O Lord, my heart is not lifted up. My eyes are not raised too high. I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me. O Israel, hope in the Lord from this time forth and forevermore. (Verses 1-3)
I have a picture that I love. It is an actual photograph, but the one I have in my mind is even more precious. It is of my son, Will, when he was nine months old. He is naked, playing in a big tin basin of water in my mother's back yard the summer before she died. It's hot in Texas in August and my boy's little sweaty body relaxed into the tub as he splashed and giggled, his blond hair sparkling in the sunlight, his blue eyes twinkling. Mother and I were sitting close by--I, on the ground beside Will's makeshift swimming pool and Mother on a chair beside me. We were talking about Mother's cancer. It was on her mind that day. How long she'd live. Whether or not to allow the chemotherapy the doctor wanted. Will was content to touch my fingers as they gripped the side of the tin basin. To know I was there was all he needed. There was no way he could conceive of the gravity of my conversation with Mother. Death was too distant a concept. In the moment, all he needed was his mom beside him in order to be happy. My presence.
I'd weaned Will the month before. He no longer needed me in the most personal sense. But the experience of closeness to me for all those months bonded us, like it did with my daughters as well. Mom isn't going very far away, and she takes care of me. That's what they knew. And it wasn't until my three children grew much older that they questioned things too high and marvelous for them. How can a loving God send people to hell? What about the people in the world who've never heard the gospel? Will they be saved? How can there be free will and God's sovereignty? I believe God wants to reveal His secrets to us; in fact, He says He does: "Behold, You delight in truth in the inward being, and You teach me wisdom in the secret heart (Psalm 51)." But God doesn't want us to stress over things we don't understand any more than I would've wanted Will to strain to understand the perplexity and pain of my mother's disease. It wasn't time for that.
This is one of my favorite psalms for the picture it gives of how I should be with God, my Father. My God is busy about His work, always accomplishing things in the universe I could not possibly ever understand fully. It isn't my place to strain to get it all figured out. I never will. What it is my place to do is rest in the knowledge that He's much, much wiser than I. And if I spend my time trying to figure out things too marvelous for me so that I forget the One Who is Marvelous to me, I worry and stress. I don't want to strut through life declaring that I know all about what God is doing. Because I don't. Most of the time I simply have a vague idea of where things are going. Even the greatest Christian apologists and theologians only know a fraction of how big our God really is. What we do know is what kind of Father He is. Weaned from the milk of the Word, which has bonded us in His love, ready for solid food, our faith should be such that we stay close to Abba, comforted that all the stuff that confuses or scares us is taken care of because He knows things we don't know. Mysteries revealed in part; ultimately to be shown when He reveals all things to us. But, like Will, I want my heart to be calmed , my soul quiet, as I splash in living water and reach out to touch His fingers, proffered to me as a reminder that my Father is near. Really. That's all His children need.
I have a picture that I love. It is an actual photograph, but the one I have in my mind is even more precious. It is of my son, Will, when he was nine months old. He is naked, playing in a big tin basin of water in my mother's back yard the summer before she died. It's hot in Texas in August and my boy's little sweaty body relaxed into the tub as he splashed and giggled, his blond hair sparkling in the sunlight, his blue eyes twinkling. Mother and I were sitting close by--I, on the ground beside Will's makeshift swimming pool and Mother on a chair beside me. We were talking about Mother's cancer. It was on her mind that day. How long she'd live. Whether or not to allow the chemotherapy the doctor wanted. Will was content to touch my fingers as they gripped the side of the tin basin. To know I was there was all he needed. There was no way he could conceive of the gravity of my conversation with Mother. Death was too distant a concept. In the moment, all he needed was his mom beside him in order to be happy. My presence.
I'd weaned Will the month before. He no longer needed me in the most personal sense. But the experience of closeness to me for all those months bonded us, like it did with my daughters as well. Mom isn't going very far away, and she takes care of me. That's what they knew. And it wasn't until my three children grew much older that they questioned things too high and marvelous for them. How can a loving God send people to hell? What about the people in the world who've never heard the gospel? Will they be saved? How can there be free will and God's sovereignty? I believe God wants to reveal His secrets to us; in fact, He says He does: "Behold, You delight in truth in the inward being, and You teach me wisdom in the secret heart (Psalm 51)." But God doesn't want us to stress over things we don't understand any more than I would've wanted Will to strain to understand the perplexity and pain of my mother's disease. It wasn't time for that.
This is one of my favorite psalms for the picture it gives of how I should be with God, my Father. My God is busy about His work, always accomplishing things in the universe I could not possibly ever understand fully. It isn't my place to strain to get it all figured out. I never will. What it is my place to do is rest in the knowledge that He's much, much wiser than I. And if I spend my time trying to figure out things too marvelous for me so that I forget the One Who is Marvelous to me, I worry and stress. I don't want to strut through life declaring that I know all about what God is doing. Because I don't. Most of the time I simply have a vague idea of where things are going. Even the greatest Christian apologists and theologians only know a fraction of how big our God really is. What we do know is what kind of Father He is. Weaned from the milk of the Word, which has bonded us in His love, ready for solid food, our faith should be such that we stay close to Abba, comforted that all the stuff that confuses or scares us is taken care of because He knows things we don't know. Mysteries revealed in part; ultimately to be shown when He reveals all things to us. But, like Will, I want my heart to be calmed , my soul quiet, as I splash in living water and reach out to touch His fingers, proffered to me as a reminder that my Father is near. Really. That's all His children need.
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