The Shepherd’s Joy

I’ve stood watch for many a long night.
Counted the  wandering sheep, every one,
my ears pricked sharp for the ghost-hush of wolves.
Seen the black storms tumble down the hills,
and me there, braced against the wind,
keeping the small, the fragile, alive.

That was my portion of joy, then —
a quiet, rough pride in the keeping,
the honest warmth of fire and my flock clustered close,
the plain, hard-won peace of a safe fold.

But that night… the very sky broke its silence.
Light poured out over these familiar rocks,
and voices — not the snarl of danger, but a thunder of glory —
shattered the dark quiet.

“Fear not!” they hailed us, rough hands clapped over our eyes,
“We bring ye tidings of great, roaring joy!”

And in that shining, blinking against the brightness,
I felt a new kind of watching begin in my heart —
not the tense scanning for the predator’s shadow,
but a hungry lookin’ out for wonder.

The host of heaven opened my shepherd’s eyes,
and pointed me to the birth that makes us all see the world in a new way.

Now, I still keep my watch,
the sheep still wander off and bleat,
but I have seen the face of the divine,
born a common child among common folk.

And that is the true joy now —
to know that even in this mud-and-mutton life,
God walks the nearby pastures,
and the holy is ever being born,
again and again,
right here in the humble world I guard.