I awoke today to green pastures and still waters—as slow and solid as that old children’s Bible story book on some shelf somewhere up at the farm.
Raise up a child in the way he should go, and when he’s old he won’t depart from it.
And so I wander out into the grass, onto the spotty, tufty, and rare growth of the Middle East that’s more desert than lawn. It’s a wilderness, these green pastures of Psalm 23, with blades only growing in the shade of rocks in a craggy and barren wasteland. But the blades grow daily and are enough to nourish the flocks. Just enough.
Typical.
If there’s a lie I believe about God (and sometimes there is, and I do), it’s that He likes the hard, and He takes pleasure in the suffering of His children because hard is higher than comfort, and pain is preferable to pleasure. On an off day like this, I find Scripture to back up my thinking, and I don’t have far to dig: Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his faithful servants.
My view is upside-down—I know this—and I do a course correction. I press my slippery emotions into the mold of the Word. Like unruly children, they need a time-out. Feelings, sit down.
And so, I consider the dry grass called “green pastures,” and I wonder about the “still waters.” Are they? Maybe they move a little or a lot, and I don’t know what still means, but my thirst is satisfied anyway when I drink from them.
So, what’s my deal? Why the desire for ease and softness? Those two things are exactly what I need to grow despondent, weak, and unmoved.
Lead me beside quiet waters. Restore my soul.
Maybe the real lie is that extra is better than enough, and the spilling over is preferable to the fullness.
And I’m glad I spotted it now. Discontent, sit down.
The grass is greener on the other side? How myopic and silly.
The grass is greener on the other side of hard.
*Has My Blonde Life inspired or entertained you? If you wish to toss a tip into my writerly coffers, here's how you can do it: @Tamara-Schierkolk (Venmo), @TamaraSchierkolk (PayPal), or $TamaraSchierkolk (Cash App)
*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family, neighbors, and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.