"But you're an animal, baby, it's in your nature"

Today I was driving to work and heard a new(ish) song on the radio. It was catchy and upbeat. It sounded like I was at a lawn party drinking mojitos enjoying life. That was until I listened to the lyrics. I heard something about a “good girl” and “what rhymes with hug” and “the way you grab me, must wanna get nasty”. I mean there are million different songs out there about relationships as they term it (ahem songs about sex) so I am not sure why this song really stood out to me.

I guess with all the research going on and the way women have been using their voices to stand up for themselves, this song seemed utterly sexist, if not downright degrading. According to The Economist, women now make up half of American workers (49.9%). They run some of the world’s best companies, such as PepsiCo, Archer Daniels Midland and W.L. Gore. They earn almost 60% of university degrees in American and Europe. The list could go on and on. You would think we would take ourselves seriously after this and we would expect others to see us as more than just a beauty icon or a sex object. We have always been worthy of respect (degrees or no degrees)

One minute we are human and the next we are referred to as “animals” as Robin Thicke sings, “But you're an animal, baby it's in your nature" 

The song is called “Blurred Lines” by Robin Thicke and was released in March 2013.

Let me be the one you back that ass to

Go, from Malibu, to Paris, boo

Yeah, I had a bitch, but she ain't bad as you

So hit me up when you passing through

I'll give you something big enough to tear your ass in two

Swag on, even when you dress casual

I mean it's almost unbearable

Then, honey you're not there when I'm

With my foresight bitch you pay me by

Nothing like your last guy, he too square for you

He don't smack that ass and pull your hair like that

So I just watch and wait for you to salute

But you didn't pick

Not many women can refuse this pimpin'

                                I'm a nice guy, but don't get it if you get with me

This song has been a WORLDWIDE hit. It has peaked at number one on the Billboard Hot 100 and has reached #1 in 13 more countries including the United Kingdom and the United States. The album was released in July.

Okay so obviously there is still a lot more work to be done regarding women and sexism. I am trying to wrap my brain around why this is a worldwide hit. Maybe it’s fun and maybe it’s catchy, but the lyrics are damaging, degrading and painful.

I’m not going to blame men for a song like this. I blame us. Men and women. According to interviews Robin Thicke was given “permission” by his wife to be in the music video with half naked models singing about sex and his large dick. The woman are carrying around animals (goats?!) and some type of meat towards the end. Even if this is supposed to be a joke or just absurd (because it is absolutely ridiculous) it’s NOT a joke.

What part of racism can we actually joke about? Was it really funny that we had slaves?

Is it just hilarious Hitler had concentration camps where people suffered and died? It is it really all that absurd since this actually happened?

Can we really laugh about pimping? After working with girls involved in sex trafficking I have a hard time finding the humor in a MINOR having sex for money.

The word bitch refers to “female dog”, is this actually humorous? Is it okay to refer to your woman as a “bitch?”

The song and the music videos has received understandable criticism. Some have called the lyrics “creepy” and “kind of rapey”. The song doesn’t just have “under the radar” misogynistic themes, it’s pretty much ON the radar.

In an interview for the GQ magazine Thicke joked about the video saying, “What a pleasure it is to degrade a women. I’ve never gotten to do that before”

Enough said.

It is extremely disturbing to me that this song is apparently so hip and so popular. While we might be defensive and say “we just listen to the beat, not the lyrics”, it still doesn’t justify the sexism, and lack of dignity it communicates regarding women (and for men for that matter!) I mean, maybe I'm a really rare woman, but my sexual fantasy does NOT include "something big enough to tear my ass in two". This doesn't sound like art and it certainly doesn't sound like sex. It sounds rather violent. 

I think we are smarter than this. I think we are more creative than this. I think we are more innovative than this. I think deep down we are more intuitive than this. I think Robin Thicke is more artistic (and better at rhyming) than this. And, for crying out loud, his wife is smarter than this.

Sometimes I don’t want to use my voice. Sometimes I just want to close my eyes and pretend people don’t actually talk (or think) like this. I can’t though. We are created in the image of the divine, in the image of God. I won’t let myself or anyone else be degraded to the status of an object, without at least a fight.

If you want to help Thicke find something to rhyme with "hug" there are few available ideas on http://www.buzzfeed.com/perpetua/words-robin-thicke-should-know-rhyme-with-hug-me

Coffee: the new love language

Coffee is my love language.

