The Comfort of Our Good Shepherd

I’m a city girl. I was born in a city and know little of what life is like on a ranch or farm or even a small village. Yet the Bible often uses illustrations related to agrarian life: sowing and harvesting, vines and vineyards, sheep and shepherds. These illustrations were ones God’s people could relate to for most people lived off the land and knew the work involved. Even today, just outside the city of Jerusalem, the hills are dotted with sheep and their shepherds. When our family toured Israel, we got to meet shepherds and learned about their nomadic life as they herd sheep from one hill to the next.

Psalm 23 is a psalm that is beloved by many and is one I memorized as a child. Midway through, it says: “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” (v.4). I remember visiting a place in Israel referred to as “the valley of shadow of death.” It was a dark valley that sojourners often traveled on their way to the city of Jerusalem, a place where thieves often took advantage of travelers. Seeing that valley helped put this passage in perspective for me.

In Psalm 23, the shepherd’s rod and staff are a comfort in the dark valley. A shepherd was known to carry a staff to use in keeping and guarding his sheep. As our shepherd, God comforts us with his rod and staff. Here are just a few ways we find comfort in God’s staff:

He uses his rod to rule: A shepherd used his rod to rule over the sheep. He told them where to go; he was their master who led them from one grazing hill to another. Likewise, God is our ruler; he reigns over all things. He governs our life. He determines where we go. He is the one we look to for guidance and wisdom. When we go through dark valleys, he leads us. He shows us the direction to take. He warns us away from dangerous paths. And we can trust him to bring us through the valley and to the other side.

He uses his rod to count:  A shepherd often used his rod to count his sheep as they walked by him. Likewise, our Father chose us in Christ to be a part of his flock and he knows each of us by name. Jesus said, “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me” (John 10:14). When we wander from God, he goes to whatever lengths necessary to bring us back to him, “What do you think? If a man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray?” (Matthew 18:12). When we walk through dark valleys and lose our way, we can rest assured that our shepherd will never lose us. He will seek us and find us and bring us back to himself.

He uses his rod to guide: A shepherd used the crook of his rod to pull back sheep when they wandered from the flock. He also used it to chastise them. When they were slow or distracted, he used the rod to prod them. So the Lord does with us. As the writer to Hebrews 12:5-6 said, “My son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, nor be weary when reproved by him. For the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives.” Sometimes our dark valleys are places where the Lord brings us for purposes of training or discipline. We can trust that he does so out of love. He desires that we grow and mature. His rod is a tool used to guide us into greater holiness.

He uses his rod to protect: The shepherd also used his rod to protect his sheep from wild animals. So too, God protects us from evil. Some valleys are so dark it seems as though God has forgotten us. It can be tempting to doubt his love and goodness. We can wonder if we’ll ever see the light of day. We can fear being lost forever. Psalm 23 teaches us that we can have confidence that our shepherd will never leave us or forsake us. There is nothing and no one that can keep us from his love. He will keep us from all evil (see Romans 8:38-39). He will ensure we make it safely home to him.

While I am a city girl, I know what it’s like to wander and stray from where I belong. I know what it’s like to need guidance and direction. And I know what it’s like to walk through dark valleys of life. I am a sheep in need of a good shepherd. God is my Good Shepherd who protects and keeps me in his care.

Even when I walk through the darkest valleys.

Photo by Antonello Falcone - The Wiseman on Unsplash

Strengthen What is Weak

For the past few weeks I’ve been in physical therapy. I did something to my shoulder—at my age it might have just been doing something as simple as brushing my hair— and the pain was excruciating. The therapist describes it as a shoulder impingement. Basically, my tendon is pinched every time I move my arm. As a result, my range of motion is limited and I can’t hardly reach behind me without pain radiating down my arm.

The physical therapist told me that the main treatment is strengthening the muscles all around the affected area. To that end, I have exercises I’m assigned each day. I’ve since realized how connected everything is in my body. The time I spend hunched over my computer each day affects my back, which in turns affects my shoulder and arm. Areas of weakness in one location trigger other areas of my body.

And as I’ve labored to strengthen what is weak in my arm, shoulder, and back, I can’t help but think of the parallels to my spiritual life.

