23 and Psalm 23 🌿

In a few days, I’ll turn 23. And it feels meaningful that Psalm 23 has always been my favorite chapter of the Bible.

There’s something about those six verses that has anchored me in seasons when I didn’t feel steady. They’re familiar and gentle, but they carry so much depth.

A few days ago, I was in the car on the way home from Atlanta, trying to nap. My chill worship playlist was on shuffle — a playlist that’s over 50 hours long — and two different songs with “23” in the title played back-to-back.

Out of hundreds of songs.

It made me pause. Not because it was dramatic, but because it felt tender. Like one of those quiet reminders that God is present even in the ordinary moments. Even in car rides. Even in tired afternoons.

Psalm 23 begins with, “The Lord is my shepherd.”

That imagery has meant more to me as I’ve grown older and walked through illness, uncertainty, and growth. A shepherd doesn’t rush or demand more than what can be given. He leads gently. He stays close. He watches carefully. He guides one step at a time.

“He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.”

I’ve had to learn that being made to lie down isn’t failure — it’s care. Rest isn’t something to earn. It’s something given. In a body and mind that don’t always feel steady, that truth has become sacred.

And then there’s the valley.

“Even though I walk through the valley…”

I’ve had valleys. Seasons that felt heavy and uncertain. Seasons where answers didn’t come quickly and healing didn’t look the way I imagined it would. And yet, looking back, I can see that I was never alone in them. There was always presence. Always quiet strength carrying me when I didn’t have my own.

Psalm 23 doesn’t promise an easy path. It promises that we are guided within it.

As I step into 23, I don’t feel like everything is suddenly resolved. I still struggle. I’m still healing. I’m still learning what trust looks like in real time.

But I feel steadier than I once did.

I feel more aware of the Shepherd’s presence in the middle of things — not just at the end of them. I feel more willing to rest when I need to. More willing to trust when I don’t understand.

Twenty-three doesn’t have to be loud to be meaningful. It can be quiet. Rooted. Led.

And that feels like enough.

Twenty-three under His care.