People take tests about love languages and analyze the specific type of way they give and receive love.

However I have come to terms with my personal way of receiving love: coffee.

When all else fails in life, coffee is still there. There are still coffee shops on my street and Starbucks around the corner.

Everything in my life can change and turn upside down but coffee is like a trusted loyal friend.

This summer I have been spending a lot of my time alone during the day job searching. When I feel like I can’t take it anymore inside my apartment alone pouring over job applications, I throw off the boxers, shower and head to a coffee shop to get some inspiration.

Sometimes I plant myself next to a window and just drink my coffee and do nothing else. Somehow I am able to breathe and get enough perspective to continue to move forward in life.

This past weekend I flew out for my roommate’s (now ex!) wedding in Minnesota to be a bridesmaid. I love going back to Minnesota for a number of reasons but one of the large reasons are the coffee shops. Caribou Coffee in Minnesota is the equivalent to Starbucks in San Diego. They are around every corner. Dunn Brothers has the best cold press I have ever tried. Lastly Waconia, a town of 10,000 (but it feels more like 20) just west of the twin cities has a place called Mocha Monkey. In college I would come here to write and sip a yerba matte chai or get a mocha. 

My ex-roomie, Janice who just got married added to my addiction of coffee. In the mornings I would wake up to the smell of coffee, and find her sitting in her robe on our sofa, blank stare on her face, coffee in hand. It was one of the rare moments I would see her sit still and do nothing.

The first time, Scott, my fiancé, came to my door with a vanilla latte in hand, you would have thought he had come to the door with a diamond ring and a dozen roses. But no, just coffee. However to me, it was not just coffee. It told me he understand me, cared about me, thought about me, and the effect of the morning buzz was lasting as we got into the car and drove off to Julian for the day for a picnic.

When I graduated in June, my family and friends all got me Starbucks gift cards. I am still benefiting from all those gift cards! This time of year they are especially important to me because of the holiday drinks. The pumpkin spice latte literally makes my day.

I guess the thing about love languages and coffee that correlate is that coffee is something you can taste, touch, smell. It’s something that is given, it’s an act of service and a gift simultaneously. It speaks non-verbal words of affirmation and often it brings people together for quality time.

It’s ridiculous when I think about it. But then again in life you have to notice the little things that make you happy. Often it’s not the big things, but the little things that maximize pleasure and satisfaction in life. It’s taking the time to breathe, relax and realize that those little things are out there to add brightness to the day.

The Tree

I used to climb trees.

I also had a strange fascination with barbed wire growing up. I guess I always felt like it was an accomplishment when I would climb the fence. Sometimes I would rip a hole in my jeans or cut my skin. I would do this especially playing Capture the Flag or Flashlight Tag at night. I would run right into the barbed wire fence. I wouldn't notice the bleeding till I got back to my house.

Now as for trees, if I could jump the barbed wire where I lived there was this giant Cottonwood tree on the other side. I would dream of climbing it. However, it caught a disease, a tree disease, and it's slowly started to wilt it's stunning power and strength. I remember climbing my Grandma's tree in her front yard as a kid too. This tree was easy to climb. It made me feel strong and adventurous. My only trouble was in figuring out how to get down. I would like to say this fear died with childhood but not so. It was only a couple years ago I went on a hike, found a tree, climbed it and had no idea how to get back down.

I'm not exactly afraid of heights but once I'm up so high I can't figure out how to get down, it was so easy to get up. The view from below, while daunting, is a challenge I liked to take. The view from up high is priceless but once you realize you have to come back down, it's a bit disappointing.

 This past weekend Scott and I went to Julian for a mini day trip. It was so good to get out in nature, away from free-ways and traffic. It was so peaceful to feel a breeze, be far away from buidlings, and closer to nature's little noises of birds, leaves rustling, and life singing. We had a picnic under a large tree. I'm still mesmerized thinking about that tree and the view I had of it from the ground. Grass level view. I kept taking pictures to capture the tree, the leaves, the branches, the way the sun seeped through, the blue sky through the green leaves. It was so beautiful. I just couldn't capture it.

 It made me think about life and how I am always focused on "climbing the next tree". I just want a new tree, a new adventure, another accomplishment. But often when I climb too many trees I find myself stuck on a branch, unable to strategize a way down. Often I am so focused on getting to the next branch I forget to enjoy the scene below and above me. The view from the soft blanket in the grass is breathtaking. My eyes wonder in the open sky, the leaves dance in the sunlight. I relax taking in my surroundings.

