The Green Pasture- Part 1
From the back seat, the contours of New England roads unveiled a paradise of wonder to my childhood. Byways following rocky and sandy beaches, farmlands, rivers, lakes, forests, and mountain peaks made nature an imaginative canvas for my young mind. Two-lane roads with double yellow lines and swelling hills forced you to drive slow and rest. Crank style windows let me breathe the landscape while stretching my arm out like dog ears flapping in the wind. One of my favorite roads was Route 6A to Cape Cod, Massachusetts. It stretched 34 miles through flat lands, salt marshes, harbors, cranberry bogs, and beach towns like Bourne, Sandwich, and Yarmouth. Climbing Route 3 further north you discover Lake Winnipesaukee. It is the largest lake in New Hampshire, 504 ft above sea level. To get there you go through beautiful valleys, small lake inlets, and winding roads.
Psalm 23 speaks of similar beauty except for one raw difference. Instead of radiant valleys, there is the gorge of death. In this gorge, King David recounts the kind things God did for him as he walked through the valley of the shadow of death. By God’s design David never shares what experience he refers to. After a year of insomnia, I knew I was in the valley he described in one fragment of a sentence. Like the Psalmist, I can recount a list of mercies I lived with God as my Shepherd in this gorge. When sleepless was untouchable, God was not. “The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.” (Psalm 23:1)
Verse 1 describes the Lord as David’s shepherd. Jesus was the good shepherd. He laid down his life for his sheep.
“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. He who is a hired hand and not a shepherd, who does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and flees, and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. He flees because he is a hired hand and cares nothing for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I lay down my life for the sheep.” (John 10:11–15)
As the shepherd, He knew me. He knew how many times I got up each night, how many calming breaths I took laying on the floor, how many songs I sang, how many tears I cried. He heard my bleating in the silence of the night as He calmly sheared and groomed my body as a patient father.
I felt like I was on a train that had no brakes. I yanked the cord that ran along the dark windows demanding “THIS IS MY STOP!” I waited for the bell to ring. It didn’t. I shall not want is what David wrote. I pulled the cord in want as a starving child begs for food. But my pain was not beyond His mercy.
Bible scholar Matthew Henry writes, “More is implied than expressed, not only, I shall not want, but, I shall be supplied with whatever need; and if I have not everything I desire, I may conclude it is either not fit for me, or not good for me or I shall have it in due time.” Sleep is a need. It’s not a desire. I desire a vacation on sandy shores with unending sunsets. But what I need is sleep. I desire a turbo powered blender to make healthy snacks and smoothies for my family. What I need is sleep. I desire cool breezes on sweltering days. What I need is sleep. Month after month after month of dark clouds turned my cries from wanting sleep to wanting Him. If He wasn’t going to give me what my body needed then I wanted to feast on Him. I wanted fat portions and delicacies to feed a King. He had to teach me to wait on his due time. “The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.” (Psalm 23:1)
A loving shepherd leads his sheep to green pastures and streams to graze, eat, and drink. The pastures are never barren or dry. The water isn’t a troubled sea, but a calm brook of fresh water renewed every day. Green scum and lime can not multiply on the rocks of this moving current. The shepherd leads to the best waters. “He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.” (Psalm 23:2)
As a sheep of His fold, my green pastures became daily little treasures. Most people would look at a pasture and consider the weeds meaningless. To me the grass kept my soul going when the shadows were consuming. The dandelion is a persnickety plant in a green field. To me, its toothed leaves and golden petals were edible riches in a lush meadow planted just for me to enjoy. These are my dandelion stories of His abundance in the valley.
The first winter was a mild winter. My front doors were open so cool breezes could fill my home. Morning birds sang to my broken body. The Shepherd brought nature inside to me in the darkest season.
Sunday mornings were a feast. Flat, sharp, and high notes drew us out of our Baptist pews with a new music minister. He gave us freedom to worship as we felt. If we had a bad back we could sit; with strong legs we could stand. If we couldn’t contain ourselves as a “burster” he encouraged us to raise our hands and burst. Week after week I stood, wept, and burst. I had to worship God as I continued to wait on what I hoped would come in due time.
The greek mythological character Pandora sang God’s songs to me through my rectangular electronic box on my phone. Legend says Pandora had a jar that confined all the evils that troubled humanity. She was instructed never to open it or evil would escape and hope would be overcome. She gave in to curiosity and opened the box. I gave in to God’s hope in Christ granting lyrics to escape from my portable box to my ears and heart. The Pandora application sang songs on repeat because exhaustion made my memory weak. I needed the lullaby of godly words over and over again.
Before this season, morning music was a distraction to Robert. He wanted to soak up the few quiet moments of our home before the love of three boys would wake the world. I tried to honor that request for silence by giving him space and time, but the silence of the night became too much at the dawn of the next day. I needed to worship to lift the heavy darkness. He relented without discussion. Some mornings he watched me battle the transition from darkness to dawn in silence. Other mornings we hugged and cried as the insomnia continued day after day. Grief leaves you voiceless even though you have a million words to say. The voices of Chris Tomlin and Gungor helped me to speak.
“You’re a good good Father
It’s who You are, it’s who You are, it’s who You are
And I’m loved by you
It’s who I am, it’s who I am, it’s who I am” (Good Good Father, by Chris Tomlin)
God is my Father. He is good. I am loved even if my request is not granted.
“All this pain
I wonder if I’ll ever find my way?
I wonder if my life could really change at all?
All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found?
Could a garden come up from this ground at all?You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of usAll around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You” (Beautiful Things, by Gungor)
“Amen” was my response. Hope was my green pasture of fuel.
The Bible is our song manual. Miriam the prophetess sang to the Lord after they triumphed over Egypt through the Red Sea. (Exodus 15:21) Mary the virgin mother of Jesus sang the Magnificat after the angel told her she would bear the Son of God. (Luke 1:46–55) Both women worshiped after they had been in the presence of God. I worshiped because I never wanted to leave His presence. I needed Him to make me still. So I sang in the dark and ate at his banquet table in the valley.
