The Shepherd Already Near
For a long while, Psalm 23 asked for trust.
It was spoken
toward fear,
recited into uncertainty,
kept close in moments of loss.
The Lord is my shepherd
was something gripped for steadiness.
Now it rests.
The words remain.
The life they describe
no longer feels distant.
I shall not want
no longer sounds like effort.
It sounds like noticing.
Wanting has quieted.
There is less scanning.
Less rehearsal of what might be needed next.
Less quiet bracing against what could change.
You may begin to notice
the Shepherd is nearer than you thought.
Some days this is easier to see than others.
This is not a higher place.
Just a quieter one.
The body often knows before the mind does.
The shoulders do not lean toward tomorrow.
The breath does not brace.
The jaw loosens.
The room feels wider than it did this morning.
Your hands rest where they are.
The chair beneath you holds.
Green pastures are not imagined ahead.
They are recognized underfoot.
Still waters are not anticipated.
They are already here
as striving eases.
Even the valley feels different now.
Not erased.
Not denied.
But it no longer defines the landscape.
Fear does not need to be argued with here.
It simply has less authority.
The rod and the staff
are not clutched.
They are present.
After long endurance.
After responsibilities shifted and no one explained why.
After adjusting to silence that did not ask your permission.
After doing what needed to be done
because someone had to.
You may find
life no longer organizes around what is missing.
Goodness and mercy are not catching up.
They have been accompanying.
This psalm does not press for belief.
It does not demand surrender.
It does not measure your readiness.
It does not feel like anyone is keeping score.
It feels like staying.
The Shepherd is already near.
You do not have to reach to find Him.
He receives you with delight.
*****
This reflection belongs to The Theology of Being Held,
a series exploring Scriptures that do not ask anything of us.
If Psalm 23 feels like rest, Psalm 131 explores what happens when striving finally loosens.
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