 Sometimes I feel like my life is like Capture the Flag or Flashlight Tag. I am running and running and won't stop. I am running blindly in the dark. I crash into barbed wire and don't understand why. I run for the adrenalin rush, for the excitement but I don't know what I am doing or where I am going. I am hiding from all the flashlights because I don't want anyone to really find me. What they find might be alarming. Me, paralyzed as a kitten, up in a tree unsure how I got up here, more unsure how I will get down.

 Finally graduating in 3 weeks. I am already looking for the next tree to climb, the next thing to conquer, the next fence to jump, the next thing to do. But a small part of me remembers the tree I encountered this past weekend. The tree I didn't have to climb. The tree that gave me shade. The trees that let me rest and breathe deeply under it's long branches. The tree that spoke of beauty beyond what anyone can manufacture. The tree that spoke of strength beyond human capacity. I need that tree in my life. The one where I can rest at ease, reflect and instead of jumping to the next "tree climber activity", perhaps revel in the growth I have already seen. Enjoy the product of what I have planted, of what I have watered and what I have sewn.

 We are a workaholic society. A culture that thrives off of the next big thing. We are activators and accomplishers. We produce and produce and produce. We perform and perform and perform. Strive and strive and strive. If we never enjoy what we have produced what exactly have we gained? Is our identity only wrapped up in how much we get done, and how fast we can get it done?

 Maybe it's time I give myself a pat on the back and take a nice long nap under the tree I worked so hard to plant and grow these past 8 years (ahem 21 years in school). I have climbed this tree. And let me tell you something, the view from the grass is actually better in some ways than the view up in the sky, besides I don't even have to worry about how to get back down.

LAST year of graduate school

I keep thinking I will blog. I keep thinking I will find time or energy to post. I think about a lot of things to share. It's complicated now with confidentiality issues with my clients. I can't just share details freely. It's complicated because I am so overwhelmed this year. The learning curve has been steep.

But I will tell you when I finish and graduate in June I will be throwing a party in my head. Right now I'm in my second to last quarter of graduate school~ in finals.I have had papers due for weeks now. I think I am coming to my breaking point. I have had a migraine for the past few days I can't seem to shake. I feel paralyzed writing these papers. I feel like I am writing the same thing over and over.

However I do know I am not only becoming a better writer (academic writer-notice I did not add blogger) and more importantly I am growing as a therapist. I am starting to own what I tell my clients. If I can't live it and believe it what makes me think my clients will be able to embody what I am even talking about? I still believe in change. I believe in hope. I am clinging tightly to a God who can save.

I understand now why a lot of therapists become depressed and quit. I understand why a growing majority of therapist become suicidal. They hear awful stories every day. They see everyone at their worst and they want to escape the pain. I am determined not to numb myself to sleep but to face the pain with strength, boldness and fierceness. While I am learning about being a therapist my clients teach me how to be a stronger person. My clients have been through abandonment, abuse, neglect, sex trafficking, they have had everyone turn their backs to them, they have been malnourished, they have experienced the death of their dad, the emotional abuse of their mom and they do everything they can do to numb this pain. They get high, they are compulsive fighters, they drink themselves into oblivion, they steal to feel wealthy, they have sex to feel whole. But in my office I see survivors. I see strong fighters. I see myself in their eyes. I see someone who beneath the hot mess is a person in the image of God who does HAVE WHAT IT TAKES to make it, to change, to recover and to find

HOPE.

So even if I don't pull an A on all these integrated papers on faith and therapy I have found something much more precious and that is hope.

Twas the night before...

Twas the night before Christmas.

Not exactly.

More like the night before my first client.

Before and After. Two words full of curious meaning. Often I am anxious for the “after” and disregard the importance of before.

Before. Before I have seen my first client.

