“But what the Bedouin shared was that when the shepherd would find the lost sheep, he’d bring him back to the rest of the flock, carrying the lost sheep on his shoulders.” “Just like that picture,” Beckett had nodded. “So sweet…” Sarcasm, again. Holly had kept on. “Yes, and when he got the errant sheep to the others, he’d put him down right there on the ground. And then, the shepherd would break the sheep’s leg in front of all the other sheep.” Beckett’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “He’d do what now?” “He’d make an example of the sheep,” she said. “And he’d keep him from running off again, obviously.” Beckett had sat back in his seat. “Well, that’s not sweet at all. Hard core Jesus, breaking the legs of the unrepentant.” Beckett would probably be mightily helped if the Lord broke him significantly, honestly. “That said,” Holly kept on, “it certainly must have been on Jesus’s mind when He called Himself the good shepherd.” “Because Jesus busts up kneecaps?” Beckett had asked, horrified by what she wasn’t saying. “No, because He doesn’t break us, not like we deserve, at least,” she’d said softly. “He was broken for us instead. The good shepherd, taking on what should be given to the errant sheep, breaking Himself for us.”