A Child at Home

 

As I walk my neighborhood, I am always impressed with this side yard. It couldn’t be more welcoming. Five different seats, of all shapes and sizes, welcome all who pass by. Children or adult, there is a seat that would accommodate. I always want to stop and rest a while. I always wonder if anyone would join me. I always wonder if I could rest and feel at home.

Recently our choir sang a setting of Isaac Watts version of Psalm 23. To me, it speaks of finding rest to my heart as does no other poem.

1 My Shepherd, you supply my need,

most holy is your name;

in pastures fresh you make me feed,

beside the living stream.

You bring my wand'ring spirit back.

when I forsake your ways;

you lead me, for your mercy's sake,

in paths of truth and grace.

2 When through the shades of death I walk,

your presence is my stay;

one word of your supporting breath

drives all my fears away.

Your hand in sight of all my foes,

does still my table spread;

my cup with Blessings overflows,

your oil anoints my head.

3 Your sure provisions gracious God

attend me all my days;

oh, may your house be my abode,

and all my work be praise.

Here would I find a settled rest,

while others go and come;

no more a stranger, nor a guest,

but like a child at home.

Oh, to feel like a child at home. Oh, to find that settled rest. Perhaps my neighbor’s yard is a glimpse. Perhaps my neighbor is a glimpse. Perhaps we can bring some rest to each other.

Peace.