The image I have for the phrase "green pastures" in the 23rd psalm is idyllic. A lush, cool meadow, with those still waters close by creates the perfect scenario for a nap. 

There was a time when one of the twins used to include the word in her prayers each night.

"Lord, please help me to be a good pasture." Or pastor. I wasn't sure, and I have a policy of not interrupting so it went on for a week. Finally her sister piped up.

"What are you asking for?"

"I don't know but Daddy always asks God to make him one. What is a pastor?"

"It's grass," answered her sister. 

The whole green scene has been pretty entrenched in my head for fifty years. But today I watched a video about what it really looked like. The speaker described my fantasy as belly deep alfalfa, but went on to explain that the terrain in which David lived was brown. There were stones, dirt, and the relentless sun. When the shepherdesses in the video led their sheep to green pastures, it meant the tufts of blades that sprung up beside rocks when moisture mercifully fell. It was not what you might call abundance. Yet it was enough. It was the job of the shepherd or shepherdess to pay attention to rainfall, and wind currents in order to know where to lead. It was up to the sheep to follow. 

The speaker quoted a rabbi with these words: "Worry is dealing with tomorrow's problems with today's pasture." 

Another part of that psalm offers a sentiment of contentment. I shall not want.

This is the acceptance of barren stretches between the small tufts. It reassures me that if I follow, today there will be enough.