Our dear "Miss Candle" sent us a care package recently, and in it was Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts devotional. I loved the book, and now I am loving the devotional. Each day is like a word-danish to go along with my coffee; a poem-arrow pointing me to God. (Voskamp uses lots of made up hyphenated words so I thought I'd do the same).
I especially loved one particular entry around Psalm 131:2 which reads, "Surely I have composed and quieted my soul; like a weaned child rests against his mother, my soul is like a weaned child within me."
I love this verse, though I have only ever eye-brushed it before. This week I stared at it, long and hard, looking into the world of its implications. A weaned child longs for breast milk as I long for the audible voice of God. As I long for His physical hand stroking my hair, and for the complete absence of pain that His absolute presence would surely bring.
And yet a weaned child finally comes to the point when he can rest his head on his mother's milk-scented breast, denied the thing he wants, but allowed access forever to the person he needs.
|Missing our man this month, as he is out of the country for a PhD course. XOXO|