I guess I don't expect there to be magic. I don't expect rainbows or light to fall from heaven. But I don't really know what to expect. I had my first couple days at the high school this last week. This high school is the last stop to juvie. These kids got kicked out of the regular public high school for behavioral and learning issues. The goal is to rehabilitate them back to regular high school. That or Juvenile Hall. I came to set up my office. I can't believe I have my own office! Complete with a window (that faces a fenced in dumpster, shed, white truck and garbage cans) Still it's a window. I have a desk and I have a table for art. It was pretty dusty when I came in and cluttered so I'm trying to organize. I'm trying to bring in some color. Some paintings, books, pictures. There are 3 chairs I might add some pillows. The white walls and old chairs make it look very archaic and dull. I am in the far back of the library. My supervisor mentioned I should keep my chair closest to the door.

My roommate, Janice told me these first couple weeks are sacred and to really utilize them because things get crazy. I won't have as many clients these first couple weeks and can focus more on their case, research their problems and do better diagnosing.

I'm not sure what I'll do when my first client walks in the door. I'm afraid I'll freeze and say something super inappropriate or un-therapeutic. Will we do art? Play games? Will I say “What brings you in here” with a fake voice? Will I laugh if they say a dirty joke? Am I going to cry when they tell me their sad story? I hope I have good boundaries. It was weird walking onto the campus this week. I mean the kids are in high school. They look old. I could easily blend into them I feel like. Hopefully they know I am the therapist. This week I felt unproductive because I couldn't fill out the emergency cards and I couldn't get online and my phone in the office wasn't working. I don't know who to ask, who to call or what to do. My supervisor just got back from his trip and had to go straight into emergency surgery with his wife for her knees apparently. Soooo I called my friend who is also starting practicum but at a different high school. He said it's weird no one knows who you are and what you're doing and you don't even know what you should be doing. He said he was going to hang up some posters. HAHA.

Today my roommates went with me to get some professional clothes. That way it is clear I am the therapist and NOT a high school student. My supervisor has already pounded into my head that the guys who have not seen the best life has to offer will fall in love with me considering me the ideal of everything they lost, or never had.

This week I also went through all my potential client/student's files and case notes from previous therapists. It was exciting till I started to read the stories. I sat in my office tears coming to my eyes, sincerely hoping the guy I met across the hall didn't see me wiping my eyes. Part of me doesn't feel experienced enough at all to know how to be there for kids in and out of foster homes, group homes, prostitution, cutting, drugs, fights, suspension. I obviously have not dealt with much conduct disorder in my day. I fear my inexperience and innocence will get in the way.

What I can relate to in their vulnerable files is the feelings of wanting your family near you but them also driving you crazy at moments, being terrified of an ex-boyfriend, wanting to do the right thing but not knowing how. I can relate to the feelings of anxiety and fear. I can relate to doing things to numb the pain in life. I can empathize with deep wounds. While their acting out symptoms are extreme, I resonate with their loss because loss comes in different forms and comes from different places. However it does feel similar.

I don't know what's going to happen in this office I will reside in this next year. But I pray it's sacred ground. I pray my clients feel genuine love and warmth. I pray that they would be able to change. I pray that even though life has dealt them a rough hand of cards they would be brave enough to pursue and push for new cards, and to make the best of the cards they have. I wish I was in a place where I could yell, "YES GOD CHANGED ME AND I AM ON FIRE FOR HIM!!!" But I am in a place of need still. A place of skepticism. A place of doubt. I am begging my insides to know God is real. I am clinging vigorously to a gut feeling that Jesus does change me. You. Us.

I'm not sure I feel big or brave enough to foster such a change or even an environment for that kind of change. But I really do think that change isn't always external and if someone feels genuinely accepted and cared for, a bit of their broken heart begins to transform. So I pray that. I pray for healing. When I look back on the therapists that affected me the most they were not the ones who knew the Christian language, who gave me a speech on theology or told me I was not Biblically sound. They held me in my pain. I saw my tears in their eyes. I saw them believe in me. This is sacred. It is then I have found Jesus in this space.

I want my clients to feel love. I don't want to just believe the idea of spirituality is simply great for coping. I want my clients to be overwhelmed by a Presence that is extremely good.

Twas the night before my first client. And all through the house, not a "Heather Sherwood" was sleeping, for her brain was a leaping.(give me a break. I tried!)

Why sometimes it's worth it to pay for an experience.

Recently all my money has been going to one specific thing.

My health.

I created a budget and apparently the amount I budgeted for health is not nearly enough.

