Devotionals

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MUSINGS ON THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM

The Lord is My Shepherd is a hymn I was taught to sing and recite at an early age. Although I didn’t understand all the words, they brought a feeling of contentment. The words made me think of the visits to my aunt and uncle’s farm with all the baby calves, pigs and chicks that my sister and I helped feed.

When Mom read us a good night story, she would follow it with a lullaby. She frequently sang the 23rd Psalm and we two girls would join in.

After Mom and Dad went to the music camp at the Prairie Christian Training Centre in 1961, they decided the Crimmond tune was the one to use.

In high school, I joined the Glee Club and learned a version called “Brother James Air” and we sang this at the Festival. Even 35 years later, I still hum the alto part.

When Mom died, I found a note in her Bible that read “I love the evening Psalms best of all.” As the coffin was carried down the aisle at the close of the service, the choir softly sang the 23rd Psalm and it seemed as though my mother were reaching out to comfort us.

When Dad started to play the saxophone, he took the five different versions of the 23rd Psalm and made it into a special arrangement. He often played this at church services.

The last time I heard it played at church was when we played one of his tapes at Auntie Fran’s funeral, a brother’s last tribute to his sister, even though Dad had died four years earlier. When I feel especially blue, I can put on this same tape and listen to it.

Now when I drive, I find myself frequently humming or singing this beloved Psalm.

The Psalm has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. The 23rd Psalm truly is a psalm of life.

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