Psalm 23: The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, 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 your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Meaning: the New Testament refers to Jesus as our good shepard. And if the Lord is the good shepherd, we are as sheep- not frightened passive animals, but obedient followers, wise enough to follow the one who will lead us in the right places and the right ways. This psalm does not focus on the passive qualities of sheep but on the shepherd who protects and guides them. When you recognize the Good Shepherd, follow him!

When we allow God, Our shepherd, guide us, we have contentment and refreshment. When we choose to sin, however, we go our own way and cannot blame God for the environment we create for ourselves. Our shepherd knows the “green pastures” and “quiet waters” that will restore us. We will reach these places only by following and obediently. Rebelling against the shepherd’s leading is actually rebelling against our own best interest. Remember this the next time you are tempted to go your own way rather than the shepherd’s way.

Death casts a frightening shadow over us because we are entirely helpless in its presence. We can struggle with our enemies’- pain, depression, disease, and injury- but our strength and courage cannot overcome death. In terms of this life, death has the final word. Only one person can walk with us through death’s dark valley and bring us safely to the other side- the God of life, our Shepherd. Because life is uncertain, we should follow this Shepherd, who offer us eternal comfort and light in the darkness.

God offers the protection of a host, even when enemies surround us. In the final scene of this psalm, we see that believers will dwell with the Lord. God the perfect shepherd and host, promises to guide and protect us throughout our lives and to welcome us as special guest and is house- forever.

REFLECTION: What Valley Am I Still Carrying?

When I look back over my life, there’s one valley that still clings to me like mud in the tread of my shoes — the valley of my addiction. It’s the shadow I still feel on the back of my neck on the quiet days, the ache in my ribs when something reminds me of who I used to be.

Some days it shows up as guilt, thick and sticky.

Some days it’s shame, sharp enough to cut.

Some days it’s sadness, the kind that feels like an old bruise you forget about until you bump it again.

And then there are the days I don’t even like admitting: the days I miss it. Not the chaos — God knows that nearly killed me — but the numbness. The illusion of control. The way the world went quiet for a little while and I didn’t have to feel anything at all.

That valley dragged me through things I still taste in my mouth when I think about them. Like being late to my own dad’s wedding — stumbling in pretending like I had my life together while the man I was with at the time was literally passed out in his slice of cake. I had to leave early because I was terrified someone would look at him, look at me, and put two and two together. I didn’t know then that everyone already knew. They’d seen me sinking way before I ever realized I was drowning.

And then there’s the stuff that hits harder. The things I still carry like gravel in my pockets:

the people I stole from, the trust I shattered, the moments I used my own body like currency because I didn’t value it enough to protect it. I turned myself into a tool, a distraction, a way to survive another night. I became someone who drifted — sleeping on park benches, waking up not knowing where my car was, where my phone was, or sometimes even who I’d been with. There were mornings I’d come to with my heart racing, my mouth dry, no idea how I hadn’t died or gotten arrested or both.

I did something once — something that still makes my stomach twist — that could’ve put me in prison for 25 years. A whole quarter of a century gone. But by some mercy I still can’t fully understand, they never even looked at me. Sometimes I think about that alternate life, the one where I’m behind bars instead of sitting here writing this, and I get chills. Not the good kind.

And yes… even now, after all this time, that valley still reaches for me. There are roots back there that I still trip over — memories that unzip old versions of me I thought I buried. There are moments where I’m triggered by nothing and everything at once, moments where the past taps me on the shoulder like, “Hey, don’t forget what you survived.”

But here’s the part that keeps me going:

Every time I fall, God shows up — not with a soft whisper but with a firm hand under my chin telling me to get back up. Every time I start slipping back into the mindset of that older version of me, the Lord reminds me that I’m not wandering blindly anymore. There’s a bigger plan unfolding — one I can’t fully see, but I can feel humming under my feet like the earth itself pushing me forward.

The valley didn’t kill me.

It taught me.

It scarred me.

And it shaped the woman I am now — the one who refuses to go back, even when the past tries to call me by name.

XOXO, The Healing Wildflower