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(Or, Luke 15)

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100 sheep
10 coins
2 sons

It’s not the number that matters to God,
but the individual,
the unique.

He hand-placed every blade of grass,
every drop in the sea,
and I’m jaded enough to believe
He won’t run after me?

Lost doesn’t mean unloved,
as the shepherd’s, woman’s, father’s
pursuit proves.
Perhaps out of sight,
for a time,
but never out of mind.

If it were up to me,
in my stupidity,
easily lost as a sheep,
dull as a lifeless coin,
selfish as a spoiled second son,
I would have been gone long ago.

No matter what wilderness,
dark corner,
or foreign, famined land
I find myself in,
His golden thread knotted around my soul
always draws me back to a broken

but God…
…sees…
…hears…
…knows…
…loves…
…me?

He leaves the ninety-nine to go after the one.
He searches for the single silver.
He welcomes back both wayward sons.

His Word is a light,
a beacon home for this sheep,
and undeniable proof
He will always find me.