Shepherded

Most mornings begin with a quiet inventory of what might be missing — time, money, energy, answers. David begins somewhere else entirely. Before he counts anything, he names Someone: the LORD is my shepherd. The arithmetic changes after that.

A shepherd’s sheep do not carry maps or provisions. They are not clever; they are kept. It is almost an insulting picture until you have had a season of trying to be your own shepherd — and then it becomes the most restful sentence in the language.

“I shall not want” is not a promise of everything you can imagine. It is a promise of everything you will need, arriving at the pace He walks. Today has a shepherd. You can put the inventory down.