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He leads me beside still waters.  Psalm 23:2b

From years of sleeping in noisy hotels, I’ve learned that a sound machine is my best friend. I always choose water sounds, a gentle, steady flow quiets me. It’s no surprise, then, that God promises to lead His children beside still waters. In Hebrew, “mai menuchot” means “restful waters”—not crashing waves, but slow, calm streams.

Even my cat Geoffrey seems to know this. He’ll sit by the faucet and stare until I turn it on. But if the stream is too strong, he backs away. If it barely drips, he’s annoyed and will stare at it. He waits for that perfect, gentle flow before he’ll drink.

Every living thing needs water. Jesus told the Samaritan woman that He could give her a drink after which she would never thirst again. At first, she thought only of physical water; a well was in front of her, after all. But He was gently exposing a deeper thirst: her belief that she needed the love of a man to survive, her dependence on broken cisterns that always ran dry.

“Go, call your husband,” He said. With that one sentence, He put His finger on her deepest wound. When we’re beside still waters, conversations like that can finally happen. We slow down enough to listen, to let Jesus name what we truly need. The Shepherd not only diagnoses our thirst; He offers Himself.   “Drink from Me. Your life need no longer depend on fickle sources of water.”  

When You lead me to You, Jesus, You turn my many needs into one great need. I just need You. Amen

He makes me lie down in green pastures. Psalm 23:2

God makes me lie down in green pastures. That sounds like it’s done by force against my wishes. It’s not like that! The picture is one of a shepherd who gently leads, and this corresponds with the beautiful picture painted by Isaiah.

He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young.   Isaiah 40:11  

The little Shepherd who napped in the manger would be the One who would call Himself the Shepherd. Pretty amazing as I sit here thinking about it because the One David addressed as Shepherd in Psalm 23 was God Himself. And yet, Jesus will define Himself as the shepherd of the sheep all throughout the book of John. How do the two tie together?

When David wrote Psalm 23, Jesus resided in the Trinity and was one with God in caring for the sheep of Israel. But because of Incarnation, the Shepherd became one who needed a Shepherd. The Shepherd became the sheep. He had to learn how to live out the lessons in the 23’rd Psalm so that He could become a Shepherd who was touched with our infirmities.

Little boy Jesus discovered that the world was not a place to lay his head in peace. Mary was probably the first who, by example, taught Jesus to run to Father God for spiritual rest and refreshing. Chaos and intimidation ruled the Roman Empire, and their personal lives, and Jesus could feel His people’s corporate anxiety having to dwell under the umbrella of brutes like Caesar Augustus and the Emperor Tiberius. Any resting of the soul would have to come from a spiritual resting place, the kind only His Heavenly Father provided.

Just like us, Jesus depended on the shepherding of Yahweh. In His DNA, did He have any recollection of being the Shepherd of Israel? We don’t know. But one thing is for sure ~ Jesus personally experienced the perfection of God’s green pastures amidst the imperfections of earth’s dwelling places. God’s food sustained Him through more trials than we’ll ever face. Without it, He would not have the wisdom, strength, and stamina to finish the course.

Every one of us has a deep desire to be known by One who loves us. Because we were made to be intimate, our soul strains to be under the care of someone who can see the expanse of our lives; One who has the power to shape an environment where we can thrive. 

You are my perfect Shepherd. Amen

I shall not want. Psalm 23:1b

The Christian life is a steep climb.  With every ledge we reach, the view changes. Scripture that once felt like a simple sing-song memory verse suddenly opens like a canyon ~ deeper and wider than we first knew. “I shall not want” is one of those lines.

Right now, I’m doing one of the things I love most. It’s 2:00 a.m. I’m on my porch, the low Corinthian bells are ringing outside my window, rain is whispering on the roof, and I’m talking to Jesus at length. “Come sit with me and listen to the rain,” I say. “I’d hungry for you to teach me something.”

These midnight rendezvous with Him are precious to me. And as I sit there, the familiar words of Psalm 23 come to mind. But they feel different, weightier: I shall not want. How many times have I carried false expectations into that verse? I’ve read it as if God were promising to fix whatever I think I need fixed.

But then I remember the confessions of my spiritual forefathers: Pressed, persecuted, in danger, misunderstood. This is not the fine print. This is the path. 

What, then, is actually promised here—if not a life where every circumstance is neatly repaired?  I must go back to the beginning of the verse.  The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.    

I will not want for a shepherd.   That is the promise.

I will not lack a wise Guide, a strong Protector, a tender Friend. I may carry a “thorn in the flesh,” but I will not lack the grace to bear it. I may weep over losses I do not understand, but I will not be abandoned in them. Life is not “fixed” yet. Hard things remain hard. But my deepest need is already answered. That part is settled.

Life isn’t fixed yet but my need for a Savior and constant Friend is.  No matter what may come – I shall not want.  Amen

The Lord is my shepherd.  Psalm 23:1

Shepherding was a common occupation for those in the Middle East. The Patriarchs were all shepherds, as was Moses and, of course, David. The terrain and geography of the area lent itself to the raising of sheep. Everyone was familiar with shepherding so no wonder God used it so often in the writing of the Scriptures.  The people to whom they were first written had a working knowledge of the concept.

