“Humankind cannot bear very much reality.”
T. S. Eliot
Quieted Before God
Before opening Scripture today and entering my time with God, I prayed simply: “If You have words for me, let them be reflected through the psalm I am about to read.” That is never a small prayer. It asks for truth, not comfort. And truth, when it comes, often reveals something we did not know who we are or what we have become.
As I read Psalm 131, its quiet restraint stayed with me. The psalm is brief, almost spare, yet it carries a depth that feels earned rather than announced. It does not strive to be impressive; it rests.
Lingering over its words, I felt prompted to ask myself uncomfortable questions. Why does being noticed matter so much to me? Why does acknowledgment carry such weight? Are my eyes lifted too high and seeking validation, affirmation, or recognition that cannot finally satisfy? Psalm 131 does not confront loudly, but it exposes gently. And in that gentleness, I had to admit there is still work to be done within me.
The psalm speaks of a soul that has been quieted—not through ignorance or denial, but through maturity and trust. Like a weaned child with its mother, there is closeness without clinging, presence without demand. I realized how often my own soul still reaches and grasps, still longs for reassurance in ways that pull my gaze away from humility.
Others may see us through biased or unfavourable lenses, forming judgments that miss the truth of who we are. God does not look at us that way. He sees clearly and loves fully. Through the Holy Spirit, He reveals not only our faults, but our invitations to grow, to rest, and to release what no longer needs to be carried.
In his book, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, Eugene Peterson connects Psalm 131 to pastoral burnout and the temptation to matter too much.
Today, Psalm 131 became a mirror for me. Not a harsh one, but a merciful one. It reminded me that peace is found not in being elevated, but in being settled; not in being seen by many, but in being known by God.