with you in the wilderness

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”

— David

“God doesn’t promise a belly full of alfalfa. He promises just enough for today, and the wisdom and presence of the Shepherd to get you to the next spot. That’s the green pasture.”

— Ray Vander Laan

NOT A DEAD MAN'S PSALM

A few weeks ago, our pastor preached on Psalm 23. It’s a passage many of us have heard or read numerous times. It’s the kind of Scripture we tend to reserve for final moments, as if it’s a passage for the dying.

But sitting in church a few weeks ago, something different stirred in me.

This isn’t a dead man’s psalm.

It’s a guide for those who are most alive.

A manifesto of trust in every season.

A promise of guidance.

A declaration of proximity.

A daily prayer for those trying to keep walking.

This isn’t a psalm that we need preached at our funeral, we need it today.

Right here. In the middle of the uncertainty. In the valley. On the rocky terrain of fatherhood, work, exhaustion, pressure, and a world that seems to take much more than it ever gives in return.

WHEN GREEN PASTURES AREN'T WHAT YOU THINK

If you’re anything like me, when you hear Psalm 23, “He makes me lie down in green pastures”, your mind paints a picture of knee-deep, lush, emerald grass. A peaceful field. Birds chirping. Sun warming your skin. Everything finally slowing down. Peace in abundance.

But that imagery may be doing more harm than good.

Because when life doesn’t look like that, when your job is tense, your child is a prodigal, your prayers feel unanswered, your heart feels dry, you start to wonder, “Where is this green pasture He promised me?”

And if you’re not careful, disappointment creeps in.

You start to think something’s wrong.

That you missed it.

Or worse, that He isn’t a good shepherd after all.

A WILDERNESS FAITH

A few years ago, my wife and I traveled to Israel.

We stood in the Judean wilderness, the very terrain where David likely penned this Psalm. And let me tell you…there were no meadows. No rolling green hills. No deep alfalfa to sink into.

It was dry. Rocky. Bleached with heat.

At first glance, nothing seemed green.

But our tour guide helped us understand the cultural language behind David’s words.

Often protected faces that didn’t get as much sunlight yielded a small crop. Between rocks, sprouting from the shadows of stones, were small tufts of grass. Short. Scattered. Seemingly insignificant, but life-giving.

Just enough to sustain a sheep for the day.

And that’s the point.

Shepherds in this land would guide their sheep from tuft to tuft.

Not from feast to feast. Not from excess to excess.

But just enough provision for that moment.

Daily bread.

Today’s manna.

Enough for the now.

In Hebrew, the word for “pastures” used in Psalm 23 is rooted in the idea of a dwelling or resting place. It isn’t a guarantee of plush comfort. It’s a promise of presence.

You may not be in abundance.

It may not feel luxurious.

But if you are with the Shepherd, there is peace in the pasture.

And you are safe.

You are led.

You are known.

THE ILLUSION OF SELF-SUFFICIENCY

If we are honest with ourselves, we don’t want to depend daily.

We want the full map.

We want next month’s provision now.

We want answers before obedience.

We want the green pasture to look like control.

But if we had everything laid out, we wouldn’t need a Shepherd.

We’d become our own.

So sometimes… the gift is not knowing.

The blessing is just enough.

The miracle is that you have what you need for today.

And that’s why He doesn’t always give you fields of alfalfa.

The heart of the Good Shepherd is after relationship, not self-sufficiency.

THROUGH THE VALLEY, NOT AROUND IT

David doesn’t avoid the pain in Psalm 23.

It doesn’t promise a life free from fear.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”

It’s not a question of if, but when.

You will walk through valleys.

You will feel the shadow creep in.

You will know the sting of loss.

The ache of disappointment.

The edge of fear.

But the promise is this:

You never walk alone.

And even more…He walks first.

The shepherd never sends the sheep into a valley. He leads them. That means every shadow you walk through, He entered first. He scouted the path. He knows the terrain. He walks ahead with rod and staff, protection and guidance. And He’s close enough to whisper your name.

A FINAL CHARGE

This isn’t a passage on a fairy tale. It’s a field guide for weary hearts.

And the promise is not that life will always feel simple or full or clear.

The promise is Him.

The Shepherd. The Guide. The Provider.

The One who knows every bend, every enemy, every patch of grass you’ll need before you ever get there.

So trust Him.

Even when it looks dry.

Even when it feels unclear.

Even when you can’t see the next pasture.

Because He can.

He’s already gone ahead.