When I struggle with sin or find myself slogging through a difficult trial or even find myself in an extended dry season of faith, I wonder, are there areas of weakness that are in some way contributing to it? Or keeping me mired down in the weeds? Or making it more difficult to remember what is true? And if so, what areas in my spiritual life need strengthening? And in strengthening those areas, how might that impact my bigger struggles?

Such weaknesses could be anything. From idols of my heart to plain weariness from living life in a fallen world, there are many areas of my faith that need strengthening. Whether it’s identifying temptations and finding ways to avoid them or developing spiritual habits that feed my soul, when any area of weakness is strengthened, it can only impact my heart for good.

For example, one chronic area of weakness for me is my forgetfulness. I forget the goodness and faithfulness of God. I forget what he has done in the past to deliver me. I forget who I am because of Christ. I forget that he’s given me his Spirit who is at work in me even when I don’t realize it. When I forget these things, it impacts how I face a challenge or trial. When I forget God’s character and then face a difficult struggle, I am likely to think that he has left me, is punishing me, or has forgotten me altogether. When I forget the gospel and who I am because of what Christ has done, I am quick to seek false saviors or rely upon myself. I am also slow to repent and turn from sin. So just like in my physical body, one area of weakness has a ripple effect on the rest.

In truth, I forget all these things when I’m not immersed in the Word where it reminds me who God is and what he has done. I also forget when I’m not responding to what I’ve read through prayer—seeking forgiveness for sin, praising and thanking God for his grace, lamenting my fears and sorrows, and asking for his help and deliverance in my life.

The Word and prayer. Two means of grace whereby we receive the benefits of our salvation. And two key ways God works in us to transform us by the Spirit. Like the exercises I do in physical therapy to strengthen the areas around my injury, these means of grace are used by the Spirit to hot only strengthen our faith but to sanctify us. These means equip us to face what is hard. They help us to identify sin and turn from it. They feed and fuel and sustain us. They change and transform us. Utilizing these means helps us in the face of both temptation and trial. As the psalmist wrote, “With my whole heart I seek you; let me not wander from your commandments! I have stored up your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you…I will meditate on your precepts and fix my eyes on your ways. I will delight in your statutes; I will not forget your word” (Ps. 119:10-11, 15-16). And as our Savior said, “I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5).

To be honest, the work of physical therapy hurts. Even more than it did when I first injured it! Sometimes I think it would be easier to just not use my arm anymore. After all, I don’t always need two working arms. I could get away with only using one to reach things. Or ask other people to get things for me. But as my therapist tells me, the pain is part of the process. It’s necessary to bring about healing. I need to do the hard work in order to see my arm’s abilities restored.

How true this is in our spiritual lives! The work that the Spirit does to sanctify us is painful. It’s not easy to read and study the Word and allow its probing light to shine upon our sin. It’s not easy to take an honest look at our heart and see areas where we need God’s grace to cleanse and make us new. It’s also stretching and challenging to develop new habits and rhythms to be in the Word and prayer. But whatever stretches us can only make us stronger.

Anyone who has gone through physical therapy or set an athletic goal and achieved it, knows that their labor is not in vain. On the other side of physical therapy or the athletic pursuit, the person is stronger and healthier. How much more so when we utilize the means of grace in our spiritual lives! For as Paul wrote, “for while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come” (1 Tim. 4:8). So utilizing the means God has provided to minister to and strengthen our hearts, through the power of the Spirit, has value not only now, but also into eternity.

Despite the pain, I’m sticking it out with physical therapy and am thankful for the progress I’ve made. Even more, I’m thankful for the grace of God who gave me his Spirit who works in me to change me from the inside out.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

A Present Help

The area of motherhood that always seems to stretch me the most is anything related to my kid’s health. From the moment my oldest was born and required extra testing and care, I felt helpless. It then persisted throughout both my son’s childhood with chronic asthma and infections. Perhaps I feel this way because I don’t have medical training so I am clueless when it comes to understanding their medical concerns. When there is a health scare, there is nothing I can do to fix the problem; I am dependent upon health experts to tell me what to do.

I felt that way recently when my oldest fell and split open his elbow while out on a caving trip with his friends. They were two hours away, in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service. By the time I found out and got him to the urgent care, twelve hours had passed. He then got an infection which the doctor fought with an intense array of antibiotics. There was nothing I could do but follow the doctor’s orders.

Except.

