Our good Shepherd watches over a flock filled with every kind of sheep. Some are strong in the Lord. Others are weak in faith. But he cares for each one exactly the same. The weakest lamb is just as precious to him as the strongest ram.

Lambs tend to lag behind. They're prone to wander. They grow weary faster than the others. But the Shepherd protects them from every danger with his arm of power. He finds newborn souls, like young lambs ready to perish, and he nourishes them until life surges strong within them. He finds weak minds ready to faint and die, and he consoles them, renews their strength. Every single little one he gathers. Not one will perish. That is our heavenly Father's will.

What quick eyes he must have to see them all! What a tender heart to care for them all! What a far-reaching and potent arm to gather them all!

When he walked this earth, he was always gathering the weaker sort. And now that he dwells in heaven, his loving heart still yearns for the meek and contrite, the timid and feeble, the fearful and fainting down here below.

How gently he gathered me! To himself. To his truth. To his blood. To his love. To his church. With what effectual grace he compelled me to come! And since that first conversion, how many times has he restored me from my wanderings? How many times has he folded me back within the circle of his everlasting arm?

But here's the best part: he does it all himself. Personally. He doesn't send an angel. He doesn't delegate this task of love. The King of Heaven condescends to rescue and preserve his most unworthy servant.

How shall I love him enough? How can I serve him worthily? I would make his name great to the ends of the earth, but what can my feebleness do for him?

Great Shepherd, add to your mercies this one more: give me a heart to love you more truly as I ought.