Psalm 23…scribbled in the corner

I almost painted over it…the brush strokes too wide and thick.  “Psalm 23”,  I called this one and decided to leave the words in its corner.

On the 26th day, I read Psalm 23, following the guide in the back of my Bible. Before that, I’d read from Genesis. Fine pencil lines marking the words of Joseph’s father, a very old man, realizing his son had not died. A beautiful story, son clinging to father, tears soaking shoulder.

I read from the Book of Mark, an account of Jesus in the early days of healing.  A man, paralyzed, delivered to Jesus to be healed, forgiven, walking. Believing first, then with healed legs, moving forward.

Then, Psalm 23,  I lingered there. I thought of green pastures.

Shady, wide-branched trees and blue, blue sky.

And on this day, I thought all day long  of resting.

This painting was purchased weeks ago,  I wondered by whom for awhile. It’s size large and painted on antique door.

Then, this week a call, a note for me had been mailed to the shop.

The young newlywed wife from Oregon wrote to thank me.

“The painting hangs over our bed” , she wrote. “It’s calming.

I’m not religious, but Psalm 23 speaks to me.”

I read the note, tears in my eyes because I’d lingered there that morning, 23rd Chapter, Book of Psalms.

I cherish this now, a thank you note from a couple, my painting hangs in their home evoking rest.

And just last week, walking, a longing in my heart.

I’d prayed, “Lord, help me see my worth, help me know I matter.”

23rd Psalm, resting, restoring…walking in valleys and shadows.

Little sketches or big paintings on old wood….comforting like cool grass under shade of tree.

I shall lie down…my soul restored.