Except for prayer. Except for trusting in the Lord. Except for seeking his help and asking him to deliver and provide and heal.

In helpless moments, Psalm 18 reminds me: “The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold” (v.2). And as the psalmist wrote elsewhere, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble” 46:1). God is a very present help in times of trouble. Sometimes I forget that. I forget that his help is here and now. I forget that in this moment, right now, he is my rock and fortress and deliverer. Not that he was, but that he is.

He is my place of safety. He rescues me from trouble. He is my salvation.

All in the present. Right here. Right now.

So often I consider the Lord’s salvation as past tense, as something he did at Calvary over 2,000 years ago. Or even future tense, in that he has saved me for eternity and one day in the future I will meet him in glory. But in the present, in the here and now, the Bible reminds me that he is with me. He is my salvation in moments when I don’t know what to do or where to turn.

The Puritan, Richard Sibbes, wrote: “A Christian must look at the trouble with one eye, and to God with the other. See God to be your salvation. Let the trouble be what it will, if God is your deliverer. It is no matter what the disease might be, if God is your physician…God is our God. He chose us, in due time he called us, and made a covenant with us to be our God. He loves us, and preserves us…”

Life is filled with trouble. But we have a great and mighty God. He is present with us, ready to take us in as our fortress. He is our salvation—in the past, in the future, and right here, right now.

Dear friend, turn to the Lord with all your troubles and find him to be your present help.

Photo by Dušan veverkolog on Unsplash

Trust in the Face of Change

One thing I’ve learned about life is that once you get used to a particular season or role, life changes. I’ve found this to be true in parenting, marriage, work, and ministry. I remember well how hard it was when my boys dropped their afternoon naps. That was a change I didn’t like at all!

I used to resist change. Or at least try to manage it so that I could know what to expect and prepare for it. I guess it’s because there’s a certain degree of comfort when you think you know what lies ahead. When you feel equipped to face the day because it’s the same as the one before it. When you’ve finally reached a level of confidence in how to do a certain job or task. Yet change inevitably cuts into our life with a harsh reminder that we don’t have control over our lives. For we all too quickly forget that we are dependent upon God and need his rescuing grace.

I’m in the middle season of life, a season filled with constant change. Certainly, there are many physical changes (that’s a whole other blog post!). There are changes in motherhood as I increasingly let go of my duties and watch my children learn to fly on their own. There are changes in marriage as my husband and I find more time and opportunity to focus on our relationship in ways we haven’t for far too long. Some changes are good and bring great joy; others are hard and bring only grief and sorrow.

This year is my oldest son’s senior year. It’s a year of lasts: the last cross country race, last birthday at home, last school events, last holidays. It’s also our last year to pour into his heart all the things we want him to know before he’s unleashed into the world to make his own way. It’s an emotional year for me, a year filled with both grief and joy. Grief at the finality of this season of parenting, the ending of all these years of homeschooling, the ending of all the daily interactions and family life I’ve grown so used to these last seventeen plus years. But there’s joy too as I celebrate with him the fruition of all he’s worked so hard for. It’s a joy to engage with him as a young adult and talk together about his future. I’ve enjoyed watching him think through decisions and develop goals for his life.

Meanwhile, this past fall my father was diagnosed with dementia. Like most diagnoses, this one took us by surprise and flipped my parents’ life upside down. Dementia is a disease that is often referred to as the “Long Goodbye.” I now know why that is. The diagnosis has brought with it grief and sorrow, worry and fear. I’ve found myself in a new role, helping my family navigate it and serving them in whatever way I can. As anyone in this middle stage of life can attest, it’s challenging to care for the needs of your family at home, while also wanting to help your parents who live far away.

In the midst of these changes in my life, I continue to work in discipleship ministry for women—writing, speaking, discipling, and coordinating women’s ministry. I’ve also been developing a lay- counseling/discipleship/one-another-care ministry for women at my church and am excited to see the many months of labor finally come together. While I’m excited to serve the Lord in this way, I feel a profound sense of my weakness. I worry about getting it wrong. I fear letting people down. I feel uncertainty and a weight of responsibility. This change too is another one where I feel my desperate need for God’s grace to equip and sustain me.

