Oil for Sheep

Oil was never decoration,

never a ceremony for show.

It was survival.

It was mercy poured slow.

Flies circled the lamb—

tiny invaders with loud intentions,

seeking ears, eyes,

any open place to whisper torment.

And the sheep, restless and worn,

would shake and scrape,

hurting themselves

trying to escape what they couldn’t see.

So the shepherd did something holy

and quiet.

He touched the head.

He poured the oil.

It ran into the places fear had entered,

sealed the vulnerable spaces,

repelled what sought access

before it could nest.

The oil didn’t just keep the flies away—

it soothed wounds already burning,

cooled inflamed places,

taught the body how to rest again.

David knew this.

When he sang, “You anoint my head with oil,”

he wasn’t waxing poetic—

he was remembering protection.

Not just paths made straight,

not just tables prepared,

but a mind guarded,

a soul kept from invasion.

Because exhaustion doesn’t always come

from the weight of the valley—

sometimes it comes from being uncovered,

running dry,

fighting battles meant to be repelled, not wrestled.

The anointing is not noise.

It does not shout.

It pours.

It says, Peace, be still,

before the swarm ever settles.

It says, Rest,

where irritation once lived.

It is healing for wounds you didn’t notice forming.

It is protection you don’t have to perform for.

It is grace under pressure.

“You anoint my head with oil;

my cup runs over.”

Not because the battle disappeared—

but because the Shepherd stayed close enough

to cover the lamb.

May His oil find every open place.

May it guard your thoughts,

quiet your spirit,

and teach you again

how to lie down in peace.

And understand this—

oil is not optional

where wolves and flies exist.

The Shepherd does not send sheep

into hostile fields uncovered.

He does not ask them

to fight what they were never built to fight.

Oil is how Heaven says,

“This one is Mine.”

It marks ownership.

It signals protection.

It warns the enemy: access denied.

What oil touches, torment cannot stay.

What oil covers, fear cannot burrow into.

What oil consecrates, the enemy cannot claim.

This is not weakness—

this is warfare done God’s way.

You don’t need louder strength.

You need deeper covering.

You don’t need tougher skin.

You need a guarded mind.

Because a sheep anointed

can still walk through shadows—

but it will not be driven mad by them.

So stop blaming the valley

for what exposure caused.

Stop calling burnout “normal”

when Heaven offered oil.

Lift your head.

Let the Shepherd pour.

Let the oil remind every force around you:

you are covered.

you are kept.

you are untouchable where it matters most.

And if your cup runs over—

let it spill onto the ground as proof

that God never anoints sparingly,

never protects halfway,

never leaves His own unmarked.

Covered.

Kept.

Anointed.