Let’s talk about: The God Who Leaves the Ninety-Nine

There is something deeply personal about the parable Jesus shares in the Gospel of Luke and the Gospel of Matthew—the story of the shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine sheep to search for the one. On the surface, it feels irrational. Why leave the many for the one? Why risk what is secure to pursue what has wandered? But this is the logic of heaven. This is the nature of redemptive love. And at some point in our lives, we realise we are not the ninety-nine. We are the one.

For the woman navigating ambition and obedience, calling and confusion, faith and fatigue, this truth lands differently. Especially in seasons where hope feels deferred. Scripture says hope deferred makes the heart sick, and sometimes that sickness is quiet. It’s not dramatic despair; it’s the subtle ache of prayers that feel unanswered. It’s building faithfully and not seeing fruit. It’s watching others step into promises you’ve been contending for. It’s wondering if you misheard God somewhere along the way.

But deferred does not mean denied. And delay is not abandonment.

The beauty of the shepherd’s pursuit is that he does not wait for the sheep to find its way back. He goes after her. He steps into the wilderness. He searches intentionally. This is the posture of God toward you when things look and feel hard. He is not observing from a distance, arms folded, waiting for you to “get it together.” He is moving toward you, even in your doubt, even in your frustration, even in your spiritual exhaustion.

Choosing Jesus when everything is flowing is easy. Choosing Him when the bank account is tight, when clarity is scarce, when obedience feels costly, that is where love is refined. There are seasons where following Him means surrendering timelines, releasing control, and trusting that unseen work is still holy work. It means saying yes to character formation over quick success. It means believing that the Father’s silence is not His absence.

And here is the tenderness of it all: when the shepherd finds the one, he does not shame her. He carries her home. There is no rebuke recorded in the story, only rejoicing. Heaven celebrates restoration. That is the redemptive love of a Father toward His daughter. Not performance-based. Not withdrawn when you falter. Not reduced when you struggle. His pursuit is rooted in identity, not achievement.

Before the platform, before the breakthrough, before the answered prayer, you were loved. You were chosen. You were known. Your worth was never contingent on momentum. A good father delights in his daughter simply because she is his. And God’s love is not fragile. It does not expire when you question. It does not retreat when you feel weary.

If you are in a season where hope feels thin and choosing Jesus feels heavy, this is your reminder: you are not forgotten in the field. You are being pursued in it. The same God who leaves the ninety-nine is the God who strengthens the one. The wilderness is not proof of rejection; sometimes it is evidence of intimate rescue.

Hope deferred may make the heart sick, but a fulfilled promise restores it. And sometimes the first fulfilment is not the external breakthrough, it is the internal revelation that you were never alone. The Shepherd came looking for you, not to condemn you, but to carry you.

That is the love of a Father. And it is still reaching for you.