But I have stilled and quieted my soul; like a weaned child with its mother, like a weaned child is my soul within me. (Psalms 131:2) (NIV)
In the shade of a date palm, a Polynesian mother held her precious two-year-old at arm’s length. A vee shaped wrinkle spoiled the toddler's brow. He swung a fist, but the mom caught the impact in her hand, and cooed assurances.
“Sorry, precious boy. No more milk. It’s time for real food, so you can grow big and strong.”
Later, as the first stars found the sky, the pair sat side by side. The mother stroked her son’s face. They shared a new and deeper bond. The child was weaned. He chose to love the giver, and live without the gift.
There were blessings in this life I expected to receive. When they were withheld, my heart grew dark. I didn’t see that God tried to move me on to richer blessings.
Father knew that when I was done with my whys, my accusations, and my fists, I’d fall into the peace of new knowledge. I’d love the giver more than the gift. That’s the only kind of love that will carry me out of Christian infancy.
It’s distressing to realize that as a middle aged ministry professional, I still respond to losses like a two-year-old weaning from mother’s milk. My old nature refuses to focus on what I have in God, instead of what I’ve lost of the world.
God never takes something from us unless he holds out something better. But, that something is often eternal and not temporal. My little, baby, narrow self refuses to look to anything better than what I can see, taste, or touch. So God has to force the weaning, and I drag it out for painful years.
It’s time to let go of my loss, seek out God’s replacement, and grab hold of that larger blessing.
Prayer: Father, grant the peace of surrender to you.