63: The Lord Is Your Shepherd

If you know me, you know that I am a planner, often to a fault. I like to have my days, weeks, and months mapped out so that I know what to expect and can then prepare accordingly. Spontaneity is fun, as long as I see it coming. Doing nothing is okay too, as long as I’ve planned to do nothing. I’m not necessarily one of those people who has a five or ten-year plan; I’ve learned over the years not to plan too far in advance, with what they say about “the best laid plans” and all that. But I definitely like to plan out the foreseeable future, even if, deep down, I know those plans are an illusion.

Because, as I’m sure we’ve all experienced in one way or another, life doesn’t always go according to plan, even our “safe,” foreseeable, day-to-day plans. Curve balls, plot twists, and unmet expectations greet us more often than we’d like. And instead of a clear roadmap laying out our ideal trajectory, we’re often staring at what feels like a blank page. 

That being said, as we settle into this new year, I’m holding onto a small handful of personal unknowns, and the planner in me doesn’t quite know how to be. Maybe you can relate?

This isn’t the first time I’ve been in this situation,, by the way. A little over a decade ago, I found myself staring at a metaphorical blank page. The life I was living came to a screeching halt, and suddenly I was forced to pivot, not even sure which direction I should face. Not sure I could move forward at all. 

Now the circumstances back then were certainly different than they are now. Back then, it felt like my life did a complete 180, and not by choice. Most everything in my life back then changed in an instant. This time around, for better or for worse, I’ve chosen the change, chosen to step into the unknown, and it’s all happened at a much slower pace and on a much smaller scale. I’ve had time to think it through. Ironically, I’ve kinda planned not to have a plan this time around.

But those differences aside, I still feel the ache that often accompanies the not knowing. I still feel the fear in the pit of my stomach in the middle of the night. The disorientation of not knowing what’s next. Sometimes we choose it and sometimes we wish we could avoid it, but no matter how it arrives, uncertainty feels scary.

In all of that, I’m reminded of a story that brought me much hope and comfort back then. And unsurprisingly, I find it’s bringing me that same hope and comfort now. Therein lies the beauty of looking back, of remembering how God showed up then, trusting that God is also present and active now. Sometimes in new ways, but often in familiar ways, through familiar stories, familiar words.

For me, it’s the story of the call of Abram found in Genesis 12. I won’t read the whole thing to you, but for some context, Abram’s father had just died. His wife was barren. And in the middle of what might have felt like a dead end to Abram, God says this:

“Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.”

A simple verse, yes. But with some big implication. Basically, God told Abram to leave what was comfortable, what was familiar, what felt certain, and go… to a land that remained a mystery, a land that God would show Abram. God didn’t give Abram the details of what was on the other side of the call. God didn’t help Abram make sense of what seemed nonsensical. God just said, “Go.”

And Abram does. Abram steps out in faith and follows God’s lead. Not because Abram had a clear destination with step-by-step instructions on how to get there. But because Abram trusted the God who was calling him to go. And Abram remembered that that very same God would be with him every step of the way.

I don’t know about you, but that is so important for me to remember. While the leaps of faith we take might not be as drastic as Abrams, those leaps still often feel scary. But as we continue to navigate this thing called life, I’m choosing to remember that while we might not have a map, we do have a Guide. 

For a good majority of 2021, nearly every morning, I found myself reading through the 23rd Psalm. This started as part of an assignment for class, but quickly became a habit I couldn’t let go of, even when the class was long over. Psalm 23 became a lifeline of sorts, reminding me of God’s presence, God’s provision, God’s love, God’s compassion, God’s heart as the Good Shepherd. 

And being reminded that the Good Shepherd is with me has made all the difference.

1 

The Lord is my shepherd, I have everything I need.

2 

    He makes me lie down in green pastures,

he leads me beside quiet waters,

3 

    he refreshes my soul.

He guides me along the right paths

    for his name’s sake.

4 

Even though I walk

    through the darkest valley,[a]

I will fear no evil,

    for you are with me;

your rod and your staff,

    they comfort me.

5 

You prepare a table before me

    in the presence of my enemies.

You anoint my head with oil;

    my cup overflows.

6 

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.

It’s a psalm we usually associate with death, but it’s a psalm that’s giving me the courage to fully show up for my life. Even in the midst of what’s uncertain, in the midst of what’s unknown, it helps me remember that I’m not alone.

Earlier today, I got an email from a travel rewards program I’m a part of. I didn’t actually open and read the email, but the subject asked the question, “Where will 2022 take you?”

Now, of course they were trying to entice me to make some travel plans, but I smirked a bit and thought to myself, I don’t know. And I surprised myself because while there was still some fear in my answer, there was also an overwhelming sense of peace. I’m learning to be okay with not knowing the plan. Because I know my Guide. I know that the Lord is my Shepherd. 

I don’t know what unknowns you’re holding. But today, I hope you’ll remember that Lord is your Shepherd. With you. For you. Gently guiding you every step of the way. May we have the courage to live our lives believing that is true. As Frederick Beuchner wrote in his book, Beyond Words:

“Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid. I am with you.”

As we settle into this new year, may it be so. Amen.