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The Shepherd's Pursuit: Psalm 23 Reimagined

What if everything you thought about Psalm 23 was shaped more by funeral homes than by the raw, bleeding reality it came from?

Picture this: a broken man crouched in a cave. He's not writing from comfort but chaos. His son wants him dead. His best friend betrayed him. The kingdom is falling apart. His heart is heavy with regret—failures as a father, husband, and king. And from that place of desperation, David writes the most quoted psalm in the Bible.

The Cave, Not the Pasture

Psalm 23 wasn't birthed in a peaceful meadow with sheep nibbling on grass. It came out of the wilderness. Out of running. Out of fear. The "valley of the shadow of death" wasn't poetic language—it was David's actual location. He was a fugitive, not a farmer.

And that context changes everything.

Confidence Before Confession

Right here is where the religious mind starts to short-circuit. Because David doesn't open with an apology, he doesn't start by saying, "Lord, I've failed." He doesn't promise to do better. He begins with something bolder than repentance: "The Lord is my shepherd."

Hold on. David is the man who:

• Let his daughter be violated and did nothing
• Slept with another man's wife and had him killed
• Made choices that led to a national civil war

And yet, he starts with confidence, not guilt. He doesn't say, "Lord, if you'll still have me." He says, "Lord, you're mine. And I'm yours."

The Prodigal Principle

This sounds a lot like that father in Jesus' story, the one who didn't wait for a perfect apology. The son was still filthy from the pigpen, shame still dripping off him—and the father ran. Cut off the rehearsed speech. Wrapped him in love before he had a chance to explain.

That's the kind of Shepherd David knew. This Shepherd doesn't operate on performance but on pursuit.

"I Shall Not Want"—A Declaration Over Time

That phrase—"I shall not want"—carries more than just poetic rhythm. In Hebrew, it speaks to the past, present, and future. David is saying:

• I haven't lacked
• I don't lack
• I won't lack

Because God hasn't changed, even when David had, his Shepherd wasn't faithful because David was—it was because He is.

This isn't motivational; it's not wishful thinking. It's trust rooted in God's character, not the sheep's behavior.

Not a Funeral Psalm, but a Battle Cry

Psalm 23 was never meant just to comfort the dying. It's a declaration for the living. For the desperate. For the ones hiding in caves and trying to figure out if they've blown it too badly to be loved again.

It says the Shepherd comes looking for lost sheep. Not the ones who find their way home. The ones too hurt, too ashamed, too stuck to move. And He doesn't come with a club of punishment. His rod and staff are for protection and rescue. To fight off what's chasing you. To pull you close when you want to run.

Turn Around

If you've been hiding—ashamed, exhausted, feeling disqualified—hear this: the Shepherd isn't waiting for you to clean up your act. He's not waiting for promises you can't keep. He's chasing you. Right now. With the same love that ran to David in a cave and the same love that ran to a p

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Have you ever felt like you’re just not good enough for God?

That’s where I found myself—completely wrecked, not just spiritually but physically. I’m battling stage four kidney cancer. It’s spread to my lungs. I’ve lost a kidney, a testicle, and both adrenal glands. And in the silence of night, when no one’s around, the darkest thoughts show up: God doesn’t love me. I’m going to die and be forgotten. My friends don’t care.

Then something unexpected happened. I started meditating on Psalm 23.
The opening line—“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want”—became my lifeline. It calmed my panic attacks. It helped me sleep again. Most of all, it started breaking the grip of a lie I’d believed for years: God’s love must be earned.

I grew up knowing Jesus loved me, but only in my head. My heart couldn’t hold onto it. My dad loved me, but he always pushed for more. An A on a test was met with, “Why not all As?” Over time, that became my image of God: constantly evaluating, never satisfied, waiting for me to measure up. It made me critical of everyone else, too. I became a spiritual scorekeeper, not a son.

The turning point came through two things: friends who showed me grace when I didn’t deserve it, and those quiet nights meditating on Psalm 23. Slowly, I began to see the truth:
God doesn’t love me because I’m right.
He loves me because He’s right.
He doesn’t love me because I earned it.
He loves me because I can’t.

Romans 5:6 says, “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
That truth is changing me. And I believe it can change you too.

So I made this podcast. Each episode is under 10 minutes, straight from my heart. No hype. No filters. Just one hurting person talking to another.
If life’s backed you into a corner…
If you’ve hurt the people you love…
If you wonder whether God really sees you or cares—this is for you.

The Holy Spirit is closer than you think. And He wants to show you:
You are fully known.
You are deeply loved.
And you don’t have to earn a thing.

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It’s been over six months since I last recorded a podcast. In that time, God has been working intensely in me. I’ve grown in Christ and experienced His grace in ways that are hard to put into words.

I’m starting again—with short, regular episodes focused on one powerful truth: how much God loves us and how that love should transform our lives.
If this resonates with you, please let me know. Your feedback will help me decide whether to keep going.

Thanks for listening. Find us on YouTube, Substack, Twitter, LinkedIn, Facebook, and Instagram.