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When ancient Jews prayed that special prayer, they’d feel an inner warmth in their hearts. Some would close their eyes and may even shed a tear or two. Because they knew what it meant to be a shepherd. They felt it. They knew the toil, the sacrifice, the hardship of being a shepherd that loves his sheep. If there was dan-ger, he wouldn’t sleep at night or take coffee breaks or read a pocketbook or even text some-one in his cell phone. He’ll just watch and be ready to lay down his life for his sheep.

But when modern Filipinos pray the prayer of Psalm 23, the only reason we’d feel an inner warmth in our hearts is if we had just eaten too much Crispy Pata before we prayed and have heartburn.

We don’t see shepherds, sheep, or lambs a lot. We’re fa-miliar with wool, yes, but the steel wool variety for cleaning pots and pans. The closest thing to sheep we’ve seen are goats, and they’re not very docile creatures. They eat anything in sight, make a lot of noise, and smell bad—reminding us of a drunkard uncle.

So to help people feel what it means to be a shepherd, I ask people to think about their first pet as a kid.

Can you recall yours?

Mine was a chicken. Well, it was first a tiny chick, and then a chicken. Finally, it became fried chicken, but that’s going ahead of the story.

I cared for that chick with my life. The first thing I did upon arriving from school was to visit my pet, feed it with rice, and rock it in my hand.

After a couple of months, my chick grew up and I started play-ing all sorts of games with her: running, jump-ing, pecking… I tried teaching her chess, but I kept getting a chick-mate. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I promise not to give another pun in my entire life, ever.)

But during the day, I went to school. And I guess that’s why one day, I came home and dis-covered my feathered friend in a platter with french fries and cat-sup. I wasn’t there for her when someone became hungry—someone who to this day has re-mained anonymous to me.

I guess I wasn’t such a great shepherd, because “shepherds need to be con-stantly there, protecting and caring, twenty-four hours a day.”

But thank goodness, God is-n’t like me at all.

He’s here for you for life.

Permanently.

Eternally.

You won’t be anyone’s fried chicken.

Or shish kebab for that mat-ter.

He’ll never leave you for one moment.

He’ll never take siestas or coffee breaks or read a pocket-book or text anyone in his cell phone.

He will watch over you night and day.

May your dreams come true,

Bo Sanchez

PS. If you want to read my free eBook, How To Know If Your Dreams Are God’s Dreams, visit http://www.BoSanchez.ph and sign up for it, including my Soulfood Letter for your