But here’s the thing ~ The motif of shepherds as leaders is not exclusive to the Bible. King Hammurabi of Babylon called himself a shepherd.  Homer, in his writing, refers to Greek chiefs as shepherds of their people. The royal staff, or scepter, a common accessory for kings in the Ancient Near East, was itself a form of shepherd’s rod. Shepherds commonly used long poles such as these to poke around crevices in caves to scare out scorpions and snakes. It came to be a symbol of protection, power and authority. Even in Egypt, a divine symbol of kingship was the shepherd’s crook.

However, God wants us to know, since we understand shepherding, that He is the ultimate Shepherd.  With the perfection of His shepherding, He takes this concept to a level not present in any other cultures.  It makes sense that God would ask this question in Jer. 49:19. 

Who is like me and who can challenge me? And what shepherd can stand against me?”

As righteous a ruler as King David, his shepherding of Israel was imperfect.  As successful a president as Abraham Lincoln, his shepherding was imperfect.  As loving a father as you and I may have had growing up, their shepherding was imperfect.  Shepherds are flawed human beings, products of the fall.  The sting of their failures to guide, protect, and care for us can be devasting.  At some point, they will fail to guide; they will lead us astray.  At some point, they will fail to protect; the result is a loss of innocence.  At some point, they will fail to care for us; our needs will go unnoticed or even worse, they will be ignored.  The result is a rejection so deep that only God can heal it.

The Lord is my shepherd.  The Lord is your shepherd.  One of the great proclamations of the God of Israel is this ~ I am God and there is no other.  Today, I lift up my hands and worship with this prayer ~  

You are my Shepherd and there is no other.  You saved me from wolves. You added me to Your flock.  Now, with Your staff, You guide me to perfect pastures.  Amen

Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.”  John 6:35

Jesus often speaks of the new birth in terms of coming and believing. Here, He adds two more verbs so I don’t miss the point: coming and believing are like eating and drinking.

• A culinary expert sits before a table overflowing with food. It is a feast—colors, textures, and fragrances all arranged with exquisite care. She circles the table slowly, studying every dish. She leans in to catch the aroma of a steaming platter, letting the herbs and spices tease her imagination. She tears off a corner of warm, multigrain bread, feeling the crisp crust and the soft interior. “Perfect,” she thinks. She analyzes, describes, evaluates. Later, she will write a beautiful article about the experience. But she never actually eats. She leaves with eloquent words and an empty stomach.

Nicodemus came to Jesus like that—curious, respectful, intelligent. He had a fascinating, late–night conversation with the Son of God and left with his mind full… but his heart still empty. I am unsettled by how many people can talk about the Bible in an informed way, but rarely speak of Jesus with the warmth of firsthand love. They master the text but miss the Person ~ kind of like a spiritual food critic. Bible study must be love–driven. Insight is not the main course; it is the byproduct of having actually dined. 

I think back to how many times I sat through the Lord’s Supper and missed its deepest meaning. “Take, eat… drink this cup.” It’s called communion.  A shared life.  A shared table.  Yet, I treated it as ceremony more than encounter. Now I understand a little better: He was never inviting me to analyze the meal. He was inviting me to partake of Himself.

Lord Jesus, I come, I believe, I eat, I drink. Amen

See now that I, I am He, and there is no god besides Me; It is I who put to death and give life. I have wounded and it is I who heal, And there is no one who can deliver from My hand.  Deuteronomy 32:39

What exactly is a life-saving wound? 

It is a wound that comes wrapped in a loving purpose. A wound allowed by a Friend, not an enemy. A wounding that, when redeemed, will one day yield a joy so deep it dwarfs the agony that once felt unbearable.

The tragedy is that so many children of God never see their past this way. They name their wounds only as tragedies. “Victim” hardens into a permanent label. Deprivation carves out a defeated mindset. And the God who was—and is—sovereign over their story becomes, in their eyes, more adversary than Ally. They reason that only an enemy would inflict a wound.  But enemies mean to kill or maim.  God wounds to save and bless.  Never do I suffer anything that is not an installment to something glorious. 

• A child who is never chosen, never the object of anyone’s affection, grows up carrying the heavy cloak of rejection. They move through the world assuming they are forgettable. But the wound can be lifesaving when he discovers that God is a pursuer. He tracks them through the years, draws them to the cross, adopts them into His family, and pours favor over their once-unwanted life.
• A teenager who has been mocked and bullied because he is “different” grows into an adult unsure of his voice. He believes his distinctiveness is a defect. Yet that wound can be life-saving when he realizes that God set him apart on purpose. The very traits that made him a target are the markings of leadership.
• A woman blindsided by divorce papers feels ripped in two. Betrayal echoes through her body. She is sure she will never again feel whole. But that wound can be life-saving when, driven to God, she finds Him not only as Father but as Bridegroom. Day after day He meets her in the quiet, loves her without flinching, whispers comfort, provides faithfully, and proves that she is not abandoned but cherished.

What is the nature of your unhealed wound?  And what is the need that rages as a result?  Are you willing to consider that the need you’ve just isolated is life-saving if it takes you into the arms of a God who does not trivialize what you suffered, but refuses to let it have the final word?  Look up. Believe. Live in the promises.

Revive my faith. Reinterpret my wounds.  Amen