Psalm 23 Reimagined: The Lord Is My Ride-or-Die

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We’re going to start with the question that you may be asking: “Why even touch one of the classic paraphrases?”

You already know the line. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” It’s been etched on cemetery stones, written on Hallmark Cards, and quoted in heavy times of life.

But here’s the thing — sometimes the classics fade into background music. We hear them, but we don’t hear them. Like a song on repeat in the grocery store. Or, road speed signs you've seen over and over.

We don’t often pay attention we’ve seen them so often.

David wasn’t writing wallpaper. He was speaking (and singing) poetry. He was putting pain, trust, fear, and hope into words raw enough for people in his time to feel it. Sheep, staffs, valleys — they knew those images. But us? We live in a world of late-night anxiety spirals, student loan notices, TikTok dopamine hits, and Waze telling us to “reroute.”

So what if David dropped Psalm 23 today?

What if it showed up not in King James, but in street slang and café-mic rhythm?

Psalm 23 as Spoken Word

Picture this: dim light, mic stand, crowd leaning in. David clears his throat. And then —

The Lord? He’s my ride-or-die.

No cap, I’m set.

I’m lacking nothing.

He lays me out on soft green grass,

drops me by the still waters —

peace so deep it hums louder than my anxiety.

He brings my soul back from the edge,

resets my GPS when I’m lost in the maze,

and I walk His path

’cause His name stays solid.

Even when I’m crawling through the valley,

where shadows creep like unpaid bills,

and fear whispers, “You’re done…” —

I don’t fold.

He’s right here.

Rod and staff like bodyguards.

I feel safe.

He sets up a feast in front of my haters.

Tablecloth spread.

Five-star.

Cup running over,while they watch me eat in peace.

Oil dripping on my head like anointing and flex.

Overflow everywhere.

Goodness and mercy stalk me —

better than followers,

better than fame.

All my days.

And me?

I’m home.

Forever.

In His house.

In His love.

No rent due. No eviction.

Just home.

Why Put It in Slang?

Because sometimes holy words need to break out of stained glass.

They need to sound like us. To sit in our kitchens and crawl into our headphones.

David wasn’t polishing theology. He was telling the truth from his gut.

The valley felt dark.

Enemies felt close.

Provision felt like a miracle.

His song was the language of survival.

It wakes us up.

What It Still Says (Loud and Clear)

• We’re not alone. Valleys still exist, whether they’re hospital corridors, sleepless nights, or bank account notifications. God’s presence still walks the hallway.

  
  

• Provision is real. Not always fancy. But enough. And sometimes more than enough.

  
  

• Goodness and mercy don’t just tag along. They chase us. Hunt us down with kindness.

  
  

And So…

Psalm 23 isn’t old. It’s eternal. And eternal things don’t mind wearing new clothes if it helps us pay attention.

Because whether you chant it in King James cadence or slam it in spoken word, the truth hits the same:

You’re not abandoned. You’re not empty. You’re not homeless.

The Lord is your ride-or-die.

And you’re home.

© Gary L Ellis