The Door of the Sheepfold

Eva Watts says that as she traveled with a friend though the land where Jesus lived, “We reached a high ridge overlooking the village of Bethlehem. There we found a sheepfold, and went right in to inspect. It was not long before the owner appeared—a veteran, like Moses, with a long beard. ‘This is your sheepfold?’ my friend asked.

‘Aye.’

‘And is this where the sheep sleep,’ pointing to a rough shelter thrown up against the rock in a corner.

He nodded.

‘But you’ve no gate to the fold; how do you close them up at night?’

The old man looked at us as if we ought to have known better. ‘I am the door,’ he said with emphasis; and, gathering his loose robe tight about his ankles, he was down in a moment, squatting in the doorway, back against one post, feet against the other, his knees drawn up and clasped by his weather-beaten old hands. Gently he bowed his head and closed his eyes, as many a time he had closed them to catch a few hours’ sleep under the starlight. ‘I am the door,’ he repeated. ‘I keep watch here at night. If thieves or wild beasts attempt to enter, they have to tackle me first. I have never lost a lamb from the fold yet.’”

The Life of Faith, Source unknown