Like a weaned child
Hope. In the English language our use of the word usually means the thing we’re referring to is definitely NOT going to happen. ‘I hope it’s not going to rain’ means you should pack your brolly. ‘I hope my team will win this year’ means they surely won’t, again! And yet, that is not at all how Scripture refers to hope. It’s sure and certain, reassuring, solid enough to hang on to, even with gritted teeth.
Are you a glass half full or empty kind of person? Do you find hope difficult? Do your ‘hopes’ usually mean inevitable defeat?
Psalm 131
A song of ascents. Of David.
1 My heart is not proud, Lord,
my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
or things too wonderful for me.
2 But I have calmed and quietened myself,
I am like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child I am content.
3 Israel, put your hope in the Lord
both now and for evermore.
my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
or things too wonderful for me.
2 But I have calmed and quietened myself,
I am like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child I am content.
3 Israel, put your hope in the Lord
both now and for evermore.
Imagination is a tool used by the church for thousands of years to help us deeply engage with Scripture, to make the Living Word bring life into our lives. (If that's something that interests you, you should DEFINITELY check out Brad Jersak's book Can You Hear Me: Tuning In To The God Who Speaks. Game Changer.)
And so, I invite you to switch on your imagination, enter into the imagery of this Psalm and picture yourself as a child snuggled up with their mother, or as a mother cuddling a child, and allow God to speak to you through the picture you see and feel. Stay there. Soak it in.
How might bringing imagination into your devotional life help Scripture to come alive and allow the Spirit of God to speak life to your soul?
Maybe I’m getting better at this parenting thing, third time around, but I’m starting to think that figuring out breastfeeding and infant sleep cycles is a walk in the park compared to what comes with sending them out into the world on their own.
Since having my own babies I’ve wondered why the psalmist refers to a weaned child. My experience has been that everything is a lot more peaceful when you can just pop baby on the breast for comfort whenever the need arises, it’s a good fix all. Parenting got a lot harder for me after weaning.
But as my children get a little bit older maybe I’m beginning to understand. In Bible times it was normal to wean children from the breast a lot older than we tend to today, so when Hannah waits to send Samuel to the temple until he’s weaned, she’s not sending him as a 6 month baby, or an 18 month old, but most likely as a 6 or 7 year old.
Isaac is 5 now, he’s just started school, and an independent soul; he’s brave and adventurous. But frequently, as he navigates his world, he needs to return to my lap, to snuggle in, to remember what safe feels like, to talk through the problems and challenges he’s encountered, the loneliness and frustrations.
And doesn’t that describe how our relationship of connection with the Lord can bring us hope? We go out into the world as the 72 disciples did in Luke 10, and return rejoicing or sorrowing, to debrief our adventures with Mother God, who holds us close, speaks comfort and courage, reassurance to face another day. We draw near for company, to just breathe in his presence, not just in the way a baby needs milk to survive, but with depth of relationship that is more reciprocal, that wants to enjoy each other, that doesn’t just receive but that wants to love in return.
How would you describe your relationship with the Lord? Do you approach on a needs basis only, coming close to debrief your adventures, snuggling in for company and reassurance, enjoying each others presence? What would you like it to look like?
Isaac is still in that blessed season of life where a cuddle with Mum can fix everything. Every nightmare, every skinned knee can be soothed on my lap, because he knows deep to his core that I love him, that I’m for him, I will always respond to him, and that with me he is safe. Jesus teaches us we need to enter the kingdom of heaven as little children (Matt 18:3), and the rest of this psalm describes humility of heart that chooses to trust like my Isaac does.
I’ve recently realised that the battering and bruising of life has left me subconsciously distrustful of God’s character and power to move in the world, and my life in particular. I’m sure I can’t be the only one. It’s a slow process, and one that we wouldn’t admit to happening. We still say the right words, but notice that they start to sound like glib clichés. It becomes harder to pray, to read the Bible for anything other than business.
In his grace, I’ve felt Father God draw close, particularly revealing his kindness to me, his gentleness, his compassion and goodness, coaxing me to trust him again. And as I’ve become more aware of those aspects of his character it feels like a lump of ice melting in my heart, being replaced with beating flesh. A coming alive again. Where I had felt hopelessness, I now feel hope. And that hope comes from a peaceful sense of being snuggled, reminded of what kind of a father he is. Psalm 130 talks about a hope that comes with waiting, but Psalm 131 describes a timeless hope, that is not waiting, but contented, held, whole. I have hope that it will all be ok because I know that the Father who holds me with such safety and care also holds the whole world and its future secure in his arms.
Coming back to these thoughts now, it really feels like God had me write it back then so I’d be reminded now of this truth deep in my soul. When my mind is a jumble and everything seems too much, it's time to take a shuddering deep breath and settle my heart and still my soul.
Have you ever felt a sense of disconnect from God? How might reminding yourself of his character and goodness help you to trust and draw close?
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