Between the Notes

“C’mon,” my two-year-old nephew said as he took my hand. “Play me.” (Let me translate for you. Play with me.)

“What do you want to play, buddy?”

“Pano,” he said. (Let me translate again. “Piano.”)

So, we sat down at the piano together. I started to play and, for a moment, he just listened.

Then he joined in.

Now, I’m a mediocre pianist at best but let’s just say it got a lot louder and lot more chaotic when he started banging on the keys.

That, of course, didn’t bother me. We were just spending time together. We weren’t trying to make a masterpiece.

But as I listened to him play – or rather, make noise – I thought about how so often my life is just that. Noise.

There’s nothing beautiful about it. It’s chaotic and cluttered – and usually that’s my fault.

I choose chaos and clutter by what I allow in.

See, ours is a culture that wears busyness as a badge of honor. We boast of our full calendars. We brag about our frazzled lives. We are worn out and proud we are.  If I slowed down long enough to think about it, I'm sure it would sound crazy. But, alas, I rarely slow down, so it seems perfectly sensible to me.

What if God never intended our lives to look like that? What if when He told us to rest He actually meant that? What if by grasping for more we were actually experiencing less?

"It's the space between the notes," says Noah benShea, "that make the music."

Without the space between the notes, music disintegrates into noise.

There will always be more notes we could play. That doesn't mean we should.

Allow for space between the notes.

Stop making noise. Start making music.

Resting in Green Meadows

As a young boy, David tended his father’s sheep in the desert. As a young man, he was a fugitive hiding in the desert from Saul, the king of Israel, who wanted him dead.

David himself became king after Saul died but fled to the desert again when his son Absalom tried to overthrow him.

David wrote often about his time in the desert, but he is best known for Psalm 23.

You might know that poem.

The Lord is my shepherd;
    I have all that I need. (Psalm 23:1, NLT)

David was always confident that he had all that he would need because the Lord was his trustworthy shepherd.

A shepherd’s role is to provide for and protect the sheep.

David had all that he needed because he was a sheep who is following the shepherd.

And God was – and is – a good shepherd.

How, though, does God care for His sheep? David told us.

He lets me rest in green meadows;
    he leads me beside peaceful streams. (Psalm 23:2, NLT)

I’m from the Midwest. When I think of “green meadows,” I think of the lush farmland that blankets the region. Israel – David’s homeland – wasn’t like that.

Shepherds in the Bible tended their flocks in the desert. The lush farmland was for, well, farmers. And farmers would not have been thrilled with flocks of sheep grazing in their fields.

When David speaks of “green meadows,” he’s not talking about an all-you-can-eat buffet.

He’s talking about the little tufts of grass that pepper the desert landscape. He’s talking about the next mouthful.

God’s promise in the desert is not that we’ll have everything we want.

His promise is that we’ll have everything we need.

He promises the next mouthful.

The desert teaches us dependence. It teaches us trust in our Shepherd. It teaches us to follow Him with faith and in confidence. It teaches us to rest in who God is and what He has done.

Are you following the Shepherd through the desert? Are you trusting Him – depending on Him – to give you all that you need?