It’s easy to worry. Anxiety is normal. Fear is expected. There’s plenty to be anxious about.
I once heard a guy on the radio say, “Anyone who doesn’t have high blood pressure these days just isn’t paying attention.”
And maybe he’s right—because we live in a world wound tight with hurry and pressure. The screens don’t sleep. The headlines never stop. Somewhere, something is always breaking—news, budgets, or hearts.
Into that swirl of noise, King David whispers:
“O Israel, hope in the LORD from this time forth and forevermore.” (Psalm 131:3)
It’s a whisper that can steady your soul.
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Pride, Humility, and the Center of the Universe
Vince Lombardi—one of the great NFL coaches—was said to have a large ego. After one of his wins, he slipped into bed late at night. His wife was already asleep. His cold feet brushed her legs and she murmured, “God, your feet are cold!”
Without missing a beat, Lombardi said, “Honey, when we’re in bed, just call me Vince.”
Someone once said: “The biggest difference between you and God is that God doesn’t think He’s you.”
The world does not revolve around me, and it doesn’t exist to spare me frustration. Pretending otherwise is the essence of pride. Pride is not merely bragging—it’s the illusion that I’m at the center, that I can control things on my own.
Bragging may be a symptom, but pride is deeper—it is self-dependence. Even people who appear timid can be filled with pride because they quietly assume that life orbits their feelings, their fears, their outcomes.
The opposite of pride is humility.
Now, humility is one of those church words that we nod at, but rarely practice. It’s slippery—because the moment you think you have it, you lose it.
True humility is simply living in truth. It says: I’m not God. I’m not the center. There are things in my life I can’t control. I’m dependent on God.
> “When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom.” (Proverbs 11:2)
“Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment.” (Romans 12:3)
There’s a tongue-in-cheek song that says,
> “Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble, when you’re perfect in every way…”
We laugh because it’s a little too close to home.
A congregation once voted their pastor “Most Humble.” The next Sabbath they presented him a medal engraved with those words. By the following week they had to take it back—he wore it to church.
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A Short Psalm That Reaches High
Psalm 131 is only three verses long. Yet Charles Spurgeon called it “one of the shortest to read and one of the longest to learn.”
> 1 LORD, my heart is not proud; my eyes are not haughty. I do not concern myself with great matters or with things too wondrous for me.
2 Instead, I have calmed and quieted my soul like a weaned child with its mother; my soul is like a weaned child.
3 Israel, put your hope in the LORD, both now and forevermore. (CSB)
Many believe David wrote this late in life—after seasons of both triumph and heartbreak. It sounds like the wisdom of someone who has learned to live in the now: not chained to regret, not borrowing fear from the future.
It’s part of the Psalms of Ascent (120–134), songs sung by pilgrims climbing the road to Jerusalem for festivals. They prepared the heart for worship. The Christian life, too, is an ascent—a steady climb of trust and surrender.
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Verse 1 — The Posture of Humility
“My heart is not proud… I do not concern myself with great matters or with things too wondrous for me.”
One way to lift your heart in God’s presence is to set aside the questions that must bow to mystery. The universe is vast. God is wise. Some things exceed us by design.
I remember a season when I was wrestling with the problem of evil—why suffering? why injustice? I told a friend that I had to understand. He looked at me and said, “David, why do you think you’ll solve what no one has? Who do you think you are?”
It stung—but he was right. My temptation is to insist that faith follow understanding: If I can explain it, I’ll trust it.
Paul asks, “Where is the wise? Where is the philosopher?” (1 Cor 1:20). God’s greatest answer was not a formula but a Cross—a mystery that defeats evil by absorbing it.
We can’t “open God’s mouth and count His teeth.” He will not be reduced to laboratory proof. But He has given us the Cross, and that is enough.
So what do I do with unsolved questions? I bring them there. I may not get explanations, but I meet the Answerer. Peace begins when curiosity yields to worship.
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Verse 2 — The Picture of a Weaned Child
“I have calmed and quieted my soul like a weaned child with its mother.”
It’s a tender picture. Imagine a toddler before weaning—squirming, demanding, crying for milk now. That’s how many of us live spiritually: “God, fix it now! Answer me now!”
David says, I used to be that way. But now I’m like a weaned child—resting beside the mother, not grasping, just content to be near.
Weaning hurts. Letting go of self-centeredness feels like loss. Yet through it God matures us from craving His gifts to treasuring His presence.
A quieted soul doesn’t mean an unthinking one—it means a soul that’s learned trust.
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Faith Seeking Understanding
The philosopher-theologian Anselm once prayed:
> “I do not seek to understand in order to believe, but I believe in order to understand.”
