Written by: Neil Tolman
I grew up in Navajo sheep country. I spent my 16th summer out on the arid reservation at my friend's grandparent's sheep compound. My friend was the only one besides me for 20 miles that spoke English. I spent most of the summer quietly watching and was inundated with the culture.
In my mind's eye I can clearly see and hear the sound of Roger's little old Navajo grandmother coming out of her log and stone hogan singing to her sheep. As she hobbled out toward the corral the sheep raised their heads and began to anticipate the opening of the gate and the cool water that she would provide. Grandma waited patiently while the sheep drank their fill. Only after they were well watered did she slowly start down the canyon softly chanting in Navajo a song that spoke of her love for the sheep.
As she led the way the 200 + sheep eagerly fell in behind and around her. It was quite a sight to watch grandma's bright green velvet shirt bobbing down the canyon surrounded by waves of white wool. At the bottom of the canyon, she paused and sat on a smooth rock in the early morning shade of the sandstone cliffs. The sheep began feeding on the sparse green plants growing in the desert shade. Periodically, throughout the day Grandma got up and sang as she walked to another area where the sheep would feed again. Toward dusk she would sing the sheep back home. They eagerly followed her to the corral where they were safe from marauding coyotes through the night.
One day grandma had to make the long trip into town. My friend and I were asked to take the sheep out for the day. What an education I got. The sheep were not cooperative. We had to drive (push) them to where we wanted them. Without the help of the dogs, we would have never moved them away from the water. During the day we spent a lot of time running after stragglers. The sheep never did actually settle into grazing, and we had to constantly watch to keep them together. Come late afternoon we struggled to get the sheep into the corral because they were still hungry and unsettled.
Later that night as we tiredly sat near the fire eating supper, I asked Grandma why the sheep would not follow us. She laughed knowingly and explained
through my friend's interpretation that she was there when each of those many sheep were born. She sang to them as they were cleaned by their mothers. She went on to say that she was the one that had put their mouth to their mother's milk the first time. When the mothers were birthing, she stroked their heads and comforted them. And then she said: "They are my children, and they know me." Then she paused and looked at me and asked: "Have you never heard the story of Jesus?"
When the words of God are "sung" His flock will follow because they know the shepherd's voice. When we sing His words, our voice carries the sound of His voice. The Holy Spirit will only energize that which the Father "sings" into our hearts.
God is working in every Christian's life and building on the foundation that He has laid in that person. We can come alongside and exhort, encourage and comfort but we cannot insert our motivation and desires into them. That is God's Job. I pray that we learn to see people more through His eyes and hear more of the Shepherd's songs and His voice leading us.
-Neil
