Finding Soul Rest: When the Shepherd Makes Us Lie Down
Life has a way of running us into the ground, doesn't it? Between packed calendars, endless to-do lists, and the constant ping of notifications, we find ourselves moving at a pace that was never meant to be sustainable. We smile through holiday gatherings, post cheerful updates on social media, and wear our funny seasonal shirts—all while running on empty inside.
The truth is, not everyone walks into the holidays feeling peaceful. For many, this season feels crowded, loud, expensive, and unbearably heavy. We crave something deeper than a moment of silence or a weekend off. We crave soul peace—the kind that doesn't depend on circumstances but on the presence of Someone walking with us through whatever we're facing.
The Ancient Wisdom of Psalm 23
Thousands of years ago, King David penned words that continue to speak directly into our exhaustion: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul."
At first glance, these might seem like pleasant pastoral images—nice to read, but disconnected from our reality of hospital waiting rooms, financial pressures, and relationships that feel fractured. But look closer. David wasn't writing from a place of ease. He was a man who knew what it meant to run for his life, to lose children, to face enemies on every side. He understood valleys.
And that's precisely why his words carry such weight.
When Rest Becomes Obedience
Consider that phrase: "He makes me lie down." If you've ever been around sheep, you know they don't naturally rest. They're anxious creatures, constantly moving, constantly grazing. A sheep will only lie down when four conditions are met: they must be free from fear, free from friction with other sheep, free from pests, and free from hunger.
In other words, sheep only rest when they trust their shepherd completely.
Perhaps that's where many of us find ourselves. We're worn out, but we can't stop. Our minds race even when our bodies are done. We've forgotten how to be still because we've lost touch with the One who makes stillness possible.
Here's a truth worth holding onto: Rest isn't laziness. Rest is obedience. It's a Sabbath practice. When the Shepherd makes us lie down, He's not punishing us—He's protecting us. He loves us too much to let us run ourselves into the ground.
Through the Valley, Not Around It
David doesn't pray, "Lord, help me avoid the valley." Instead, he declares, "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me."
This is revolutionary. Life isn't all green pastures and still waters. Sometimes it's chemotherapy treatments and their aftermath. Sometimes it's an empty chair at the table. Sometimes it's questions without answers and pain without explanations.
But notice the promise: The Shepherd doesn't lead us away from the valley. He leads us through it. He doesn't say, "Go ahead, I'll meet you on the other side once you've dealt with this difficult thing." He says, "I'm right here with you. My rod and my staff will comfort you. I'm not going anywhere."
When we can't trace His hand or hear His footsteps, we can still trust His heart.
This is the kind of peace Scripture offers—not peace that comes from the absence of pain, but peace that exists in the presence of the Shepherd, even when there is pain and suffering and hurt.
The Hebrew Heart of Restoration
The Hebrew word used in Psalm 23 for "restore" is powerful. It means to bring back to life, to refresh, to help breathe again. Some of us don't need another cup of coffee or another vacation day. We need God to breathe life back into our souls.
We've been living in fight-or-flight mode for so long that we're wired, tired, and anxious. But when we return to the Shepherd's presence, something shifts. Our nervous system resets. Our perspective changes. Gratitude becomes a pathway to healing.
Interestingly, modern neuroscience has discovered what Scripture has been teaching for millennia. When we practice gratitude, we're actually rewiring our brains through repeated thought patterns—a process scientists call neuroplasticity. We're not ignoring our pain or pretending everything is fine. We're retraining our hearts to remember that God is good, all the time.
A Table in the Presence of Enemies
David continues: "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." Even surrounded by stress—our modern enemy—God is still setting a table for us. In biblical culture, sharing a meal was the most intimate form of fellowship. It was a time not just for eating, but for conversation, for presence, for connection.
This is what the holidays can become again: a table of peace, not pressure. A moment of presence, not performance.
The Practice of Being Still
Here's a challenge worth accepting: Take ten minutes each day this week to sit somewhere without your phone. Turn off the TV. Silence the radio. Find your quiet spot—maybe it's a closet, maybe it's your car in the driveway before you go inside, maybe it's a chair in the corner of your bedroom.
Breathe slowly. Sometimes we catch ourselves holding our breath without even realizing it, as if we're bracing for the next crisis. Breathe deeply and deliberately.
Pray Psalm 23 aloud, one line at a time, slowly. Let each phrase settle into your soul.
Then pull out a piece of paper and write down three things you're grateful for. They can be small things: a moment of quiet, a job that pays the bills, waking up without everything hurting. Let gratitude become your worship. Let stillness become your prayer.
The Shepherd Who Never Hurries
One writer pointed out something remarkable: In all the Gospel accounts, we never see Jesus running from place to place. He moved with purpose, but never with panic. He was never in a hurry, never frantic, never overwhelmed.
Sometimes our lives get so hectic that we get ahead of Jesus. We're rushing forward while He's saying, "I'm not there yet. Slow down."
We don't have to say yes to everything. We don't have to be part of everything. Sometimes the most holy thing we can do is simply rest. It's not laziness—it's obedience. It's saying, "God, I know You commanded a Sabbath, and I'm going to take one."
The Promise of Presence
The good news echoing through Psalm 23 is this: Our Shepherd hasn't forgotten us. He has promised to never leave us or forsake us. He's not just around our life—He's in it with us. He has an investment. He's there to hold your hand if that's what you need, to pull you along if you're stuck, or to give you a push when you need momentum.
He's leading you through. He's restoring your soul as you go through the rough times.
The Shepherd doesn't pull us out of the valley. He walks through it with us and restores our soul along the way.
So take a breath. Remember: The Lord is your shepherd. You have what you need. Say it until your body believes it. Say it until peace settles into the places where anxiety has been living.
