I Have All That I Need

“The Lord is my shepherd; I have all that I need.” — Psalm 23:1 (NLT)

Lately, it feels like God is gently sitting me down and saying, “Rest, daughter.” Again and again, His Word keeps pointing me back to the Psalms—back to the Shepherd, back to His protection and provision. I open my Bible and without fail, there’s another verse whispering, “You are safe now.” It’s like the Lord is slowly reparenting me, not with loud declarations, but with soft truth, unwavering presence, and steady care.

About five years ago, I walked into counseling completely undone. On the outside, I was functioning—serving, showing up, smiling, but internally, I was unraveling. I was angry with God. I felt deeply unfavored and unseen. I didn’t see Him as kind or loving. I saw Him as distant, punitive, even dangerous. Not the kind of fear Scripture talks about—the awe-filled reverence—but the kind of fear that makes you hide. I was afraid of God.

And then I realized: I was seeing Jesus through the lens of my trauma.I had been hurt and abandoned as a child, and I had unknowingly projected those same traits onto God. I didn’t know how to trust Him because, truthfully, I didn’t know safety. I had been neglected, left to fend for myself, and so I believed I had to perform to be loved—even by Him. I thought I had to earn His protection, prove I was worth being seen.

I lived like I was my own shepherd.But here’s the truth: I was tired. Exhausted. I had carried the weight for so long, and I finally wanted permission to fall apart. To be broken. To be held. And five years ago, Jesus met me in the pit. Not to yank me out or shame me for being there—but to sit beside me. He comforted me. He saw me.

And slowly, painfully, beautifully—I began to see that the little girl inside me had been crying out all along. She didn’t want to fight anymore. She just wanted to be heard, to be safe, to be held. But I had stood in her way. In trying to protect her, I locked her away. I told her to be quiet. I became my own abuser to survive. That realization was sobering. But it was also sacred. Because once I made space for her voice, Jesus began to heal her.

Just yesterday, God gave me the sweetest visual of His protection while I was cleaning. A year ago, I was given a black German Shepherd named Zeus. Now, I’ll be honest, I’m not the biggest fan of animals. But with Zeus, there was a peace I couldn’t ignore. He’s gentle, loyal, watchful, and always on patrol. He follows me around the house, quietly bearing the burden of watching over me so I can do life—freely.

Zeus is a living, breathing picture of who Jesus is for me. He is the Good Shepherd. Always present. Always alert. Always ready to engage on my behalf. I don’t have to stay on high alert anymore. I don’t have to brace for danger. I don’t have to carry the weight of protection. He’s already doing it. And because of that, I can rest.

I can live open. I can see the world again with childlike wonder. I can be vulnerable and unguarded because I’m guarded by Him. He carries the yoke. He fights the battles. He quiets the noise.

The Shepherd is on patrol, and I have all that I need. Rest is not something I have to earn. It’s a gift He longs to give. And this time, I’m receiving it—fully.