The shoulder’s doing great, thanks for asking. And I’m figuring out how to do more of the daily arm-related tasks for myself, so my non-dependent self is feeling a bit smug. I can sense the growing ability to be busy challenging the truth of my need for help from my wife and, ultimately, from God. Fortunately, I am forced to keep the sling for another couple of weeks, which redirects me to deal with my impatience and irritation. And this is all about a pretty minor set of limitations. A good friend of mine commented on my last post from a place of much greater weakness and put my small sufferings in perspective.

All the same, I feel that even this light affliction has pressed me to consider more fully what it means to be ultimately dependent on the one the old hymn calls “my Maker, Defender, Redeemer, and King.” What becomes clear is that dependence does not exist in isolation. It is really part of the “faith complex.” As such, it interacts co-dependently (for once a good use of the term) with several siblings. The ones that immediately come to mind are rest, contentment, and trust.

These three characteristics of dependence don’t seem to exist in great abundance. Oh, there’s a veneer of modern “chill” on our culture. And there’s plenty of laziness and passivity around. These aren’t the same as rest, contentment, or trust. In fact, they are quite the opposite. It might appear that we have cultivated a certain laid-back attitude; after all, the hammock seems to have become a kind of national symbol. But not too far beneath the surface of many lives is a seething anxiety, a hard-edged striving, a drivenness to accumulate and own everything from possessions to time to the right to determine the course of our existence.

When I think about resting, contentment, and trust a biblical picture comes to mind. In Psalms 131 the composer says that he is “like a weaned child at its mother’s breast.” The sense of peace in this one verse is truly profound, especially as it is written by an adult. There is a complete absence of anxiety, of false ambition, of pride. This is a striking image that poses a fundamental challenge to my compulsion to be moving, active, busy. I suspect that trying to attain and remain in the receptive posture of the Psalmist would simply drive most of us crazy. Just look into my brain whenever I am bold or crazy enough to attempt a 10-minute quiet time during my morning prayer.  ADHD anyone?

So what does the weaned child of the Psalm tell us about our place in God’s presence? One thing is clear: This is light years away from laziness or “chill.” You could say that he is passive, but only in the sense of releasing the resistance to being utterly reliant on God and his provision. What fascinates me is that the weaned child doesn’t really “need” to be with his mother: He’s done, he’s fed, it’s time to get moving. And yet he remains there, content and basking in the goodness of what he has received.

The psalmist’s words are a powerful rebuke to my and our self-regard. We tend more to represent the squirrelly, antsy, un-peaceful child who can’t wait to leave the parental embrace to show our stuff. The weaned child has what we often lack, and sorely need: surrender to our accurate intuition that we are not in control and an acceptance of the fact. Again, this is not the equivalent of being a laid-back, who cares?, it’s all good, “whatever” kind of person trying to cover up the anxiety and fear over what could happen in an unpredictable, out-of-our-control world.

The weaned child attitude is really quite active. It purposefully seeks out the source of security, strength, and sustenance. It trusts that God the Father really is that source, really is willing to ungrudgingly supply everything necessary for us to live fruitful live. It waits, listens, allows the Spirit to bring calm and quiet, and obeys what it hears. It regularly turns back to God for moments of rest, prays to be aware of the need, asks for a God-perspective on what’s going on. How often can we do this? I can only say, almost certainly more than we are accustomed to doing.

So my shoulder is an excellent metaphor. When I sit for 20 minutes trying to untangle my complex and unwieldy sling while Joanne is 30 feet away in another room, I am simply doing what I do with God over and over again. I might end up putting together the sling, but the results aren’t what the manufacturer’s instructions intended. So it is with the Lord, who is far less than 30 feet away and even more able to help than my gracious and uber-competent wife. Whether it’s in relation to my family, my work, my money, or anything else, I don’t have to untangle the lines and build my own safety net (or hammock, if that’s my inclination). Instead, I can rise up and be aware of the Lord’s presence in the morning; turn to him and know his goodness at noon; offer my moments to him and see his glory come forth throughout the day; and lie down at night in the knowledge that his love cures my restless heart and mind.

So, weaned children, don’t hurry off, but stay a while in the presence of our wonderful God. Don’t be satisfied with crumbs, but take him at his word that he “sets out a feasting table even in the presence of our enemies.” Enjoying the satisfaction we find in him, we experience peace and joy in our lives that passes all understanding.

Happy Dependence Day!