Our God is vast beyond the farthest star,

Almighty, tender, near as breath and bone.

In empty hands He places what we need,

And quiet comes that never was our own.

When fear rose high beside a hospital bed,

And mother’s soul trembled like a leaf in storm,

An unexpected angel spoke the ancient words:

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”

Psalm twenty-three, remembered by heart,

Poured peace like living water through the room.

Her breathing slowed. The storm inside grew still.

That calm was not hers—it was His alone.

Money appeared where none had been before,

Hidden in the pages of a worn, open Book,

Enough to carry love across the miles

To stand beside her in the hour of need.

Hospitality arrived with open doors,

Kindness from strangers who became true kin,

Gifts no one could repay, yet freely given—

Each one a quiet miracle of grace.

Strength rose when strength had long since fled,

A steadying hand that was not flesh and bone.

The valley of the shadow lost its sting

Because the Shepherd walked the path ahead.

Green pastures opened in the barren place,

Still waters found us when the wells ran dry.

He prepared a table in the presence of fear,

And mercy followed every weary step.

This is no private story bound by time or name.

Wherever need is real and faith looks up,

The same great God still multiplies the loaves,

Still speaks the Psalm that quiets troubled hearts,

Still sends provision wrapped in human hands,

Still gives a peace the world cannot invent.

So let the soul that feels its own smallness rest:

Our God is big. Our God is great. Our God is near.

He leads. He keeps. He restores the fainting soul.

And all the days of our lives, His goodness follows.

To God be the glory——always and only!