like a weaned child

My heart is proud.

Quick to defend myself.  Hasty to be right.

I have not stilled or quieted my soul.  Not enough.

There is time sufficient, but I fill it with so many lesser things. I've not drunk soul-deep from the well of grace.

Restless.  Longing.  Want, want, want.

James has been refusing to eat dinner.  At bedtime, there isn't enough milk to satisfy his hunger, and he gets so angry.

Baby, you have to eat dinner, I tell him.  There's not enough milk to fill your tummy.  You're a big boy.  You need to eat your food.

I am that child, refusing nourishment, bewildered and angry at my lack of satiety.

Oh, to be still.  To rejoice in the presence of my Lord, demanding nothing.

And so receive all things.

Psalm 131
    A song of ascents. Of David.
 1 My heart is not proud, O LORD,
   my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
   or things too wonderful for me.
2 But I have stilled and quieted my soul;
   like a weaned child with its mother,
   like a weaned child is my soul within me.
 3 O Israel, put your hope in the LORD
   both now and forevermore.

 share with emily's imperfect prose and the gypsy mama's five minute friday.  prompt: still.
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