A sofa sits on the edge of woodland close to home, fly-tipped by some inconsiderate being who expects someone else to clear up after them and thinks nothing of the eyesore…
“FLY TIPPING UNDER INVESTIGATION” reads the tape around it so that no one can sit on it. Not that we’d want to! No doubt it’s sodden after the recent autumnal deluges.
The out-of-placeness of it is striking. You couldn’t rest there if you tried and there was no tape – it’s all wrong. It doesn’t belong. There is relaxation to be had out here in the woods, but not like that.
But God’s comfort does belong in inhospitable places, when all around us looks unfamiliar, when mentally and emotionally we cannot settle. His genuine comfort is available while life is less than we’d hope, his peace offered during times of stress, a peace that ‘surpasses all understanding’. (Phil. 4:7).
That can sound theoretical and idealistic beyond belief, especially if you have a tendency to overthink and consider every eventuality – I struggle with that myself. ‘Where do you get your ideas?’ I’ve been asked. ‘I’d love to write fiction. Wish I had an imagination like yours.’ My reply? Oh no you don’t! It’s all very well having a ‘good imagination’, in whatever form that takes for you. But we creatives are also (quite probably) the most fearful type of people on earth! When it comes to life itself, there’s little our imaginations can’t concoct, if we give them the opportunity. Eventualities? Oh, we’re there in seconds for whatever scenario is suggested. More than anyone else we need to ‘take thoughts captive’ and instead take refuge in him. Two minutes on Twitter is enough to unsettle my spirit at the moment, but that’s not me avoiding reality. It’s me knowing what’s good for me – and what really isn’t!
Where do I go to with my overactive mind? What might calm me in an instant? These verses are good for starters:
‘My righteousness is near; my salvation is gone forth, and mine arms shall judge the people; the isles shall wait upon me, and on mine arm shall they trust.
Lift up your eyes to the heavens, and look upon the earth beneath: for the heavens shall vanish away like smoke, and the earth shall wax old like a garment, and they that dwell therein shall die in like manner: but my salvation shall be for ever, and my righteousness shall not be abolished.’ (Isa. 51:5-6 KJV)
I love the poetry of this old version, the resoluteness of the language; its formality reminds me of legal language that cannot be bent to suit the ear of the listener. A contemporary version speaks of how ‘the time of my victory is near’. ‘I myself will rule over the nations. Distant lands wait for me to come.’ (GNB). Don’t they indeed! This new reality could be in the blink of an eye or in a thousand years, but we know that, while we wait, we have this promise: ‘he will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him.’ (Eph 3:17, NLT). We crave to be close to him, but he’s there already. He makes his nest in our hearts, deposits his Spirit there, his presence, closer than life itself.
I love that in the Psalms, sparrows and swallows shelter near to God’s altar – the ‘Lord of Heaven’s Armies’ has the tenderness to welcome them, small and humble though they are, while we enjoy the greater privilege of him within us, meaning we are inseparable. (Ps. 84:3.)
Something worth dwelling on!
Even the sparrow finds a home,
and the swallow builds her nest and raises her young
at a place near your altar,
O Lord of Heaven’s Armies, my King and my God! (NLT, Ps. 84:3)
