The Power of a Hidden Word

A few years ago, my mom was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Between the day the tumor was discovered and the day it was excised from her head, she had to wait about six weeks. Living in another state, I called often to see how she was doing, to see if the mercury at the bottom of the thermometer had risen from concern to fear to panic.

I had trouble sleeping during those weeks, and all the more as the surgery day drew near. But each time I checked on my mom, she was calm and full of an unearthly measure of peace. Knowing the risks of surgery and the months of recovery that would follow, she kept her gaze fixed on Scripture. She had memorized the first few verses of Psalm 139 and was particularly comforted by the fifth verse.

“You hem me in, behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me.”

She explained how comforting it felt to be “hemmed in.” Whatever the outcome of surgery, she knew her soul was safe in Christ. The hope of every Christian is pulled tight with that truthful thread. Whatever may happen to the body, our hearts are forever secure.

She asked me to pray over her when my dad, my aunt, and a few close friends circled around her bed just before they wheeled her to the operating room. I prayed Psalm 139 over her, having tucked the same verses in my heart. The Lord was unmistakably present. Where can we go from His Spirit? If we rise on the wings of the dawn or settle on the far side of the sea, He is there. If we quiver with fear in the pre-op room or the waiting room or beneath the surgeon’s knife, He is there. He hems us in and holds us fast.

In the weeks following my mom’s surgery, I watched her struggle. Words were elusive and slipped to the periphery of her mind, the way a dream runs through your fingers like water. You know you dreamed something, can just almost touch it—but it’s gone right beyond your reach.

One morning, we sat on the deck behind her house sipping spiced tea. Fall had made a reluctant arrival to the humid mornings of Tennessee, and we watched the squirrels empty a birdfeeder in the backyard. I had brought a stack of books to read while staying with my mom that week, and I offered to read to her. “No thanks,” she said in a distant voice. “I’m just trying to catch all my thoughts and line them up. It’s hard to make them behave.” She motioned with her hands as though trying to line up stacks of canned vegetables in the pantry or a row of books on a shelf. I opened my book, but over the pages, I watched her sip her tea and gaze out at the yard, another world away.

I felt strange leaving a few days later. I had kids at home I needed to get back to, and my dad was capable of caring for mom. It took months to get all her words back, but nestled in the folds of matter and memory, the words of Psalm 139 still resided. “You hem me in, behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me.” More than just words repeated like a recipe or a multiplication fact, the words of Scripture were hidden in the core of her person. Whatever the substance of soul and spirit, the words of the Lord lived there, woven into the fabric of who my mother is. They marked her because the Word of the Lord is living, active, and able to help you think like the Author. They’re His words, permeating the crevices of thought and action and belief. His words change us when they’re embedded into our hearts.

I’ve noticed over the years since my mom’s surgery and recovery that the practice of Scripture memorization is one largely ignored by a lot of Christians, myself included. I’ve memorized snatches of verses here and there, but I’ve not given myself to the Scriptures heart, soul, and mind. Not the way I want to, not the way I need to, not the way that will serve me with comfort and hope when sorrow or tragedy or temptation walk in unannounced.

One day, that changed. Looking through Scripture for the key to actively fight sin, fear, and anxious feelings, I stumbled upon a verse I learned as a child. “I have stored up your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you” (Ps. 119:11, ESV). I learned it in the NIV as a child, so the translation differs a little, using the word “hidden” rather than “stored.” But the effect is the same: to fight sin, the psalmist had hidden God’s Word in his heart, stored it up like a treasure. If we want to put sin to death in our lives, we must treat Scripture like the treasure it is, hiding it in the recesses of the heart, soul, and mind. If we want to hold fast to the faith in times of suffering, we need reserves of the Lord’s promises piled up in our hearts, pulled to the front of our memory when we feel overwhelmed by fear or sorrow. They aren’t just words in a line with parts of speech put neatly in place. The words of the Lord give life (Ps. 119:24), strengthen us in sorrow (Ps. 119:28), aid us in faithfulness (Ps. 119:30, 33), make us certain of God’s love for us (Ps. 119:41). Of all the things we could settle our thoughts upon, what can calm and comfort and teach like Scripture? Of all the things we could hide away like a treasure, what could make us richer in love and truth than the words of our God?

I began with a Psalm. Then another. And another. Then a chapter from the New Testament. And another chapter. Another. Then nearly a whole book, which I am determined to finish before the humid mornings of Missouri turn cool with autumn’s reluctant arrival. As I’ve turned over the words of the Lord repeatedly in my mind day in and day out, my thoughts have changed. More than that, the very patterns of them have changed, as though they travel new paths throughout the folds of memory and matter. If ever I find myself sitting on a deck with thoughts that won’t align or behave, I will still have the ancient and everlasting words of my Maker resting in the soul that He keeps.

As I’ve turned over the words of the Lord in my mind over and over, my thoughts have changed. More than that, the very patterns of them have changed, as though they travel new paths throughout the folds of memory and matter. Share on X

 

 

Photo by Timothy Eberly on Unsplash