I’ll do my best here to share this dream I’ve come to call “Three Warriors and a Lamb.” It’s been many years now, but I remember it so clearly, almost like I just woke up from it. I wish I could describe every detail, every thought, every feeling—both the moments of weakness and the flashes of strength. I wish I could show you exactly what the old man was like—the one I love so much, who I feel I owe my life to, and who I still want to be like more than ever.
I want you to see that little lamb—innocent, worn out, and held captive for so long—but by the end of this dream, anything but a prisoner. Words can’t really do it justice, but they’re all I have. I’ll do my best to tell it as clearly and honestly as I can, in the hope that maybe someone else out there will see themselves in it too.
The old man who raised and trained us had a reputation that everyone knew. He’d seen real battles, led people, and understood life and spiritual things on a level most never would. He could’ve easily built a big following, made a lot of money sharing what he knew, and lived like a celebrity. But instead, he chose to live a quiet life with the three of us, giving everything he had to prepare us to carry on what he started. There was a mission he was training us for—one only he fully understood.
We trained for a long time, and nothing we did could be sloppy or half-hearted. Every move had to be exactly right. The mental part was just as hard as the physical. We couldn’t afford to lose our courage or our focus. No matter what we were going to see or face that day, we had to succeed. There were no other options. This mission was everything—the reason we were born, the reason we were chosen. So many other lives depended on it.
Finally, the day came. We geared up and started down the hill into the valley. The old man stayed behind. This was our time now. His part was done. I kept looking back over my shoulder, wanting to see if he was still there. He always was, standing there watching me, like we were just a few steps apart, even though we’d already put some distance between us. Even from far off, I could see his eyes and that smile—those were the two things I held onto the most.
The three of us were quiet. Not scared exactly—we trusted our training—but there was a heavy sense of just how serious this was. We knew we’d see things no training could really prepare us for. We’d been warned about an enemy who could fill even the strongest person with fear and doubt. So many before us had failed, not because they were weak, but because they believed the lies the enemy told them. When you can’t see past that, you end up living as a prisoner of something that isn’t even true.
There was someone special this enemy had taken captive. A life that was precious—someone who came from a family full of love and wisdom about how to live with joy and purpose. But early on, he’d been knocked down so hard that he learned he couldn’t win on his own.
The truth is, all of us have a weakness like that. When we try to make it in life only by relying on our own knowledge and strength, we run into enemies that look bigger and stronger than we are. And most of the time, we don’t realize the greatness already inside us that we can call on when it matters most.
Sometimes a defeat actually does us a favor. It shows us where we went wrong, makes us stronger, and leaves behind a mental note that says, “I’m not doing that again.” Learning from one mistake can save us from a lot more pain down the road.
But other defeats are harder. They hit so deeply that they plant fear and doubt in us, and we start to lose the courage to keep moving forward. We’re scared of messing up again, scared the cost will be even higher next time. When one loss follows another, it can trap you completely—unless something or someone shows up to break that pattern.
That was exactly what had happened to the young lamb we came to rescue. Our path down into the valley looked nothing like the place we came from. The land was dry and scorched. No trees, just little patches of dried-up brush and cactus everywhere. The ground was hard and reddish-brown.
Up ahead, we spotted a big shallow hole in the ground. When we got closer, we saw it wasn’t deep—maybe a couple feet—but there in the bottom was the reason we’d come. A little lamb was tied to an old root sticking out of the side.
In that moment, I somehow became aware of the lamb’s thoughts and feelings. I could see through its eyes and feel every ache and all the weakness in its body and mind. The defeat, the loneliness, the loss of hope—it was all right there.
The lamb was still on its feet, but just barely. He was dirty, frail, and almost too weak to lift his head. Even from where we stood, it was obvious the rope tying him up could have been broken easily, but after so many failed tries, he couldn’t see that anymore. He had no way to know that if he gave everything he had left, he might be able to break free.
The hole wasn’t deep enough to keep him from seeing out. Way off in the distance, he could see the green hill we’d come from. That faraway vision, the thought that maybe that was home, was the only thing keeping him alive. Some days he was sure it was only a mirage—just something his mind had made up because he wanted so badly to believe there was something better. Other days, he’d gather every bit of hope he had to believe it was real.
Day after day, he prayed for God to somehow help him. He promised that if he ever got free, he’d learn everything he could about what it meant to live with purpose and joy—and that he’d spend the rest of his life sharing what he’d learned with others who were stuck just like him.
He meant it with all his heart, but he also knew he couldn’t even move. There was no food, no water, no shade. Everything around him said he was finished.
Through his half-closed eyes, he saw something white looking down at him. He barely remembered what white even looked like, but it was beautiful.
Then, just like that, I was back in my own body.
My two friends stayed up top while I climbed down into the hole. I reached for the rope and pulled. It broke without much effort, reminding me how little strength this lamb had left. I picked him up as gently as I could and climbed out, holding him close. I prayed we’d have enough time to get him home. As I carried him, I kept talking to him, telling him he was safe now. He tried to look up at me, as if he was trying to understand this was really happening.
Not long after, everything changed. Out of nowhere, black shapes started coming at us from every direction. I can’t even describe them. They were just black. You could feel how angry they were, how desperate to take the lamb back.
This was the moment the old man had told us about—the part he said he couldn’t fully prepare us for. The fear was real, and it was strong. But right then, all the old man’s lessons came flooding back to me. They became my strength. I was sure my friends felt the same.
I knew I couldn’t fight while holding the lamb. It broke my heart to set him down, but I had to. I told him he had to find just enough strength to walk. We’d do everything else. We’d defend him with our lives. But he had to move toward that hill.
Just like we’d trained, we formed a triangle around him—one in front, one behind to the right, and me behind to the left. We swung our swords with everything we had, keeping those black things from getting through. It was harder than anything we’d ever faced. Fear and doubt kept trying to take over, but it was like the old man was right there, guiding us, reminding us who we were. We fought and fought until finally, the black shapes disappeared.
I don’t remember much about getting home. Just that last step up the hill, the lamb back in my arms, handing him to the old man. And that smile. All he said was, “Well done.”
I remember the lamb getting stronger as we cared for him.
Then the dream shifted. Suddenly, I was the old man. And in front of me stood three young warriors—one of them the lamb we’d rescued, now strong, smart, and ready.
That was when I understood I had once been the lamb. The old man had been the one who came for me. That was why he knew exactly what we would face and how to prepare us.
I miss him. I don’t know where he went after that day, but I still feel him with me all the time. Remembering his words, everything he taught me. Now, for however many days I have left, it’s up to me to pass all of that on to another generation of Three Young Warriors.
When I woke up, I knew I’d never be the same. Even now, all these years later, I still find myself looking for that old man I loved so much, hoping somehow I’ll meet him again in this life.
Some days, I still feel like that lamb—worn out from mistakes and wondering how to find the strength and wisdom to become the man I want to be. Other days, I’m blessed with the chance to help someone else—maybe with a little support, a friendship, or some encouragement. Those are the moments that make life feel full of purpose.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been hoping to find that old man again—someone who will walk alongside me, teach me what I need to know, and help me align my life with my Kingdom purpose. Someone who can help me become the man I hope to be, for the sake of the next young lamb—or young warrior—who’s hoping to find me.
God bless,
Blane Sheffield