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 appeareda veteran, like Moses, with a long beard. This is your sheepfold? my friend asked.
And is this where the sheep sleep, pointing to a rough shelter thrown up against the rock in a corner.
But youve 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.”