So, to make a long story short, I, Heather ran a race last year, April 2010. It wasn't even a long race. But,after that something happened to my legs. My IT band hurt all the time. My hamstrings hurt. Soon my feet hurt. Suddenly I couldn't wear flip flops or heels. Then my hips started to hurt. Before I knew it, I was in so much pain I could hardly walk a block, let alone run. I had been a runner my whole life and without warning I woke up realizing I had to plan my day revolving around how far my feet could go. I was diagnosed with a combination of plantar fascitiis and tendonitis and overly inflamed hips. But after a year, doctors are still confused over my symptoms and why I have not healed faster.

Needless to say I entered the exciting arena of the medical health professionals. Doctor visit after doctor visit. I gave up speed dating for "speed doctoring" and let me tell you, I know where the real raw experience is at now. So far I have seen a chiropractor, a physical therapist, an orthopedic, a nutritionist, massage therapist, a podiatrist and a nurse practitioner. The solutions they have given me vary a bit but most of them fall into these three categories:

1. Drugs (need I say more)
2. Referral ( aka "I think it's time for you to see a physical therapist for awhile"...)
3. Natural remedies (stretching, ice, vitamins, change diet, foam rolling, yoga )

The funny thing about these solutions is how they actually boil down to one simple solution to all of life's health problems:

1. Money

Truth is, even with insurance, drugs are expensive. A massage therapist is pricy. And I had no idea how expensive it was to eat more healthy and invest in a whole slew of vitamins, fish oil, magnesium, calcium, Sublingual B-12,liquid mineral supplements, Floridex liquid iron among other things. And referrals end up being expensive depending on how many gadgets they want you to buy to "invest" in your health.

You always thought money couldn't buy happiness but it just might. After all happiness is about an experience and the experiences I have had are priceless. Like the day I had an apt with my new nurse practitioner for the first time. She asked if she could bring in a med student who was shadowing her for the day. How could I say no? But the minute he walked in I realized I should have said no. He was young (as in 20's and I wondered if he had ever seen real blood before by his innocent face) And second he was cute which made me feel more on edge. (and by cute I mean not even close to how cute my boyfriend is) The nurse decided to break the ice by asking about my sexual life and if I had any diseases. Next she asked about skin diseases. Lastly she asked for me to point to the picture on the wall of the poop that described me most. Poop 1. Poop 2. Poop 3. Poop 4. I looked over as the med. student sheepishly laughed. We ended our lovely time with her having me lay on the table while she asked if she could lift my shirt up. (Right) So the med student could see my abs and feel how tight my hips are. Dang are they tight. Yes. That's why I'm here.

My appointment with the orthopedic wasn't nearly as magical. She poked at my legs and feet for several minutes. Rambled off some possible diagnoses and finally said condescendingly and with as much bite as possible, "Do you have some kind of pain problem?"
"Yes. That's why I'm here" I said.
"Are you depressed?" she said.
"No", but the reality was, I was starting to feel rather depressed suddenly and ironically.
Even if I was severely depressed I was mortified by the way she approached such a subject. I felt bad for the rest of her patients and didn't go back to her.

My appointment with the podiatrist promised to be the answer if I could chuck out 500 for the orthotics. I am starting to believe if you just pay enough you could actually grow a new foot. I mean my colonoscopy was a couple thousand and I'm pretty sure they implanted a new ass for me. Then again I was on a lot of drugs and would have believed them if they said they gave me a sex change.

Within the last couple days, weeks, I have spent literally hundreds on new minerals and vitamins, new anti-inflammatory drugs, new shoes, blood work, new inserts, and x-rays. I have decided there has to be a better solution than spending money to heal (or to even cope for that matter) So here are my new solutions:

1. Become a cheetah. I would love to become a cheetah. Then I could run super fast and my feet wouldn't hurt. That's because I would have paws and they would be furry and I just feel like they would feel so much better. If doctors would recommend becoming a cheetah I think a lot of good could be done for those who have leg/foot injuries. Becoming a cheetah would be free of course because it's about the power of the mind. If you believe long enough, you would start to transform into a cheetah.

2. Grow wings. Who really needs to run if you can fly? I don't know why this hasn't been invented. I mean if surgeons perform face lifts, breast implants, and botox, you would think wings would be no biggie. Then we could get rid of cars and all this pollution. We could fly to work and school.

3. Invent a time travel machine. If doctors invented a time travel machine, I could go back and meet Jesus. I am convinced he would heal my feet and legs with one touch, one look. Of course if I went back far enough in time I would find I was a monkey and the whole "healing thing" was super unnecessary.

