to be near

A recent Sunday morning. early. Okay, early-ish. Strong cup of coffee cupped in my hands. Perfectly toasted, buttered, and cinnamoned piece of homemade bread plated and resting next to me. (jealous yet?) Sun beating against the cream curtains. Fuzzy blanket over my lap. Favorite arm chair. I take hold of the frayed, brown bookmark and flip my Bible open to where I'd left off the morning before. Psalm 91. Perfect, I think. Familiar, full of devotional truth, Messianic overtones...I take a steaming sip from my mug and start to read. And I get lost. In the first 4 verses. Can't leave 'em. A rich thread of truth shows itself, and I find myself tracing it over and over. It winds its way through stunning word pictures, connecting them in a way I'd never noticed before. Here, let me show you...

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He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

What is this place? The place of the most High. His home. A place shaded by His presence. Where am I here? Dwelling. Abiding. My location is secure and familiar. I'm not leaving. I belong here. Welcome here like I am in my own physical dwelling. Where is God here? Very, very close. His shadow is covering me. 

I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.

What is this place? A refuge and fortress. Something secure. Difficult to penetrate. Where am I here? Inside. Sheltered from harm. Taking cover from danger. Protected. Safe. Where is God here? He's the fortress, the one I'm inside. Yeah, think on that for a while. 

Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence.

What is this place? Well, we know it's dangerous and harmful. Something intentionally set to hurt me. Loud. destructive like a pestilence. Where am I here? Very close to this danger. Close enough to 'step in the snare' and hear the 'pestilence.' Where is God here? He's the rescuer and guide. Keeping my steps from the snares and pulling me from the danger. 

He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shall thou trust;

What is this place? A feathered wing. A canopy of feathers. A place of warmth. A soft, gentle place. A place of nurture and trust. Where am I here? Underneath these feathered wings. Sheltered, warm, safe. Where is God here? Covering me with Himself. Drawing me close. 

His truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

What is this place? Where do you need a shield and buckler? In battle. Danger. Potential or realized. Where am I here? Behind the shield and buckler. An entire body can hide behind a ancient shield. A buckler is smaller and held close to protect the internal organs (or so I read). The picture here is one of complete protection. Where is God here? Ok, so I'm equating His truth with His presence in this phrase. A stretch? Not so much. He's positioned close enough to protect me completely, or held tight against me like a piece of clothing. 

See what the Psalmist is doing here? Never once does he say God is near, but with every phrase he paints a striking picture of that reality. Over and over. Phrase by phrase he's saying: look at it this way. It's like you're dwelling in His home, overshadowed by His presence. Or better yet, your dwelling in Him. How about this: He's close up beside you to guide your steps and rescue you if you get trapped. Or maybe it's more like He's covering you with Himself like a bird her young. Actually, He's something you can hide behind...or held fast against you.

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My Sunday morning reverie cut off quick-like with a casual glance at the clock. Had to set down the empty mug, shrug off the warm blanket, clear the dirty plate, leave the sunlit room, begin preparations for church...all that quiet, physical comfort 'popped' like a floating bubble. But the truth of the nearness of God has no time constraints or physical limitations. 

And as this Christmas season winds me up and sends me whirling from each program, party, and other tradition-necessitates-this activities, I want these pictures front and center. Want them to influence my actions and thoughts. Want them to inform both the sentimental emotions and deflated expectations of this time of year. My God is near to me. In, above, around me. He is my home, my guide, covering, protection, and rescue. Psalm 91 tells me that. 

And to be near? I think that must be one of the greatest gifts offered this holiday season. 

Beth