"Feeding the Ninety and
Nine" by Nancy B. Fuller.
I have always considered myself one of the ninety and nine. I was raised in an LDS
household. I was baptized at age eight, graduated from Seminary, married in the Temple. By
the records of the Church, I am considered active.
Sometimes as I read about the rejoicing over the one, I wonder if the ninety and nine are
of less value.
Back in my MIA days, we used to hold parties to "activate the inactive". The
inactive would come to our parties, but on Sundays there would still be empty chairs. Time
after time, as these parties were being planning, my friends and I would say amongst
ourselves, "I wonder if we were inactive, would anyone plan a party in our
honor?"
I have seen boys who are active practice night after night for church basketball, only to
have boys who didn't come to practice, but who were inactive, come only to the games and
be allowed to play while the active boys sat on the bench.
Sometimes even special church privileges were given to the inactive, while the active
looked on from a back seat - in the name of "reading the one."
At my annual bishop's interview, the bishop always said to me, "I don't need to worry
about you." But I wanted to be worried about. Even though I went to church each week
and didn't have any serious transgressions, I still had my own questions. I needed to feel
needed.
With all the parties we planned for the inactive, to my knowledge, not one of those lost
sheep ever returned to the fold.
We need to be careful, in the way we go after the one, that we don't make the lifestyle of
the one more appealing to the ninety and nine than the life they are presently living.
Surely, in looking for the one, the good shepherd didn't leave his flock before locking
them safely in their pen. He probably hired a man to come and feed in his absence. The
good shepherd would not want to return with the one, only to find the ninety and nine had
wandered off.
One day, while herding cows, I learned a lesson on how to reach the one. My nine-year-old
son was instructed by his father to bring the cows in out of the pasture and lock them
into the corral. Since my husband was working swing shift, that left me to help my son
with the project.
All the cows went in the corral except for one. We locked the obedient cows in the corral,
then returned to bring in the cow that had gone astray.
The harder we tried to catch her, the more frightened and confused she became. Finally in
desperation, she jumped the electric fence that surrounded the pasture and ran across the
fields. Each time the cow stopped and looked back to see a woman and boy running after
her, she took off in fear. When she saw the neighbor's cows contentedly grazing in their
field, she jumped the fence and joined them.
When I told my husband about the incident, he said, "You should have gone and fed the
other cows, then left the gate open and waited. She eventually would have returned to the
herd."
I learned two lessons. The first was, if we take proper care of the ninety and nine, we
make it more enticing for the one to return. The second was that unless we know the proper
way to rescue the one, we push them farther away until eventually they become part of the
wrong herd.
Now, when I go after the one, I try to remember the ninety and nine. I remember to feed
them and bring them safely to shelter before I set out on my rescue mission. When I tell
the inactive that they are missed, I try to remind the ninety and nine that I am glad they
came.
A good shepherd will remind the ninety and nine frequently of his love, the same way the
Father of the prodigal son reminded his eldest "Son, thou art ever with me, and all
that I have is thine."
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