A Shepherd's Heart

Lessons from the Barn, the Coop, and the Pasture

The morning started at the horse pen. I had barely slipped on my boots when I saw her waiting, head lifted, nostrils puffing gentle clouds into the cool air. She walked toward me, slow and steady, trusting. Behind her, the dogs were already awake, circling, sensing the rhythm of the farm. And in the coop, the baby chicks had begun their day-long chatter, eager to peck and stretch their growing wings.

Every animal here looks to us. They don’t know about schedules or spreadsheets or the busy hum of the outside world. What they do know is whether the hands that reach for them are steady, whether the feed comes on time, whether the fence line is secure, whether we show up.

This is what I’ve come to understand about having a shepherd’s heart. It is not a title or a task. It is a way of being. It is drawing near when it would be easier to stay distant far removed from the flock. However, It is kneeling down, again and again, to care for the small and the skittish. It is waking up and knowing that someone is counting on you to carry their safety into the day.

I see it when our guardian dog sounds the alarm in the night and one of us runs, barefoot, into the pasture to help defend our flock. I see it when the chicks pile together under the heat lamp and one chirp sounds different and we notice. I see it in the way the cows glance back to us for permission before taking off. They know who holds the gate.

What I’ve realized is that shepherding is really about presence. The flock rests only when it knows someone is near. Not hovering. Not controlling. But steady. Watching. Holding the line. And offering calm.

The funny thing is, I didn’t expect to find so much of my own heart in these chores. I didn’t expect to see the heart of God reflected in the rhythm of caring for chickens and horses and cows. But it’s there. In the feeding. In the guarding. In the guiding. In the soft words that settle anxious animals. In the daily return to the same pens, the same paths, the same small needs that seem to say, “You matter enough for me to come back.”

And it’s taught me that we are all shepherds in some way. We all have someone we are called to protect, to nurture, to lead. A child, a friend, a partner, a small corner of the world. And at the same time, we all need to be shepherded too. There are days I am worn thin, and I feel it when someone steps in to care for me, to pray for me, to feed me in the simplest ways. There is safety. There is rest. That’s holy too.

There is no shame in needing rest. In needing guidance. In needing someone to carry the weight for a while. The pasture is wide enough for both things to be true. You can lead and be led. You can carry and be carried.

The heart of a shepherd is not flashy. It’s not loud. It doesn’t demand recognition. But it is fierce in its faithfulness. Gentle in its discipline. Wise in its quiet watching. And always, always near.

So today I will walk the same paths. I will toss hay into feeders and gather eggs from the boxes. I will watch over the young and check the latches twice. I will speak calmly when the dog barks too loud and remind the kids that tending is a kind of love.

Because love often looks like showing up. Over and over. And in that showing up, the sheep rest easy.