My soul dwells secure in pleasant mountains Creator-carved, where cloud-sent rains descend to quench desiccated tongues and rays of molten sun embrace the evening-cold shoulders —
What little matters to some are minuscule, momentary dewdrops adrift in endless possibilities, whirling from the gift of measured life-breaths apportioned to the living among us all —
every sacred miraculous moment of what we call today.
The air was a white, pearlescent haze as I walked upon the street cobblestones along some quaint shops in a New England village. A small leather bag hanged from my right wrist and in it were my credit cards, driver’s license, passport, and some dollar bills. I felt uncomfortable with the small bag as it was not the shoulder bag I usually carry around.
After walking a while, I sought refuge in a furniture store where I could rest my aching feet. It was then when I noticed that my little leather bag was no longer around my wrist. Suddenly I felt a whirlwind of panic — I have lost the objects of my identity! In the midst of my bewilderment, a kind, middle-aged lady approached me and I told her my plight. With a sweet, soothing voice she said, “My dear, everything can be replaced”.
I blinked and rubbed my eyes. It was all a dream.
The leather wrist bag flashed in my mind and immediately I was smacked with a shock of recognition: it was the exact same bag my father had given me to hold my passport, plane ticket and three single dollar bills when I left home decades ago to pursue graduate studies in a foreign land.
All I owned when I embarked on the plane were three single dollar bills, a few clothes in a small suitcase, and my name.
In a faraway land, God has faithfully provided for me through the promise of each new day, especially through difficult circumstances, across the landscapes of the seasons and the years.
In this life I can easily misplace so many worldly “things” which can be replaced. What I cannot lose is the essence of who I am as a child of God. Though the seedling has grown into a strong, tall tree which blossoms every spring, I am that same young lady who left everything behind, flew towards the stars, crossed oceans and mountains, to pursue a dream.
Upon the sand will I not build my house for when rains descend and floods overflow, the winds will howl and beat upon its walls and it will crumble, great will be its fall
I need no chandeliers, nor porcelain china, hand-painted with silver and gold, no dinner dainties with a fattened ox, content am I to dine on herbs with love.
I seek a shelter strong with warmth and light where rains and winds and floods can’t topple down and love burns bright in apple wood hearth fires and nightingale songs fill the evening air —-
Upon solid rock will I build my house, there will I find emeralds and rubies.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures ; He leadeth me beside the still waters ; He restoreth my soul .” . Ps. xxiii. 2 , 3.
~ a synopsis and modern translation of George Matheson’s writing
Would it be an easy thing for a person to confess the Lord to be their Shepherd when brought to green pastures beside still waters? Who would not rejoice in the peace and contentment, surrounded by such a peaceful surrounding? In truth, one must sound the depths of one’s soul because no one can lie down in peace until one has received a restored soul.
It is as equally difficult for an unrestored soul to lie down in green pastures as to wallow in barren wastelands. Do you think that an unrestful heart will have more rest in prosperity than in adversity? No, an unrestul heart will carry itself into everything. Prosperity is not found in the greenness of the pastures — adversity lies not in the barrenness of the wastelands; they both lie within.
The joyous heart will make all things joyful, its pastures will always be green, its waters will all be quiet. The restless heart will make all things unrestful: the calmness of the outward scene will be its source of pain.
We cannot fly from ourselves by changing our circumstances: we can only change our own circumstances by fleeing from ourselves. The sweetness and bitterness of life are alike within us, and we shall receive from the world just what we bring to it.
Oh my soul, if you would have green pastures, if you desire quiet waters, if you should seek for a place where you can lie down and rest, then you must first be restored. You must set aside your own self before you can find a scenery of repose.
Then when you are at rest, all things can be yours — the world, life, death, angels, principalities, powers — you can claim them as your servants. You can extract joy out of sorrow, sleep in the ship of life when the storm is raging around you. You shall spread your table in the presence of your enemies.
Goodness and mercy shall follow you all the days of your life when your soul shall have been restored.
*** Reference: George Matheson, “The Secret of Peace”, Moments on the Mount, London: James Nisbet & Co.1884, pp. 67-69
lilies, sparrows and grass 
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