It is Maddie’s birthday on Monday. Sixteen. I know, I’m pretty amazed too and I live with her. It can’t be possible that my baby girl is going to be sixteen years old. Especially since I’m not sixteen years older than the day she arrived. Am I? Don’t answer that.
OK, this wasn’t really supposed to be about aging, mine or hers, or yours for that matter. This is about wanting. We are in the midst of the what do we get for Maddie’s birthday debate. I know, I know, you’re thinking, “Didn’t he say her birthday is Monday? And they are still debating what they are going to get her for her birthday? What is wrong with these people??”
Good question. Her list has been up for a couple of weeks. Her conversation has been going on for a lot longer than that. And her wanting has been almost non-stop. She is a product of her environment. The world we live in is a wanting world. We are told in subtle and not so subtle ways that the wanting and the having is what it is all about. We’re even told what to want. It is a shouting at the tide kind of situation. A no win scenario.
At least that is the opinion of some of us in my house. Others have a different opinion. Wants can be managed, or redirected, or simply not met. (OK, go ahead and guess. I’ll wait. ... Right the first time!) See, if it were up to me, I’d give her what she wants. Here’s the list, go fill it. But someone (who shall remain nameless - mostly for my protection) wants to ask a bunch of questions. Like “Is that practical?” Well, no. “Does she need it?” Of course not. “Is it worth it?” Probably not. “Then why should we get it?” Well, ... because she wants it.
Not good enough. For some people in the house anyway. And maybe not good enough for David. You know David, Old Testament guy, King of Israel, war hero, builder of palaces, writer of Psalms. A lot of Psalms get attributed to David. The truth is we don’t really know how many or which ones were actually written by David and which ones were just attributed to him - meaning someone else put his name on them to get them published!
But I like to think that this one, our text for this week was one that David wrote. Something he plucked out on a lazy afternoon looking after the sheep. Just a little ditty that he couldn’t even get his brothers to listen to when he got back to the homestead that evening. “Hey, guys, I wrote a new Psalm. Listen to this.” Moans and hand gestures abound and the brothers scatter to the four winds. Even old Jesse wouldn’t listen. “It’s real short, Dad,” David whines, “it’ll just take a sec.” “Maybe later, Davey, I still got work to do and you know how your mother gets when we are late for supper.” And he scoots out the back door, making sure the screen door doesn’t slam behind him, cause he gets heck for that every single time.
With a sigh, and a glance at the old sheepdog curled up in front of the fire, who doesn’t lift his head but does manage a wag that thumps against the floor. That’s all the encouragement David needs and he pulls his lyre off his back and says to the dog, “It’s my best so far. It’s gonna be a big hit, I just feel it in my bones.” And he starts to sing.
Psalm 23:1-6 The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want. 2 He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; 3 he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name's sake. 4 Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff-- they comfort me. 5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. 6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD my whole life long.
The final note seems to hang in the air like a spark ascending from a warming fire. David senses that he isn’t as alone as he thought when he began to sing. He sees his mom come in from the kitchen, wiping her eyes on that calico apron she’s worn to prepare more meals than anyone can remember. She flashes him a proud smile before she scoots back to her stirring and baking. The brothers, who sought an escape from yet another psalm of David, now seem mesmerized, caught up to another place as they bump into each other as they drift out of the room. Even Jesse seems at a loss for words, he opens and closes his big farmer hands as though grasping for words that are out of reach. “Davey,” he croaks with a voice filled with an unusual emotion. But still at a loss for a way to name the moment, he instead clears his throat and heads out to wash up for supper, the pump handle creaking in the silence made by the new song.
David turns back to the only one unaffected by the event. The old dog, tail stilled, basking in the warms, tilts his eyes toward David and seems to say, “It’s better in the King James version.”
Well, that’s how I imagine it anyway. How could he know those six verses would become the single most remembered part of scripture around the world? But maybe he sensed it even as he wrote it. Or as it came to him in that curious process called inspiration. In-spirit-ed. A human/divine encounter that left us with six verses that speak to deep places in our soul. A Psalm about wanting. Or wanting and having. Or having so much, being so filled, that wanting doesn’t even enter the picture any more.
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” Not because wanting is bad, but because there is nothing to want any more. The Twenty-third Psalm speaks of a someday when the deepest longings, the strongest wantings are satisfied by a relationship with the divine, with something bigger than anything our minds can comprehend, and yet we call Father because we want it to be as real as those strong arms that wrap around us when the storm begins to rage around us. We want it to be like that guiding hand that helps us see the world right in front of our face, but because of our fear or our ignorance or our selfishness we can’t see it. Until those strong and patient and infinitely loving hands take pains to point it out to us.
In the meantime, we want. And because we live in a world of amazing resources, we can be convinced that this thing or that can fill that aching need. And if we just had one of those, if we just looked like her, or drove a car like him, or dressed like those folks, then our wanting would be done. Except it isn’t. The fixes that the world offer are always short term. They might last a while, but then we need to upgrade. Then we need the next new thing. Or then we discover that the features of our current thing don’t include satisfaction or contentment despite the advertizing telling us otherwise.
Our solution, we think, is to settle. Settle for less. Be satisfied being half empty. Be content with a vacancy in significant places. Learn to live with what is. Good enough is good enough. But that’s not what the Twenty-third Psalm says either. It talks of banquet tables, it talks of overflowing cups, it talks of peace and of being pursued by goodness and mercy. It talks about not wanting, not because you’ve trained yourself not to want, but because you are filled up. To the top, and spilling over.
Yes, some of it is learning to want properly. But mostly it is being so filled up with love and support and care that you can’t imagine what could possibly be better than that.
