“As a shepherd, He will shepherd His flock; with His arms He will gather the lambs…” Isaiah 40:11
Clarity in writing: a pastor shepherds his flock.
ὡς ποιμὴν τὸ ποίμνιον αὐτοῦ ποιμανεῖ… Isaiah 40:11a (Septuagint)
The scene
A weary soul, having served long and carried much, finds themselves not cast out, but drawn in—into the Shepherd’s arms. Not for rest alone, but for realignment. The fold is not escape; it is encounter. And in the bosom of God, the lamb hears what no sermon could teach: the heartbeat of holy care.
The comfort – the tension
The fold is not just a place of comfort—it is a crucible. To be held close is to be exposed to the rhythm of divine urgency. The heartbeat is not passive; it is prophetic. The lamb must learn to move with the pulse, not resist it.
Yet in that bosom, there is no condemnation. Only cadence. The Shepherd does not demand performance—He offers presence. The lamb is not measured, but embraced. And in that embrace, the flame of purpose is kindled.
Echo (one of the lambs): John 13:23 — “The disciple whom Jesus loved was reclining at Jesus’ bosom…”
The drop
Sweet Honey Drop
Drop
He folds the flock,
Feeds the frail,
Fans the flame.
In His bosom, the lambs rest –
Not just near, but within.
Where mercy beats beneath the fleece,
And fire waits, gentle, under skin.
Poimen of pulse and presence,
Shelter shaped by sound.
Life is Fun, But Not a Joke 