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Prophetic Endurance

The Gravestone of the Little Shepherd


I was on a trip over to the island over fifteen years ago and I was arriving late at night. I had no place to stay so I phoned from the ferry to a friend's house. She told me I could not stay there that night to my dismay, so I continued on. I got to Victoria and went in to a hotel, but when they rang up the bill, it was too much. I drove on, back to my old neighborhood and eventually came upon a little church that my best friend had attended as the minister's daughter in her childhood. I sat there in the parking lot of the united church and prayed and tried to sleep. Little did I know that God had other plans. I was too wakeful to sleep, and after an hour or two started the car up and on impulse started driving back to the edge of the city. It was an unknown area I drove to, and I finally parked the tree under an oak tree in the moonlight. I stayed in the car until morning, then at seven a.m. went for a walk. It was early morning but I found a footpath that led to what seemed like a park. I next realized I was in a graveyard. I kept walking, and followed the path among the graves until I came to one with a white grave stone and a little shepherd. When I looked at the grave I knew who the person was, it was a boy from my childhood classroom. I looked at the date, and sure enough, it was the same year I was born. He died the year I got married, and I thought perhaps he had committed suicide. 

I left the graveyard and drove back into town, and the place I was supposed to stay welcomed me in, but the next day when I was out shopping I bought a small flower and took it back to the gravesite. Even thought it said "Do not leave flowers on graves," I left one anyway. It was a small gesture.

It was quite a few years that the darkness of death stayed with me. I had a hard time shaking it. I even thought at points that people were accusing me of having entered the graveyard in the middle of the night, which to my mind would have been witchcraft.

But I took a chance to follow a leading in the prophetic, and the timing as usual had to be immaculate. God is very precise. He knew I was in the same neighborhood as the boy who had died grew up in as I sat in the church parking lot across town. He knew he could send me to Broadmead, and right to the very grave of the little shepherd. It is a grave error to misjudge God. He sometimes asks us to break the rules, but not all of them.

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