While much changes in our lives, from season to season, in our roles and in our labors, one thing remains the same: God never changes. He is the constant in all the unknown. He is the steady horizon when the storms of life swell over us. When everything is chaos, when we are filled with fear or sorrow, our God is with us. When we fill ill equipped to a new task or overwhelmed by uncertainty and lack of knowledge, we can turn to Christ, in whom are found all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge (Col. 2:3). We can take comfort in our Lord’s providential care for us and his sovereign rule over all things. While we don’t know what the future holds, we can trust that God not only knows what will take place, he has already determined all that will happen. Though we are weak, we can rest in his strength. As we face the changes and transitions of life, we can be confident that the Lord is at work. He will be our refuge.

I often find comfort in the words of the psalmist, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling” (Ps. 46:1-3). Some events in life feel like our whole world is shifting. It feels like it’s the end of life as we know it. The psalmist reminds me that even if the earth were to give way, even if the mountains were to fall into the sea, God remains our refuge and strength. He is our help and hope.

Dear friends, if you find that your own life is in the midst of transition and change, trust God to meet you where you are with his rescuing love and grace. He is our certain hope in all the uncertainty of life.

A Bigger Perspective

I’ve always enjoyed art— wandering through galleries and marveling at the way people use color and light to express themselves. I enjoy learning about an artist’s chosen medium, their creative process, and their technique. I’m not an artist myself, though I have taken a few classes because I desire to learn how to express myself creatively.

During a recent family vacation, I took a painting class. We sat in a room, surrounded by glass on all four sides. The Rocky Mountains stretched out before us, its jagged peaks covered with fresh snow, the hills below bright green from recent rainfall. The sky was wide and dappled with clouds, the pond behind the building teeming with birds. It was an ideal spot in which to spend the afternoon with a blank canvas.

The instructor placed his own painting on an easel and invited us to paint something similar. It was a mountain scene and looked like many of the places our family had recently hiked, filled with desert shrubs and rocky cliffs. He walked us through it, teaching us how to paint shapes and mix colors. Not everyone in the class was an artist, so I was happy to learn that I wasn’t the only one who did not know what they were doing!

As I painted, I grew increasingly disappointed. All I could see were lines and shapes. My shrubs looked like large eggs sprouting ears. My mountain looked like a misshapen blob—far from anything majestic. I’d add lines as he instructed, but they didn’t look anything like cliffs or crevasses.

The instructor walked around the room, giving us individual help and guidance. Several times he said, “Every once in a while get out of your chair and step back from the painting and you’ll see it from a different perspective. Up close, it won’t look like anything. But a few feet away it will all make sense.”

I never got up to see it from afar but kept mixing colors and painting away, all the while feeling discouraged that the image I had in my mind was not transferring to the canvas. It wasn’t until I brought it back to our cabin and propped it up on the window sill and looked at it from afar that I saw it as he said. All the lines and shapes that looked so strange up close looked so different a few steps away. My bushes actually did look like bushes! The red rock mountain looked like it had dimension and depth. There were cliffs and crevasses after all. It looked more like a place I had hiked and explored than the smearing of colors it looked like up close.

My painting experience reminded me of how I often view my life—of how I see the picture God is painting. I often only see the trial and hardship I am in at the moment. The brush strokes seem wild and unhinged. The colors look like they’ve been splattered on the canvas with no thought or intention. The shapes don’t resemble anything that makes sense. I feel discouraged and can’t imagine that what I am experiencing has any purpose. How can something so messy and confusing transform into something beautiful? And sometimes, when the trial is especially intense and hard, all I can see are dark brush strokes in one corner of the canvas.

And I wonder, is this all I’ll ever see?

Stepping back from my painting was a reminder that in my own life all I see is one small section of the picture God is painting. I need to step back from time to time to see it from a different angle. To get a new perspective. To see my life in light of the greater work of redemption God is doing in my life. To see it in light of eternity.

While it’s true that I won’t see the full and complete picture until God is finished, but I can get glimpses of it in Scripture. Like an architect’s rendering of a house before it is built, I have God’s promises of what his finished product will look like. I even know other people in my life whose pictures are a bit more developed than mine and I can see the similar work God has done in their lives. But even more, as I study the Bible, I can see the image of Christ that he’s transforming me into. And rather than despair over the seemingly meaningless brush strokes before me, I can turn and instead watch the master Artist at work, shaping my life to image that of Christ.

