught in the bramble’s teeth,

mud painting my wool,

the night sky heavy with the silence.

No one else saw me—

but He came.

The Shepherd’s staff split the tall grass,

His breath a storm against the chill,

His voice calling rivers out of stones,

and even the wolves

lowered their heads at the sound.

He found me trembling,

my legs bent beneath me,

my ribs thin as reeds—

and He did not turn back—

He lifted me.

Onto shoulders scarred by carrying

worlds heavier than sheep.

Behind us,

the ninety-nine waited in the hush,

but for that moment

all of heaven leaned down

to witness the finding of one.

May I never leave

the Shepherd who left the ninety-nine for me—

who tore through wilderness and thorn,

who turned the terror of night into pasture,

who called me beloved

when I had forgotten my own name.