And know that even in this busy, overwhelming season, the Shepherd is making space for you to lie down in green pastures, to drink from still waters, and to have your soul restored.
The truth is, not everyone walks into the holidays feeling peaceful. For many, this season feels crowded, loud, expensive, and unbearably heavy. We crave something deeper than a moment of silence or a weekend off. We crave soul peace—the kind that doesn't depend on circumstances but on the presence of Someone walking with us through whatever we're facing.
The Ancient Wisdom of Psalm 23
Thousands of years ago, King David penned words that continue to speak directly into our exhaustion: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul."
At first glance, these might seem like pleasant pastoral images—nice to read, but disconnected from our reality of hospital waiting rooms, financial pressures, and relationships that feel fractured. But look closer. David wasn't writing from a place of ease. He was a man who knew what it meant to run for his life, to lose children, to face enemies on every side. He understood valleys.
And that's precisely why his words carry such weight.
When Rest Becomes Obedience
Consider that phrase: "He makes me lie down." If you've ever been around sheep, you know they don't naturally rest. They're anxious creatures, constantly moving, constantly grazing. A sheep will only lie down when four conditions are met: they must be free from fear, free from friction with other sheep, free from pests, and free from hunger.
In other words, sheep only rest when they trust their shepherd completely.
Perhaps that's where many of us find ourselves. We're worn out, but we can't stop. Our minds race even when our bodies are done. We've forgotten how to be still because we've lost touch with the One who makes stillness possible.
Here's a truth worth holding onto: Rest isn't laziness. Rest is obedience. It's a Sabbath practice. When the Shepherd makes us lie down, He's not punishing us—He's protecting us. He loves us too much to let us run ourselves into the ground.
Through the Valley, Not Around It
David doesn't pray, "Lord, help me avoid the valley." Instead, he declares, "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me."
This is revolutionary. Life isn't all green pastures and still waters. Sometimes it's chemotherapy treatments and their aftermath. Sometimes it's an empty chair at the table. Sometimes it's questions without answers and pain without explanations.
But notice the promise: The Shepherd doesn't lead us away from the valley. He leads us through it. He doesn't say, "Go ahead, I'll meet you on the other side once you've dealt with this difficult thing." He says, "I'm right here with you. My rod and my staff will comfort you. I'm not going anywhere."
When we can't trace His hand or hear His footsteps, we can still trust His heart.
This is the kind of peace Scripture offers—not peace that comes from the absence of pain, but peace that exists in the presence of the Shepherd, even when there is pain and suffering and hurt.
The Hebrew Heart of Restoration
The Hebrew word used in Psalm 23 for "restore" is powerful. It means to bring back to life, to refresh, to help breathe again. Some of us don't need another cup of coffee or another vacation day. We need God to breathe life back into our souls.
We've been living in fight-or-flight mode for so long that we're wired, tired, and anxious. But when we return to the Shepherd's presence, something shifts. Our nervous system resets. Our perspective changes. Gratitude becomes a pathway to healing.
Interestingly, modern neuroscience has discovered what Scripture has been teaching for millennia. When we practice gratitude, we're actually rewiring our brains through repeated thought patterns—a process scientists call neuroplasticity. We're not ignoring our pain or pretending everything is fine. We're retraining our hearts to remember that God is good, all the time.
A Table in the Presence of Enemies
David continues: "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." Even surrounded by stress—our modern enemy—God is still setting a table for us. In biblical culture, sharing a meal was the most intimate form of fellowship. It was a time not just for eating, but for conversation, for presence, for connection.
This is what the holidays can become again: a table of peace, not pressure. A moment of presence, not performance.
The Practice of Being Still
Here's a challenge worth accepting: Take ten minutes each day this week to sit somewhere without your phone. Turn off the TV. Silence the radio. Find your quiet spot—maybe it's a closet, maybe it's your car in the driveway before you go inside, maybe it's a chair in the corner of your bedroom.
Breathe slowly. Sometimes we catch ourselves holding our breath without even realizing it, as if we're bracing for the next crisis. Breathe deeply and deliberately.
Pray Psalm 23 aloud, one line at a time, slowly. Let each phrase settle into your soul.
Then pull out a piece of paper and write down three things you're grateful for. They can be small things: a moment of quiet, a job that pays the bills, waking up without everything hurting. Let gratitude become your worship. Let stillness become your prayer.
The Shepherd Who Never Hurries
One writer pointed out something remarkable: In all the Gospel accounts, we never see Jesus running from place to place. He moved with purpose, but never with panic. He was never in a hurry, never frantic, never overwhelmed.
Sometimes our lives get so hectic that we get ahead of Jesus. We're rushing forward while He's saying, "I'm not there yet. Slow down."
We don't have to say yes to everything. We don't have to be part of everything. Sometimes the most holy thing we can do is simply rest. It's not laziness—it's obedience. It's saying, "God, I know You commanded a Sabbath, and I'm going to take one."
The Promise of Presence
The good news echoing through Psalm 23 is this: Our Shepherd hasn't forgotten us. He has promised to never leave us or forsake us. He's not just around our life—He's in it with us. He has an investment. He's there to hold your hand if that's what you need, to pull you along if you're stuck, or to give you a push when you need momentum.
He's leading you through. He's restoring your soul as you go through the rough times.
The Shepherd doesn't pull us out of the valley. He walks through it with us and restores our soul along the way.
So take a breath. Remember: The Lord is your shepherd. You have what you need. Say it until your body believes it. Say it until peace settles into the places where anxiety has been living.
And know that even in this busy, overwhelming season, the Shepherd is making space for you to lie down in green pastures, to drink from still waters, and to have your soul restored.
Posted in Home for the Holidays