By Ed Chinn

Note: This is a continuation of last month's article "Someone to Watch Over Me"

After a long season of house hunting, Joanne and I found a house out on Sugar Ridge Road that we liked. Log construction, sitting beside a duck pond, on five mountainside acres.  When we stood very still, we could hear the wind whisper through the trees: "home."  Yes, it was the one.

But I also know that houses conform to a mysterious architecture of the soul.  They reflect the intersection of heaven and earth, personality and spirit, holy and unholy longings.  Because I cannot see myself, I am not good at sorting through all of that.

So we asked our pastor, Glen Roachelle, and his wife, Roberta, to look at it with us.  We just wanted to get their eyes and hearts into the house on Sugar Ridge.

A couple days after our relaxed and enjoyable walk through the house, and after my repeated requests for counsel, Glen slowly unpacked his thoughts.

First, he spoke of stairs.  The house had four flights, two from porches and two connecting the three floors.  I was frankly stunned as he described the width, depth, and even the pitch of the stairs in that house.  He wondered if we - now in our 60s - would still enjoy that house in ten years.

Second, he talked about the isolation.  Stuck on the side of a mountain, no other houses nearby, and too close to the road.  He wondered if the location might be too vulnerable to criminal trespass (especially if economic conditions drove thieves away from the high-risk of casing homes in neighborhoods).  Would Joanne feel safe out there (miles from family and friends) when I am away?  Could an ambulance find it quickly?

In fact, Joanne's health was the unspoken backdrop of all his comments. This lovely woman is diabetic and has traveled through other health crises (including cancer) in recent years. More than once, an ambulance or I have rushed her to a hospital in the middle of the night.

His view of the house (and us) was sweeping.  Why didn't I see those things?  Probably because I cannot see myself.

Obviously, Glen gave us much to consider.  Joanne and I stopped in our tracks.  We decided to pray about, and sleep on, the Sugar Ridge house.

That very night, and for the first time in several years, Joanne suffered an intense diabetic reaction.  Her sugar fell and we could not get it back to safe range.  As she fell to the floor, all I could think about was the stairs at the house on Sugar Ridge.  Could I get her downstairs from the second floor bedroom and down another flight of porch stairs (perhaps covered with snow and ice) and out to the carport?  Joanne told me later that, as she fought for consciousness, she was caught in the same thoughts.

As dawn broke, we knew that the midnight struggle was a clear warning. The Spirit had echoed and confirmed the words of a man. The Shepherd in Heaven and His representative on earth had formed a seamless extension of care to us.

The brutal truth is that when my nose caught a scent of "sugar," I blindly ran past all warning signs.

But the beautiful truth is that The Great Shepherd caught me as I stumbled toward the canyon.  He didn't make a big deal about it, didn't expose my blindness. He just gently nudged us away from a cliff and carefully shepherded us back into green and healthy pastures.

I could tell many more stories of real pastoral care.  A few involve prayer meetings and Bible studies.  Many more portray real life - tears and laughter, prosperity and poverty, sickness and health.  The shepherd's clear eye has nearly always seen our need for vacation, rest, a new car, or a doctor before we did.

Let's face it - we live in a crisis of care.  Humans have bought Adam and Eve's wardrobe; we clothe ourselves with armor that both protects and keeps genuine care far away.

People who really believe (however subconsciously) that they are not worthy objects of pure love will inevitably seek the cold, programmatic, and institutional facsimiles of care.  Too many do not know how to simply receive the loving care of the King and His representatives on earth.

Our greatest need is not for mentors, teachers, preachers, or wardens, but rather for someone who cares.  One real shepherd.  Someone who can walk all the way around us, see who we really are, pick the burrs from our wool, speak gently, and keep us away from the abyss.

I'm grateful to have someone to watch over me. Who is that person for you?

As a writer, Ed Chinn has been published in many US newspapers, magazines and websites. His new book, "Footprints in the Sea," is available here. Ed and his wife, Joanne, live in Middle Tennessee. Email Ed.