She was part of a flock of one hundred.

Each morning, she woke to the same peaceful rhythm. Dew clung to her legs like tiny pearls. The pasture hummed with soft bleats and the rustle of movement as the sheep pressed close to one another, seeking comfort in the familiar. The grass was lush, the air sweet with clover, and the Shepherd’s voice rose gently above it all, calm and certain.

He knew them each by name.

When He walked, they followed. Not out of fear, but because His presence felt like peace. He had led them through green fields, beside quiet waters, and into rest. His staff was firm when it needed to be, but more often, it simply guided.

She never meant to stray.

It began with a flicker of gold at the edge of the field. A patch of wildflowers waving in the wind. They glowed against the green, dancing in a rhythm all their own. She stepped closer. Just a taste, she told herself. Just a better view.

But something deeper stirred inside her. A restlessness she didn’t fully understand. A quiet ache for something more.

The others didn’t notice her drifting. Or maybe they did and assumed she would come back.

She didn’t.

The grass under her feet grew sparse. The breeze turned sharp. The air lost its sweetness and grew heavy with dust. She pressed on, convinced she hadn’t gone far. But when she finally turned to look, the pasture was gone.

Panic rose like a tide in her chest.

She called out once. Twice. Her voice cracked, swallowed by silence. No bleating in response. No footsteps. Just the rustling of dry leaves and the creak of trees that seemed too tall, too foreign.

She curled into herself beneath a gnarled tree, the bark rough against her side. Her legs trembled. Her heart pounded in frantic bursts, like a frightened drum. She was alone.

She was lost.

What she didn’t know was this: the Shepherd had already noticed.

As the sun began to sink low, He counted: 97, 98, 99.

He paused. His voice quieted. His eyes turned toward the hills.

She was missing.

Without hesitation, He picked up His staff and walked away from the safety of the fold. He didn’t stop to explain. He didn’t ask someone else to go. He went Himself, because she mattered.

The terrain was rough. Thorns pulled at His robe. Branches tore at His arms. Stones pressed against His feet. Still, He pressed on. His stride was not rushed, but determined. Each step carved from care.

He called her name. The sound rolled over the hills, low and sure, like a melody only she could recognize.

Her ears twitched.

She sat up slowly, unsure if the voice was real or a memory. She strained to listen, breath held tight. The voice came again. Clear. Steady. Familiar.

Then she saw Him.

He stepped through the trees, dusty and scratched. His eyes locked with hers, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to run, but her body stayed frozen. She wasn’t sure what would meet her. Anger? Disappointment?

But when He came closer, He didn’t raise His voice. He didn’t question or scold. He knelt beside her, resting one hand gently on her shoulder.

“I never stopped looking,” He whispered.

She began to weep. Not out of fear, but from the flood of relief that swept over her like rain on dry ground.

He gathered her into His arms, lifting her without effort. She was heavier now, tired and worn. But He carried her with reverence. His arms were strong. His hold secure. She rested her head against His chest and breathed in the scent of Him: sun, sweat, earth, and something holy.

When they reached the flock, He didn’t set her down behind the others. He walked straight through the center, her body still resting across His shoulders.

And then He rejoiced.

He called to His friends and neighbors, voice full of joy.

“The one who was lost has been found.”

No one whispered about where she had gone. No one rolled their eyes or looked away. Because in this pasture, the Shepherd’s heart had room for celebration. He did not dwell on her wandering. He rejoiced in her return.

She nestled back into the flock that night, warm and still, closer than she had ever stayed before. The Shepherd sat nearby, His eyes on the horizon, watchful and full of peace.

She had been part of a flock of one hundred.

And now, in His arms, she was again.