Guidance in the Wilderness

Sometimes you have to trust the experts in finding calmness in the rapids.

Yesterday, we reflected on Psalm 42—a soul thirsting desperately for God, seeking relief and answers amid deep turmoil. That thirst resonated with me in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. In my own journey, I spoke to no fewer than five therapists, each offering different perspectives, tools, and paths. I devoured books—at least twelve, each promising insight and understanding. I even traveled to a different country, seeking medical intervention in the hope that a change in treatment or perspective might finally bring relief. Yet, each of those efforts, while offering temporary resolve, left me parched once more. My thirst for clarity and comfort remained unquenchable.

Like the psalmist, I am searching, yearning, and trying to make sense of my internal wilderness. No matter how many voices I seek or pages I turn, I can’t escape the dryness within. There are moments when I feel like I am circling an oasis that remains just out of reach. The more I search for answers, the more I become aware of my own longing—the aching gap between where I am and the peace I desperately seek.

In the midst of that unending thirst, Psalm 23’s promise offers a different kind of hope: “The Lord is my Shepherd [to feed, to guide and to shield me], I shall not want.” This struck me—not as a quick fix, but as a slow, steady invitation. Unlike the frantic seeking, the Shepherd’s presence is not something I have to chase; it is already here, patiently waiting to guide me.

4. “He makes me lie down in [fresh, tender] green pastures; He leads me beside the still and restful waters.” For someone parched and restless, these words paint a picture of rest that I hadn’t imagined for myself. What would it mean to be led to still waters—not through striving or searching, but by trusting the guidance of the Shepherd? Could I find the courage to let go of my desperate grasping and allow myself to be led?

The transition from seeking to being guided doesn’t happen overnight. It is (and remains) a process—a journey of learning to trust that, even when I feel lost, God is leading me. Those green pastures and still waters don’t erase the questions or the scars, but they offer space to breathe, to be seen, and to be cared for by the One who truly knows me. I am beginning to see that the answers I seek might not come in the form of quick solutions but through a relationship of trust and surrender.

“Even though I walk through the [sunless] valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me.” There are still valleys—deep and dark ones—and I am still in the midst of walking through them. I haven’t escaped depression; it remains part of my journey. Studying the Psalms helps me understand not only my own experience but also the struggles others have faced. Each psalm reveals facets of anguish, seeking, and hope. This journey—from anguish to petition and eventually to celebration—gives me reason to believe that gratitude and joy are possible. It is a truth I am learning to trust, step by step.

The Shepherd wants to guide me, even now, through the rocky terrain of life. He wants to lead me—not from a distance, but closely, step by step. When I have moments of tranquility, moments of true peace, it isn’t because I read a book or spoke with a therapist. Don’t get me wrong—those are good answers, the best answers humans can offer. But the deepest peace comes when I let the Shepherd navigate. It is He who leads me to the secret spots where the waters are calm, where I can rest without fear. It is in those moments that I realize His guidance isn’t just theoretical; it is real, present, and sustaining in ways no other solution can match.

What is it about a calm stream that seems to provide peace to all humanity? Why are there certain things that we, as a collective, can all agree upon as being beautiful? Every day at five o’clock, I go outside here in Tennessee to watch the sun setting. I talk into my phone, capturing the swirl of thoughts and feelings that emerge as I reflect and jot down ideas for these articles. There is something about the majesty of creation that puts the soul at ease—a reminder that there is more to this life than our struggles, that there is beauty beyond the chaos. Just as the Shepherd leads us to still waters, creation itself offers moments that still us, inviting us to pause, breathe, and find rest. It’s in these moments that I remember: I am being guided, I am not alone, and there is a journey still unfolding. Tomorrow, we will explore this idea further as we reflect on Psalm 19 and the majesty of creation declaring God’s glory.

Psalm 23

1 The Lord is my Shepherd [to feed, to guide and to shield me], I shall not want.
2 He makes me lie down in [fresh, tender] green pastures; He leads me beside the still and restful waters.
3 He refreshes and restores my soul (life); He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.
4 Even though I walk through the [sunless] valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod [to protect] and Your staff [to guide], they comfort and console me.
5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You have anointed my head with [oil]; my cup overflows.
6 Surely goodness and mercy and unfailing love shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell forever [throughout all my days] in the house and in the presence of the Lord.