Even though these solutions are free, I think I've decided I would probably pay for these solutions. I think this type of experience is more what I'm looking for. I'm kind of over the stoic feeling of a big building, white walls and sterile environment.

If you have pain of any kind do share your top 3 solutions. We really need to start informing and educating the public health field!

The 99th Sheep

I have been tortured by an image in my head.
It involves white gray fuzz, a sound of rummaging, soft wool and beady eyes.
Yes sheep. I am disturbed by sheep.

But I am not disturbed by just any ordinary sheep. I am miserable over the 99th sheep. And no, I didn't say the 100th sheep. The lambie lamb who ran away. I am talking about the sheep that stayed. I am talking about the parable of Jesus in Luke 15.

Those sheep in the pen. They are just happy and safe and secure in the pasture. They love their sheep herder man. It's cool that the sheep herder man leaves them to go find the lost sheep right? Is it? Where did the lost sheep go? No one knows for sure, but what is exciting is that these sheep are jolly and eating their green grass.

But that 99th sheep in the pen is NOT jolly. The safe happy pen is not happy. That sheep's woolly white clothing carpet has turned gray. This sheep doesn't merrily chew on grass. His beady eyes are heavy. He lays by the very edge of the pen, the closest to the outside.

He feels like he is on the outside looking in.

But the other sheep tell him, “No, you are on the inside! You should be happy”

But the sheep is not happy. The sheep is sad. The sheep that the herder went out looking for was very close to 99 sheep's heart. Sheep 100 abandoned everyone and now sheep herder dude is out searching for him. Sheep 99 misses his best friend and his Shepherd.

Sheep 99 wishes that the Shepherd would come find him even if he is inside the pen. He does not feel found. He wants to be rescued. He feels lonely and isolated. He feels like his other sheep friends only care that they are in. Everyone breathe a sigh of relief, “we are on the inside”.

But sheep 99 is on the outside.

At least that's how it feels.

Does the Shepherd go out to save those who walk away from him? Who left the pen? Who never discovered the pen? Does the Shepherd feed grass to those He loves?

What does he do with someone who has loved Him for 20 plus years but is now tired, bored, feels alone and sleeps at the very edge of the pen, planning an escape.

Sheep 99 only wants to make a run for it so he can be rescued.

He wants to be chased.
He wants to be fought for.
He wants to be pursued after.

Sheep 99 doesn't want the Shepherd leaving 99 sheep. He also wants Shepherd to find the lost sheep. He can't sleep till his friend is home. Sheep 100's life was unfair. This sheep was abused by a big bad wolf, but was too afraid to tell anyone. Instead sheep 100 hates the Shepherd for not being there when he needed him most. So Sheep 100 left.

Sheep 99 didn't leave physically. But Sheep 99's heart is somewhere else. Sheep 99 has survivor guilt too. Sheep 99 curls up in a fuzzy ball on a space with no grass. Just dirt. It's dusk now and the Shepherd is not back. He is out searching for that lost sheep. Sometimes Sheep 99 wishes the Shepherd would search for the naive and ignorant sheep in the pen too. He wishes the Shepherd would show them other pastures. He wishes they weren't so comfortable knowing that others were eaten by wolves and that they were safe. He wishes they cared more about the Shepherd's presence rather than having an “in” to the gate.

The gate doesn't have a lock or a code or a key. They seem to think so though. They don't feel the weight of their freedom. They don't feel the pain of those in the gate or the pain of those outside.

I guess that's what I'm disturbed by. I keep having this mental image of the Shepherd, of God tracking down a lost sheep in the treacherous mountains somewhere. Leaving the rest of the silly little sheep in the dust. But the more I come into this picture I notice something else. The lost sheep is me. It's you. It's the sheep that was mutilated by the wolf. It's the happy naive careless sheep. It's the 99 sheep who feels alone and forgotten, who dreams of an escape. Jesus is after that sheep. I am the 100th sheep. You are the 100th sheep. We are all the 100th sheep.

I'm not really sure what all those 99 sheep are doing in the pen. But it's more about perception right? Those sheep could be lost too.

And when you're lost you can bet your Rescuer will notice before you even put one hoof in front of you, before you silently inch off the dusty ground, before you twitched. He saw you lost and He was already on His way to find You and bring you back.

Not to a pen.

But to Him.