That flips our instinct. Yes, sometimes understanding leads to belief—but more often, belief opens the eyes of understanding.
Think of Helen Keller. Deaf and blind from infancy, her world was chaos until Anne Sullivan spelled W-A-T-E-R into her hand while water poured over it. Suddenly the connection clicked—language, meaning, world. Understanding followed trust.
Faith works like that. We step into God’s world first—and then the stained glass glows from the inside. From the street it looks dark; inside the light, the colors blaze.
Some things you only know by tasting. No one can describe the taste of okra well enough; you must take a bite. Belief often precedes comprehension.
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A Modern Mirror — When the Mind Won’t Turn Off
Several years ago, a young professional told me, “I can’t sleep anymore. My brain runs all night.” He wasn’t sinning—he was spinning. Between screens, deadlines, and fears about the future, he was addicted to control.
He said, “If I don’t keep thinking, things will fall apart.”
I smiled gently and said, “They already are. And you’re missing the One holding them together.”
We live in an age of restlessness. But Psalm 131 is God’s antidote for the overfunctioning soul. It teaches us to stop carrying what only God can hold.
The world doesn’t need more control; it needs more trust. The weaned child doesn’t stop thinking—it stops straining.
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Quiet Doesn’t Mean Passive
A quieted soul isn’t lazy or disengaged. It’s steady. Jesus Himself modeled it. He could sleep in a storm because He knew who was in charge of the sea.
True quietness isn’t the absence of activity; it’s the absence of anxious striving. You can be busy and still be still—because stillness is an interior posture.
So ask yourself: Where am I still demanding milk? Where am I restless because I won’t release control? Where do I need to let God wean me—from recognition, from being right, from always having answers?
The goal isn’t to stop caring—it’s to care without clutching.
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Practicing a Quieted Soul
How can we live this psalm on an ordinary day?
1. Name your limits. Say aloud: “Lord, I’m not You.” Pride shrinks when honesty grows.
2. Lay down unsolved questions. Write the three that haunt you most; place them at the Cross.
3. Practice presence. Sit with God for five minutes without an agenda. Breathe. Listen.
4. Choose smallness. Do one hidden act of service. If no one notices, it counts double.
5. Hope on a loop. Whisper verse 3 during the day: “I hope in the LORD now and forever.”
Over time, these little habits re-train the soul. They build the reflex of rest.
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Verse 3 — The Push and the Promise
“O Israel, hope in the LORD now and forever.”
The psalm ends by turning outward. Peaceful people make hopeful communities. David reminds Israel—and us—that hope isn’t seasonal; it’s continual.
God is not nervous about the future. He removes kings and raises others. He reveals mysteries. And this mighty God calls you friend.
When we grasp the humility of Christ—who washed feet, who wore thorns—we can lay down our crowns too. As D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones said, “Nothing but the Cross can give us this spirit of humility.”
Gratitude at the Cross is the soil where humility grows and rest begins.
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Everyday Illustrations of Trust
A friend once told me he understood faith when teaching his daughter to jump into the pool. She stood trembling on the edge. He said, “You can trust me.” Finally she leapt—and laughed—and wanted to do it again.
He said, “That’s faith. You can read all about jumping, but you only understand when you leap.”
Sometimes God stands in the water saying, “Trust Me.” And once we do, the joy begins.
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The Little Place
There’s an old poem that captures the heart of this psalm:
> “Father, where shall I work today?”
And my love flowed warm and free.
Then He pointed me to a tiny spot,
“Tend that for Me.”
I answered quickly, “Oh no, not that—
No one will ever see.”
He answered softly, “Search your heart—
Are you working for them, or Me?
Nazareth was a little place,
And so was Galilee.”
A quieted soul doesn’t need a stage. It finds meaning in the little place. Nazareth and Galilee were small, but through them God changed the world.
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Hope That Holds
Our only hope resides in the Lord.
He is Creator, Alpha and Omega, King of kings and Lord of lords.
> “My hope is built on nothing less
than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.
On Christ the solid Rock I stand;
all other ground is sinking sand.”
When you quiet your heart before Him, you discover that He has never been anxious about you. He’s never lost track of your story. He invites you to rest in His.
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Psalm 131 in Everyday Paraphrase
1 God, I’m not trying to rule the roost.
I’m not king of the mountain.
I haven’t meddled where I don’t belong
or chased grandiose plans.
2 I’ve kept my feet on the ground;
I’ve cultivated a quiet heart.
Like a weaned child in its mother’s arms—
my soul is content.
3 Wait for God, Israel. Wait with hope—
hope now, hope always.
Amen.
