Beginnings, Restoration

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside quiet waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for you are with me.
Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil.
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

[This past Autumn, in the midst of a whirlwind of work and family and photos, I had the chance to take a counseling course through CCEF under author and speaker, Dr. David Powlison.  The course itself was fruitful, a good time of looking under the skin of my daily life- a much needed time of study. And while the course finished in December,  I'm still ruminating over the content, still thinking  over the insights and still learning how people change- how I change.

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"If your past year was a Psalm, which would it be?" a friend recently asked me. 

At first, it  seemed to me  like a cheesy, Christian conversational one-liner. I laughed it off,  mentioning something about Psalm 119 and this " being the longest year of my life" but later secretly scribbled the idea into my journal.

I've been thinking about the Psalms a lot lately. One in particular. 

Throughout this past semester we dug deep into the Psalms, hoping to look at life the way the Psalmist expressed it: real, fresh and direct interaction with God. And in the midst of a difficult time this Autumn, I found myself returning to some familiar words I grew up reciting, going back to the old pillars of my childhood: Psalm 23. (Maybe the psalm of my year?)

In the past, Psalm 23 has always evoked images of a softly painted shepherd in luscious green field, or a cow-eyed, pastel colored, precious moments figurine holding a harp and a lamb. It was cute. It was for old ladies and for children's Sunday-school classes and AWANA Sparky's but not for real life problems.  

It wasn't until I took a fresh look from a different angle that I began to see the nearness of this anything-but-cliche psalm to my life. Consider David Powilson's Antipsalm 23:

I’m on my own.
No one looks out for me or protects me.
I experience a continual sense of need. Nothing’s quite right.
I’m always restless. I’m easily frustrated and often disappointed.
It’s a jungle — I feel overwhelmed. It’s a desert — I’m thirsty.
My soul feels broken, twisted, and stuck. I can’t fix myself.
I stumble down some dark paths.
Still, I insist: I want to do what I want, when I want, how I want.
But life’s confusing. Why don’t things ever really work out?
I’m haunted by emptiness and futility — shadows of death.
I fear the big hurt and final loss.
Death is waiting for me at the end of every road,
but I’d rather not think about that.
I spend my life protecting myself. Bad things can happen.
I find no lasting comfort.
I’m alone … facing everything that could hurt me.
Are my friends really friends?
Other people use me for their own ends.
I can’t really trust anyone. No one has my back.

No one is really for me — except me.

And I’m so much all about ME, sometimes it’s sickening.

I belong to no one except myself.

My cup is never quite full enough. I’m left empty.

Disappointment follows me all the days of my life.

Will I just be obliterated into nothingness?

Will I be alone forever, homeless, free-falling into void?

Sartre said, “Hell is other people.”

I have to add, “Hell is also myself.”

It’s a living death,

and then I die.

It gives a new light to the simple words I've heard since childhood. 

Returning to this psalm over the past few months has left me staggering in my steps, mouth open at the implications. It's not a child's psalm at all. It's a psalm for weary adults, for those walking a hard road filled with all kinds of versions of death. It's for the deepest, grittiest, most pressing problems of life. For the mounting bills in the mailbox, the sudden loss of a loved one, the tensioned family gatherings. It's  for those who are waiting and suffering and still waiting in the midst of it. See, I'd become so familiar with the words that I zoned out what Psalm 23 was actually telling me about who God is and what he does. 

He leads. 

He helps.

He is near. 

He comforts. 

He restores. Forever. 

He doesn't just do these things theoretically-in books and blog posts, in adjectives and announcements. No, God meets real needs in real life. He is my Perfect Leader in the face of immediate need.  He is trustworthy and helps me to follow Him. He is real and he is ready to give me what I really need: Himself. Psalm 23 was the psalm of my 2012 year. He has lead me well. 

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside quiet waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for you are with me.
Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil.
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

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"If God pledges his absolute fidelity to you,

 if indestructible love will see you through to a good end, 

then you are able to walk a very hard road.

You will have to walk a very hard road." -David Powilson