Closer Than You Think

Let me ask you a question — one that goes deeper than most people ever dare to ask out loud:

When life falls apart…
When the noise gets louder…
When the valley feels darker than ever…

Do you really believe God is close?

I’m not talking about Sunday-morning close.
I’m talking about 2 a.m., heart-racing, soul-breaking, "I don’t know if I’ll make it" kind of close.

When we find ourselves in those hard seasons and reach out to friends or family for comfort, we’re often pointed to Psalm 23. And honestly, sometimes that annoys me.  Don’t get me wrong, I love Psalm 23. It’s the Word of God, and it holds true in every season.  But sometimes it can feel... cliché. Like a verse tossed out when there’s nothing else to say.

Recently I heard a song come on my Pandora station called, “Still Waters” and it’s all about Psalm 23.  It opens with, “Anxiety hates Psalm 23 so say it to yourself til you believe it.”  This verse stopped me in my tracks and made me question . . . “Do I really believe this?”  Do I even know what it’s actually saying?   Or, have I allowed my past upbringing to alter the way I relate to God so much that when trials come instead of clinging to the Father, I retreat?  I step into myself and away from the very One sent to walk this road with me as protector as Savior?

Naturally, I started digging into it more . . . and let me just say — I’ll never read this Psalm the same way again. 

The Psalm 23:1-3 opens with the words we’re most familiar with:

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake."

That all sounds great, right?  But in the trenches of life, sometimes all I can think is:

Where are the green pastures? Where are the still waters?
Because right now, it feels like I’m in the middle of nowhere with no lifeline.

If this scripture is true, what does it actually look like?

I started researching the Judean Wilderness during David's time — and spoiler alert — it wasn’t a lush, green paradise.  It was dry, harsh, desert land.  Which means "green pastures" and "still waters" weren’t normal; they were rare, precious gifts. They were signs of God’s provision in a barren place.

David understood the intimate depths of shepherding.  He didn’t just feed the sheep, he knew them. He protected them. He risked his life for them.

We see this in 1 Samuel 17:34–37, where David tells Saul:

“Your servant used to keep sheep for his father. And when there came a lion, or a bear, and took a lamb from the flock, I went after him and struck him and delivered it out of his mouth."

That’s the kind of relationship God wants with us — not religious distance, but relational closeness.

And here’s something else I learned while digging; sheep won’t lie down unless they feel completely safe.  If they’re anxious, hungry, or scared they stay standing.  Trust in the protection of the shepherd is what allows them to rest.

I don’t know about you, but I relate to that.  When I’m close to God (pursuing Him, spending time with Him, in the Word)  I feel peace.  When I let the noise and chaos of life drown Him out all I feel is anxiety and fear.

Trusting the Shepherd means following Him through the desert — step by step — trusting He knows where the next patch of green grass is, even if I can’t see it yet.

He’s not just leading and protecting us, He’s restoring us.  Restoration means bringing back to original condition.  Our original condition wasn’t fear, skepticism, anxiety, or depression.  It was trust. It was peace. It was rest.

Intimacy with God doesn’t make us perfect, it makes us dependent.  And that’s exactly where we’re meant to be: close enough to hear His direction, feel His correction, and trust His redirection.  

Verse 4 goes on to say . . . 

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me."

We like to believe that if we’re close to God, we’ll avoid the valleys.  But David doesn’t say if I walk through the valley he says even though.

Valleys aren’t optional.
Storms aren’t optional.
Darkness isn’t optional.

Even when you’re walking closely with the Shepherd, valleys are part of the journey.  But the difference?  You’re not walking alone.

His presence is our comfort.  Not the absence of evil or the guarantee of easy paths.  But the presence of God Himself.

And when you know He’s with you, even in the darkest valley, you can keep walking.

You don’t have to sprint.
You don’t have to have it all figured out.
You just have to keep following His voice.

And verses 5-6 might just be my favorite of all . . . 

"You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

He doesn’t wait until you’re out of the battle.  He meets you in it, we even see this throughout scripture.  Daniel in the Lion's den.  Shadrack, Meshack, and Abednego in the furnace . . .

Are you trusting that He will meet you in the fire?  Or are you like me who for many years, was just hoping to avoid the fire all together?

The oil, the feast, the overflowing cup, these are all signs of honor, abundance, victory, even before the fight is over.  You might still be in a battle, but you can still feast.  You might still have enemies circling, but your cup can still overflow.

Psalm 23 has a built in promise, "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life."  Goodness and mercy aren’t just random hopes; they’re guaranteed companions.  We cannot let fear and shame rob us of the beauty of walking with the Father.  Jesus died for this relationship, we read in Isaiah 53:4-5:

“Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed.”

Psalm 23 isn’t just a funeral psalm.  It’s not just a nice poem for hard days.  It’s a gritty, beautiful, real invitation to a relationship with a Shepherd who is good, even in the desert.  A Shepherd who is present, even in the valley.  A Shepherd who is victorious, even at the table in the middle of the battle.

So the next time life falls apart at 2 a.m., remember:
You don’t need to have all the answers.
You just need to remember who's walking beside you.