Austin Blanchfill - My Shepherd Lyrics

Video

Austin Blanchfill - MY SHEPHERD (lyric video) (Psalm 23 song)

Meaning & Inspiration

I’m still shaking the dust of the road off my boots, if I’m being honest. There’s a particular kind of cold that sets into your bones when you’ve been living on husks and bad decisions, and listening to Austin Blanchfill’s "My Shepherd" didn’t instantly make that go away. It’s not some sanitized Sunday school chorus. It’s a bit raw, like a guy trying to remind himself he’s actually home while his hands are still trembling.

There’s a line in there that kept me up: “You prepare a table before my enemies.”

Most of the time, I think of tables as places to sit with friends, somewhere safe and warm. But this? This is different. When you’ve been living in the mud, your enemies aren't just people out there—they’re the voices in your head. They’re the memories of the nights you spent running, the regret that keeps tapping on your shoulder, the accusation that says you’re still the same broken kid who walked away.

Having a table prepared right in front of them is scandalous. It’s not like God waited until I cleaned myself up or proved I could be trusted again. He just walked right into the middle of the mess, pulled up a chair, and laid out a feast while the ghosts of my past were still breathing down my neck. It makes me feel exposed, sure, but mostly it makes me feel chosen. You don’t set a table for someone you’re ashamed of. You set it for a son.

And then there’s that bit about the “rod and staff.”

People like to talk about the Shepherd’s comfort, but they forget what a rod is for. It’s a weapon. It’s for fighting off the wolves. I’ve spent so much of my life trying to fight my own battles, swinging at shadows with fists that didn’t have any strength left, and I just kept getting chewed up. Hearing that God’s rod is what comforts me? That hits hard. It means I don’t have to be the one to ward off the darkness anymore. He’s already got the weapon out.

I’m sitting here, and I still don’t have it all figured out. My theology is probably a disaster compared to the folks in the pews who never left. I still look over my shoulder sometimes, expecting the sky to fall or the feast to disappear. But listening to Blanchfill sing about this goodness that follows me—not just meets me, but actually hunts me down—it’s starting to settle in.

Maybe that’s the whole point. I don't have to be perfect; I just have to be willing to sit at the table He dragged out into the wilderness. I’m not home because I found the way back. I’m home because the Shepherd decided I was worth the walk. The smell of the pig pen hasn't completely faded yet, but for the first time in a long time, the bread on this table actually tastes like grace.