So, excuse me, I have to go prepare to be a birthday gift.
Shalom,
Derek
OK, this wasn’t really supposed to be about aging, mine or hers, or yours for that matter. This is about wanting. We are in the midst of the what do we get for Maddie’s birthday debate. I know, I know, you’re thinking, “Didn’t he say her birthday is Monday? And they are still debating what they are going to get her for her birthday? What is wrong with these people??”
Good question. Her list has been up for a couple of weeks. Her conversation has been going on for a lot longer than that. And her wanting has been almost non-stop. She is a product of her environment. The world we live in is a wanting world. We are told in subtle and not so subtle ways that the wanting and the having is what it is all about. We’re even told what to want. It is a shouting at the tide kind of situation. A no win scenario.
At least that is the opinion of some of us in my house. Others have a different opinion. Wants can be managed, or redirected, or simply not met. (OK, go ahead and guess. I’ll wait. ... Right the first time!) See, if it were up to me, I’d give her what she wants. Here’s the list, go fill it. But someone (who shall remain nameless - mostly for my protection) wants to ask a bunch of questions. Like “Is that practical?” Well, no. “Does she need it?” Of course not. “Is it worth it?” Probably not. “Then why should we get it?” Well, ... because she wants it.
Not good enough. For some people in the house anyway. And maybe not good enough for David. You know David, Old Testament guy, King of Israel, war hero, builder of palaces, writer of Psalms. A lot of Psalms get attributed to David. The truth is we don’t really know how many or which ones were actually written by David and which ones were just attributed to him - meaning someone else put his name on them to get them published!
But I like to think that this one, our text for this week was one that David wrote. Something he plucked out on a lazy afternoon looking after the sheep. Just a little ditty that he couldn’t even get his brothers to listen to when he got back to the homestead that evening. “Hey, guys, I wrote a new Psalm. Listen to this.” Moans and hand gestures abound and the brothers scatter to the four winds. Even old Jesse wouldn’t listen. “It’s real short, Dad,” David whines, “it’ll just take a sec.” “Maybe later, Davey, I still got work to do and you know how your mother gets when we are late for supper.” And he scoots out the back door, making sure the screen door doesn’t slam behind him, cause he gets heck for that every single time.
With a sigh, and a glance at the old sheepdog curled up in front of the fire, who doesn’t lift his head but does manage a wag that thumps against the floor. That’s all the encouragement David needs and he pulls his lyre off his back and says to the dog, “It’s my best so far. It’s gonna be a big hit, I just feel it in my bones.” And he starts to sing.
Psalm 23:1-6 The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want. 2 He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; 3 he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name's sake. 4 Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff-- they comfort me. 5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. 6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD my whole life long.
The final note seems to hang in the air like a spark ascending from a warming fire. David senses that he isn’t as alone as he thought when he began to sing. He sees his mom come in from the kitchen, wiping her eyes on that calico apron she’s worn to prepare more meals than anyone can remember. She flashes him a proud smile before she scoots back to her stirring and baking. The brothers, who sought an escape from yet another psalm of David, now seem mesmerized, caught up to another place as they bump into each other as they drift out of the room. Even Jesse seems at a loss for words, he opens and closes his big farmer hands as though grasping for words that are out of reach. “Davey,” he croaks with a voice filled with an unusual emotion. But still at a loss for a way to name the moment, he instead clears his throat and heads out to wash up for supper, the pump handle creaking in the silence made by the new song.
David turns back to the only one unaffected by the event. The old dog, tail stilled, basking in the warms, tilts his eyes toward David and seems to say, “It’s better in the King James version.”
Well, that’s how I imagine it anyway. How could he know those six verses would become the single most remembered part of scripture around the world? But maybe he sensed it even as he wrote it. Or as it came to him in that curious process called inspiration. In-spirit-ed. A human/divine encounter that left us with six verses that speak to deep places in our soul. A Psalm about wanting. Or wanting and having. Or having so much, being so filled, that wanting doesn’t even enter the picture any more.
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” Not because wanting is bad, but because there is nothing to want any more. The Twenty-third Psalm speaks of a someday when the deepest longings, the strongest wantings are satisfied by a relationship with the divine, with something bigger than anything our minds can comprehend, and yet we call Father because we want it to be as real as those strong arms that wrap around us when the storm begins to rage around us. We want it to be like that guiding hand that helps us see the world right in front of our face, but because of our fear or our ignorance or our selfishness we can’t see it. Until those strong and patient and infinitely loving hands take pains to point it out to us.
In the meantime, we want. And because we live in a world of amazing resources, we can be convinced that this thing or that can fill that aching need. And if we just had one of those, if we just looked like her, or drove a car like him, or dressed like those folks, then our wanting would be done. Except it isn’t. The fixes that the world offer are always short term. They might last a while, but then we need to upgrade. Then we need the next new thing. Or then we discover that the features of our current thing don’t include satisfaction or contentment despite the advertizing telling us otherwise.
Our solution, we think, is to settle. Settle for less. Be satisfied being half empty. Be content with a vacancy in significant places. Learn to live with what is. Good enough is good enough. But that’s not what the Twenty-third Psalm says either. It talks of banquet tables, it talks of overflowing cups, it talks of peace and of being pursued by goodness and mercy. It talks about not wanting, not because you’ve trained yourself not to want, but because you are filled up. To the top, and spilling over.
Yes, some of it is learning to want properly. But mostly it is being so filled up with love and support and care that you can’t imagine what could possibly be better than that.
So, excuse me, I have to go prepare to be a birthday gift.
Shalom,
Derek
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