Where travel meets God
Psalm 19:14 (ESV)—Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.
Let’s pray this verse
or
May we strive for our words to be acceptable in God’s sight.
Psalm 27:5 (ESV)—For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent; he will lift me high upon a rock.
Though there are many formation theories of Devils Tower National Monument, my favorite is the Native American belief the Great Spirit made the rock rise from the ground to save a pair of girls running from giant bears. The steep rock lifted the girls too high for the bears to climb and the striations in the rocks are claw marks from the bears trying to chase the girls. (See the NPS website for the complete story and other stories.)
Like the Great Spirit, God lifts us from danger to put us in a place of safety. He lifted Noah and his family in an ark to survive the flood. He lifted people from the alienating bonds of sickness. He even lifted people from death.
Because God has our best in mind, we can trust he will lift us high on a rock in times of tension. In this safe space, we experience comfort in loss, celebration in overcoming, peace amid anxiousness, love during loneliness, and release of fear.
For these things and so much more, our God is worthy of praise. Today, let’s tell him the strife we’re facing and allow him to lift us high upon a rock.
Psalm 51:11–13 (ESV)—Cast me not away from your presence, and take not your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and uphold me with a willing spirit. Then I will teach transgressors your ways, and sinners will return to you.
A beautiful day beckoned with sunshine and seventy-degree weather. So my husband and I drove to a local state park, where we established ourselves on the dock, with camping chairs and books.
A few chapters into my book, I heard a shuffle that stole my attention from reading. Given no other people on the dock with us, I turned my head toward the sound.
A raccoon climbed onto the top of the trash can, pressed open the lid, disappeared inside, and came out dragging trash and discarded food. It hauled its meal into the overgrowth of trees and bushes.
Not a long time later, it emerged again, head peeking out from tall grasses. The creature scurried the same path to the trash can, climbed the wooden railings and onto the receptacle, then pushed open the door and emerged once again.
Watching this masked bandit, I thought it seemed ultra familiar with the location and ins and outs of this receptacle. Now, I wonder about the health of this (undeniably cute) trash thief. It takes the path back and forth from human food to natural home in the trees. The food fills its stomach, but it doesn’t receive its daily nutritional needs.
Like the raccoon, I sometimes find myself digging in the trash (metaphorically, of course) to try to find sustenance. For example, after a vacation, my hubby and I often hash out our trip. “What could have gone better” is an often-discussed topic, like that bedroom in the shared condo where we had to walk into the hallway for the bathroom. Affordable but awkward, to say the least. By the end of our nitpicking, I usually end up with a furrowed brow and a bad feeling. Not good for my mental health, for certain.
Our spiritual health also suffers when we try to find nutrition in the past rather than in the present in the presence of God. When we pull a sin from the trash, we’re tempted to pick it apart and mull over the negative aspects. Going back and forth to the same thing over and over again isn’t healthy.
Fortunately, this psalm of David shows us a better way of examining our sin: in light of God’s mercy and grace. Our past sins don’t hold us in the past but rather, when treated properly, sustain our spirit now and in the future. Our repentance puts praise on our tongues that can motivate others to seek the same forgiveness. A lesson that reaches further than any nitpicking of “what could have gone better.”
The better is in the sustenance of the Spirit, and only God’s love and mercy can help us find peace for our sins.
Psalm 23:4 (ESV)—Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
Many a valley has captured my attention. I’ve hiked the hills of Glenwood Springs, Colorado, gazing down on yellow aspens in the fall. In Switzerland, I’ve gawked at the Alps from a train car winding its way through the rugged mountains, the valley views spectacular from above and below. I’ve sat in the passenger seat while my husband drove us on the winding Pacific Coast Highway, traveling from valley through clouds and above the clouds, the white floor stretching out like a vast flatland meadow.
Valleys give us good reason to not fear “the valley of the shadow of death.” The valley is alive with God’s creation. The trees provide the oxygen we need to live; bathe us in shade on hot summer days; and of course give us a tangible, up-close picture of God’s creation. Clouds can warm the earth at night, protect us from the sun’s heat during the day, cast rain on the earth, and warn of inclement weather.
The valley also plays host to God’s people, and God uses the valley to protect and provide for his people. For example, in the story of Isaac and Abimelek, Isaac moved to the Valley of Gerar, after the Philistines filled the wells of his father, Abraham. Isaac’s people dug more wells, but others disputed ownership of the first two. The third, undisputed by others, “he named it Rehoboth, saying, ‘Now the Lord has given us room and we will flourish in the land’” (Genesis 26:22).
The valley, though sometimes shaded with our troubles, also offers hope. From the valley, we can move our gaze upward to our Father and pray for his provision and protection. Indeed, when we feel as if we’re in a valley, we can “abide in the shadow of the Almighty,” our “refuge and fortress” (Psalm 91:1–2).