When the wind blows against our house, it sounds like a chorus of specters takes up residence in our chimney flue and makes their presence known in no uncertain terms. Every howl brings a “Mommy, whas dat?!” from my 3-year-old, his curiosity strong enough to cause him to ask but not investigate further. Instead, he runs to me and melts into my arms. He sees me as a safe place, not just an instant height advantage to get a better look at things.
And that’s where we pick up in the scriptures. In reading the passages for today, I kept seeing this unifying thread. It might not be completely obvious upon first glance, but look at these excerpts all together and it becomes a little clearer:
Psalm 61 – “Lead me to the rock that is higher than I, for you have been my refuge… let me dwell in your tent forever!”
Psalm 62 – “On God rests my salvation and my glory; my mighty rock, my refuge is God.”
Psalm 68 – “Blessed be the Lord who daily bears us up; God is our salvation.”
Genesis 42 – “Now Joseph was governor over the land. He was the one who sold to all the people of the land. And Joseph’s brothers came and bowed themselves before him with their faces to the ground.”
Listening to the wind against my house, cuddling my son in his questions, these passages are a new gasp of air, breathing life straight into my soul. And I think to myself how often I have asked questions of my Salvation, my Glory, my Refuge, my Rock, my Safe Place, with only the thought of a new height advantage. How often I have approached “the rock that is higher than I” as a stepping-stone to see what I can see, figure out what I can figure out; do what I can do. What a woefully incomplete picture of “the Lord who daily bears us up.” I could learn a thing or two from Joseph’s brothers, coming to my only Hope and dropping my face to the ground, not trying to peek over His shoulder for a better view.
When I can truly celebrate the beauty of Christ who bears me up daily, I can sink into His embrace and take refuge the way He intended. In that moment I am poised to see from no better vantage point, yet my cheek on his shoulder is all I need. If I need to see, he’ll hoist me on his shoulders and tell me to look. Until then I am privileged to experience His mighty strength as my rock, and His incredible gentleness as my refuge, all at the same time.
He’s so much more than a height advantage. Today, my prayer is that we approach “the rock that is higher” with the heart of a 3-year-old looking for refuge and safety, not all the answers.