In our Bible study, we’ve been meditating over Psalm 103, and the thought that there are times when we must instruct our soul (despite how we feel) to bless the LORD. We’ve been learning about what the word, bless, really means. It is an inferior bowing to or extending itself to one who is superior. In reference to God, as we bow in reverence to Him, He extends who He is to us, and so we are blessed as a result of bowing in reverence to Him.
There is a rest we experience when we finally realize that we can do nothing to deserve this entry into God’s presence, nor is there anything to do to stay in His Presence, save but to recognize that it’s only by His grace, extended to us through the finished work of Christ’s Cross that we are allowed entry.
Because we still struggle with sin, there are parts of our heart that hesitate to bow.
Yet, because of His love, He never stops knocking on the doors of our heart to ask for entry.
That’s what this poem is about.
Only His feet can crush those hardened places in us that resists His love.
Fear keeps us hid behind the carnal places in our heart, those places we’ve sought inadequate refuge, but love, His perfect love which casts out all fear, keeps knocking, knowing our hearts will never be satisfied and whole without His Presence.
It’s a miracle to think that our hearts, once a place where only dust and darkness dwelt, can at once become God’s garden, the place where we are blessed and restored.
“He who is bowed down shall speedily be released…” Isaiah 51:14
“And I have put My words in your mouth and covered you in the shadow of My Hand, establishing the heavens and laying the foundations of the earth and saying to Zion, “You are My people” ‘ Isaiah 51:16
Come tread the carnal places Lord
Etched upon my soul
Turn the tables over my King
Fill in every hole
Come tear down all the walls I’ve built
Leave no stone unturned
Till up all the fallow ground
‘Till Your Truth is all I yearn
Then plunge Your Holy Hands in me
Till every piece is torn apart
And all that there is left of me
Is the fertile soil of a new heart
Then tread over me once more My King
Crush me under Holy Feet
Till all that there ever was of me
Is Holy obsolete
Then come plant You’re garden here
In what is left of me
That precious fruit may nourish souls
And change eternity
And if a weed called “self” should sneak
In to this garden You adore
Till up the furrow ground again
Tread over me once more
Crush me under Holy feet
Till there’s no more me
Or until my feet tread Holy Soil
For all eternity
Rhonda de la Moriniere
