We all know a presidential election is the political lifeblood of any true political junkie. I think its time we take a little side road. Here’s a short story I wrote a while back. Hope you enjoy it.

~ The Spotted Lamb ~

The lambs closest to the middle of the flock are said to be the most cherished – their fleece cleaner, whiter. Because they are closer to the middle, they are closer to the Sheppard – or so they believe. There are other lambs – lambs whose fleece is not so clean, not so white, who surround the lambs in the middle. These lambs shield those in the middle – both a blessing and a curse, for the price paid by those lambs that benefit from this protection is steep – the consequences unpredictable. The lambs furthest from the middle, those on the edge, are charged by the Sheppard with the work that is too often overlooked or more tragically, misunderstood by the lambs that feel nearest to the Sheppard – battling life’s wolves that offer only ugliness and sorrow, taking by force what they desire, leaving a wake of destruction.

The lambs at the edge are no better equipped to fight those wolves who would destroy the Sheppard’s flock, but fight they must, for the battles they wage bring rewards never realized by lambs at the middle, as they know no other way. Often, these rewards are realized through triumph and joy, but on occasion through heartache and sorrow. The lambs at the edge do not question the Sheppard or why they must endure this gambit of danger and emotion – nor do they aspire to run along side those lambs at the middle – for they are satisfied only with the rewards that the battles bring – making them whole.

The lambs of the middle, protected from such travails, are not burdened with the yoke of battle, nor do they reap any benefits. They remain in an artificial state of peace, removed from the taxing reality of such attacks, perpetrated by the wolves. Nevertheless, they are worse for it, because the triumph and heartache, the joy as well as the sorrow, are the critical instruments of life that provide the truest measure of character and depth of devotion. The lambs of the middle are resigned to the protection they take for granted, never to be tested by the fires of life, never realizing the strength of their inner self – always looking to the Sheppard for the answers when the wolves come, as the others fight. They choose not to immerse themselves in the warm springs of unbridled sacrifice for fear of their fleece becoming soiled by the trials of life. They willfully barter these experiences so their fleece may remain white. What they fail to realize is that the experience of these battles can color their fleece, making it more difficult for the wolves to target them against the back drop of a brown earth. This too, is protection. This too, brings safety and peace. It is this they sacrifice.

Occasionally a lamb, maybe one closer to the Sheppard, maybe one further away, strays into the forest where it is taken by the wolves, and soon after that lamb finds itself on a lonesome road of discovery – a road to salvation. It is now that the experience of life comes to call, for the lambs of the middle will once again seek protection – of a lush farm, a farm where the grass is greener than any other, a farm with a gate of gold whose sign above reads ‘heaven.’ Surely this is the place for the protected lambs. It is here the lamb of the middle will take refuge.

The lambs of the edge will walk on the same road of salvation, but will walk in step with the wolves – the same wolves whose goal was to destroy the flock. They will help each other on that road, roots deep in mutual respect and forgiveness – a mutual respect the lambs of the middle struggle to understand. The lamb on the edge, distant from the Sheppard, and the wolf, removed altogether, will approach that same, lush farm, yet they will be told that the wolf is not permitted to enter – he is not worthy.

They will travel on until they come to a second farm, a farm not as lush – a farm not exclusive to lambs. Here, they too will approach, and explain how they were turned away from ‘heaven,’ and the farmer will reply that he is aware of that other place, but still he will allow them to enter, for this is the real ‘heaven.’ The lamb of the edge and the wolf ask why? – And the farmer will reply, “What heaven would bar any lamb, no matter the color of his fleece or a wolf, removed from the Sheppard’s flock – an outcast – an enemy. What farm would follow such exclusive rules placing such demands on it’s lambs, asking them to judge each other’s beliefs and devotion to the Sheppard in life – quashing their right to enter heaven based on false preaching, in death –preaching used for little more than to segregate the flock? Even the wolf believed in his own way, for he needed the Sheppard’s lambs to survive. He believed in his heart, confessing to no one, so he too might enter this place.”