Ofttimes the contents of a day are simply too much for the common courtesies, and at nightfall I must have some bouyant plucking inlayed on deeper bass. My pen scratches furiously at these times, and this frenzy falls without much warning. The ills seem all too much, the gaiety inappropriate, and and my donning of some external persona or beautification--impossible. It's that icy February rawness slapped right in your face.
A question was raised to me tonight that held no inherent value, and was not delivered with any intended plaguing. The man delivering it had no idea its effect, nor did I when it burrowed in my mind. I am thinking of Psalm 42:3 "...they say to me all day long, "Where is your God?"

My plans are often asked of me, and I have no response to those that are seeming to insinuate "where is your God?" -- or better yet, "what have you missed of His leading?"

It is not that I haven't, or don't think of this--often, but the answers are not yet mine. Psalm 131 says, "1 Oh LORD, my heart is not proud, nor my eyes haughty; Nor do I involve myself in great matters, or in things too difficult for me. 2 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.

Spurgeon intimates, "Comparing all the Psalms to gems, we should liken this to a pearl: how beautifully it will adorn the neck of patience. It is one of the shortest Psalms to read, but one of the longest to learn." The psalmist is succinct in his wording, but profound in his speaking. He declares that his involvement is fixed simply upon the realm wherein the Lord has placed him, and he decidedly mixes not with the unfurling events of Providence. Surely this is David, who will be king, but for now, his soul is contented and at ease; resting while matters above him are carefully selected and arranged to unravel at His charge.

I am always struck by this, for the "great matters" and "things too difficult for me" all refer to Providence, and that vain wind-grasping that Solomon alludes continually to in Ecclesiastes. I am to make it my aim to lead a simple, quiet, and godly life--with all humility, while being ready always to tell of this glorious hope. Perhaps I am making circles here (it is 2am), but my soul is stirred to adhere to this word, and to call you to it as well. Who amongst you rests as that weaned, contented child? Whose soul is quieted and composed? Who involves himself not in these difficult matters? Whatever our experience, place in life, or the stacked heap of spiritual advancements we seem to have made--until our souls are consistently coralled as this, let us guard our lips, and look not to the outward of man, but to that kernel that is him. .
Again, it seems to me that much is said in silence, most of which is crowded with noise. Silence is deafening, and it is much preferred to push through to activity than press in to hear. I believe the Lord is weaving such silent beauty on the broken loom couched up in our souls, and that foolishness alone would desire the product to be prematurely removed. I am exhausted