While walking through the woods as a family recently, we fell into a dispute about the water we had brought along to drink. And by “we” I mean my oldest and youngest daughters. The center of this disputed water claim was the hydration backpack that my eldest was wearing. The problem wasn’t wearing the backpack; the issue was that our youngest wanted another drink every four steps or so. It was a classic power struggle between the youngest child and the oldest.
Solutions were offered. “Maggie, stop being annoying,” was one. I wasn’t sure how helpful – or likely – this solution would be. “Ellie, just let me have a drink and stop complaining,” was another possible but unlikely way forward. Finally, I realized that this was a self-limiting problem. Maggie isn’t very big; how much water could she possibly drink?
“Ellie, stop and let her drink all of it she wants. Then she won’t want any more for a while, and she’ll leave you alone.”
Ellie was indignant. “She’ll drink it all!” she exclaimed.
“She won’t drink it all. There’s plenty of water there for everyone.”
“BUT SHE’LL DRINK IT ALL!”
Ellie would not be convinced, even though she wasn’t wearing some kid-sized hydration backpack that only held a thimble of water. She was wearing my pack, which holds close to two liters of water. All three of my daughters could have drank until their bellies and bladders were full to the top, and there would still have been water left over. But the fear of not having enough runs deep, doesn’t it?
Electric cars typically have a range of approximately 10x the average daily commute. But we stick with internal combustion power because we’re afraid electricity might not have the “juice” when we need it. People are filling storage units as quickly as they can be built. There’s a candy dish calling my name from the next room. I’ve already had a few pieces out of it. Certainly, I’ve had enough. Why do I still want more? What is it inside of us that remains unsatisfied? Why does it so often seem like there’s not enough?
Before he was King David, he was simply David, the little brother. As the little brother, he got stuck watching sheep because his older brothers had better things to do. While watching sheep, he came to one of the most profound truths about God recorded in Scripture. Just as David was a shepherd over his sheep, God was the shepherd caring for David.
The LORD is my shepherd. I lack nothing.
What did David have while shepherding? Probably little more than a bit of food, a big stick, his sling, and a few rocks. And yet he lacked nothing. Why? Because the God of the Universe, the creator and sustainer of all things, was his shepherd. He wasn’t worried about the things he didn’t have. He knew what he did have: a Shepherd-God who had delivered him from a lion and a bear.
The LORD is my shepherd. I lack nothing.
The fear of not having enough is a tool of the enemy. It keeps us from making big plans and dreaming big dreams. Are we afraid to ask God for audacious blessing? Is it a fear that God won’t give us what we need? Or are we afraid that he actually will? Is God the owner of the cattle on a thousand hills, or is he not? Is Jesus the master of the fish and loaves, or is he not?
In my own life, I’ve felt the Spirit’s conviction that I’m not dreaming big enough. And I suspect I might not be alone. If the Lord is your shepherd, you lack nothing. Go boldly in the assurance of his care, and seek out the dreams he has for you, your church, and your community.