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I get so caught up in looking at the shapes and strokes right before me that I get discouraged. I fear that my life will never take shape or make sense. That’s when I need a bigger perspective. That’s when I need to step back and view my life through the big picture of God’s work of redemption. I need to look at and take in what he’s completed so far and marvel at how far my life has come. But most importantly, I need to remember it’s not yet finished and when it is, it will be even more breathtaking and glorious than anything I’ve ever seen.

“And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Phil. 1:6).

God is Both Sovereign and Good

I recently commented to a friend that if there is one thing I’ve learned this year, it is the importance of holding all my plans loosely.

So loose, it’s like I’m not holding them at all.

When the year began, we all had plans and expectations for the year. We moved forward with those plans until a virus was placed in our path and life suddenly slammed on the breaks, upending everything. It was jarring and we still haven’t recovered. Everything’s been upside down ever since. We’ve experienced significant changes in our jobs, our children’s education, our worship, and even to the way we relate with others. We’ve learned not to make plans and if we do, to hold them with open hands.

For many, 2020 feels like a year of interruptions. Of upended plans. Of starts and stops. Of constant change.

At least that’s been my experience.

One recent afternoon, both my husband and I were headed different directions—one to pick up a child up from school, the other to take a child to their game. And then my husband fell and broke his foot. All our plans skidded to a screeching halt. We’ve since had to reorient our lives around this accident. It’s been a significant interruption. And sometimes, I just want the year to move on and finish in the hopes that maybe next year will be better.

As believers, when life’s interruptions cut into our carefully laid plans, we know they are not random. They aren’t simply the result of bad luck. They are divinely placed in our life by our sovereign God. “I form light and create darkness; I make well-being and create calamity; I am the LORD, who does all these things” (Is. 45:7). Our God is not a distant God; He rules over all he has made, from the hearts of kings (Prov. 21:1) to the number of hairs on our head (Matt. 10:30). He determines the course of history and all he wills comes to pass, “I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like me, declaring the end from the beginning and from ancient times things not yet done, saying, ‘My counsel shall stand, and I will accomplish all my purpose” (Is. 46:9-10).

The doctrine of God’s sovereignty is one I’ve turned to many times in my life. When life is hard and I face hardship and suffering and trials, I remind myself, “God is not surprised by this.” While the interruptions of life catch me off guard, God is never surprised by them. He not only knows all that will take place, he ordained all things and ensures that his will comes to pass.

Including the year 2020.

While Christians may mentally assent to the Bible’s teaching on God’s sovereign rule, they may have difficulty trusting in his rule. God’s sovereignty isn’t necessarily a comfort they find rest in. This happens when we look at God’s sovereignty in isolation from his other characteristics. It is important to remember that God’s sovereignty doesn’t exist in isolation; it is fundamentally linked with who he is in the entirety of his character. When we remember that God is holy and righteous—that all he does is perfect, good, and right—then we know he will govern and rule out of his righteousness. When we remember that God loved us in Christ before the foundation of the world and adopted us to be his own, we know that the circumstances he brings into our lives are ordered out of that love.

Because God is both sovereign and good.

God is perfect and wholly good; he is incapable of doing anything that is not good. This means all his ways are good. From the world he created to his acts in history, from his perfect plan for our lives to his kindness poured out on us in Christ—all that he does is good. “The Rock, his work is perfect, for all his ways are justice. A God of faithfulness and without iniquity, just and upright is he.” (Deuteronomy 32:4).

James tells us that all good things come from God. "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change." (James 1:17). In spiritual terms, darkness implies evil and there is no darkness in God—he is the Father of lights. He is the source of all goodness and everything he gives us is good and for our good. This verse also tells us that God never changes; there is no "variation or shadow of turning." Our God will never show goodness toward us and then change his mind; he is always good toward us.

When we face interruptions in our life— whether it’s a small one like a fender bender on the way to work or a big one like a world-wide virus—we have to remember that God is both sovereign and good. While the difficult circumstances we face in life are not good, we have a good God who rules over them all. Though we do not understand what is happening and why, we can take comfort that he does. We can trust that all he ordains for us is for our good (Rom. 8:28).

Even when life is interrupted, we can expect good things from our good and sovereign God.

Want to learn more about God and his character? Check out my next book: A Holy Fear: Trading Lesser Fears for the Fear of the Lord.