A few years ago, I was in a low place. My BFFs—Joan and Paula—noticed something was wrong as we sat down at one of our favorite restaurants. Over teriyaki chicken and hot and sour soup, they asked, “You aren’t yourself. What’s wrong?”
Tag Archives: Psalm 23
4 Scriptures for When You Need a Personal God
Do you have any special memories that come up when you read, hear, or think of Psalm 23?
Maybe it was granny’s favorite Psalm. Or maybe it was read at the funeral of someone you love. You may have seen it on a plaque or memorized it as a child.
This passage stirs up all sorts of emotions, doesn’t it?
David, who wrote this Psalm, tells us in the first verse, “The Lord is my…” He then finishes it with “shepherd.”
Think about the word “my.” The verse doesn’t say that the Lord is “a” shepherd or “our” shepherd. It says He is “my” shepherd. To me, “my” means personal possession.
Can I Be on the Right Path When It Feels So Wrong? [Episode 32]
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During my freshman year of college, I remember calling my mom to share two big pieces of news with her.
“Mom,” I said, “I went out with this guy named Curtis—and he has an earring!”
Can I Keep Worry From Destroying My Peace? [Episode 7]
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“What is that on your arm?” gasped Kim, my faithful nail tech for the past ten years. “I’ve never seen it before. You need to get that looked at!”
I had no idea what Kim was talking about, so I asked.
“A mole. Feel it!” she said, as she took my free hand and dragged my finger across the top of a tiny, bumpy mass. “It’s irregular in shape. I know that isn’t good.”
What You Need to Hear from God Today
As we wrapped up filming my Psalm 23 video project, my friend, Steve, and I were talking through all the triumphs and bloopers of the shoot. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “You’re a mess…”
I interrupted and said, “That’s for sure!”
“I didn’t finish,” he continued. “I was saying you’re a messenger.”
Oh, friend, I had heard “mess” when the truth is I am a messenger.
Has that ever happened to you too?
Where Is God When the Valley Is Dark?
As I stood there in the guest room, I panicked.
Even though I’d turned on both dresser lamps, I couldn’t detect any light. Usually, I could recognize at least a little light with my left eye.
I placed my hand on one of the bulbs to make sure it was working. It was warm. If the lamp was on, the problem wasn’t the light bulb.
My heart sank when it hit me.
This could only mean one thing—the few fragments of retina I once had in my left eye were now gone. It’s not like there was real vision there, to begin with, but at least it wasn’t the vast blackness of nothing at all.
