One humid August day, my husband, Phil, and I flew down the highway in our “swagger wagon” (a.k.a. our ultra-cool white minivan). We were in a huge hurry because it was just the two of us on our way to a much-anticipated lakeside getaway.
To help pass the miles, Phil turned on satellite radio—you know, the one with about 3,000 channels. First, we tuned into ESPN sports. Next, it was an afternoon talk show. And, finally, we tried a live audio feed of one of the major news outlets.
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.
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When I was in the third grade, we had a dog named Cannoli. She was a white, completely fluffy poodle … that is, until one day when she got a haircut.
My mom decided that Cannoli needed to look a little more legit. So, she took her to a groomer. Well, of course, any groomer was going to cut her hair like a poodle—you know, with the puffy little bottom and the puffy tail with the little ball on the end.
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“What do you guys think of Jennifer Rothschild?”
That was the opening question of a post that I should not have read!
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“It’s hard to make flamingos happy.” That’s what my son, Clayton, said to his friend, Brandon, a few years ago.
“How do you know about the emotional state of flamingos?” I asked as I placed a cheese pizza on the table.
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About five or six years ago, I went through a season where I struggled with depression, which included insomnia.
One night, I vividly remember sitting in a red chair in our bedroom, trying to pray. Yet, I couldn’t really focus on praying. I knew the Lord was there, but I still felt low and empty.
The radio was on, and it was then that I heard a song that touched me in a way nothing else could. It was “Blessings” by Laura Story.
