The Lord is my Shepherd

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside quiet waters. He makes me look toward the sky and seek His face when my heart fails. When my body fails. When my hope fails. He is there, ever waiting, ever watching, ever listening, wanting me to cry to him. To go to him. To rely on him. My God is my Love. My God is my Hope. My God is my Rock. He pushes me. He pulls me. He guides me and leads me. He picks me up when I fall. He challenges me. He holds my hand when my world crumbles apart like breadcrumbs.

I am on a tight rope. Teetering. Tottering. Always about to fall. And when tears cloud my eyes, when it’s like I have cotton stuck in my ears, He is there to wipe my face, He is there to help me hear. To help me see. To help me feel. On the tightrope I am always tensed, ready to brace for impact, ready to hit the ground, the mud, ready to hurt. But my God, my Father, my Lord catches me. If I push Him away and I do fall, He picks me back up again. He kisses my bruises and mends my broken bones. He washes away the filth and gives me new eyes to see with, new ears to hear. He gives me new words to speak, and new hopes to have. He gives me new hope. He gives me new hope. He gives me love when I think there is none. He shows me love where I was blind to it before. He heals me from love lost. He heals me. He holds me. He helps me.

I am wandering in a big empty field, where all the paths are overgrown. The field is rocky and full of holes. The grass waves in the wind, too high to see all the snares. It’s beautiful and deadly. My Father clears the path I should take and places me on it. My God walks beside me, or in front of me to guide, or carries me when my feet won’t keep going. Can’t keep going. My Father holds me when I cry. My Father smiles and laughs and dances with me. My Father never leaves my side.

I am weak. I am poor. I am scarred and beaten. And my Father loves me. My Father holds my hand as I grow, as the growing pains stretch me. My Father kisses my scars as they stretch and burn. My Father lets me make mistakes, and is always there to pick up the pieces of me I leave behind.

Without Him, I am nothing but a broken girl in a world determined to eat me alive. With Him, I am a broken girl being made whole. A girl learning. A girl living. A girl loving. A girl taking each and every step into the unknown with the Faith that He will guide me until the end.