The Soul Restoration Business

I was in the gym today, zoning out on the second floor and looking down on the poor schmucks sweating it out on the first floor.  In the distance, over in a corner by the heavy weights, a guy was falling and then getting up, over and over again.  I know what he was doing.  I did it for years myself.  He was practicing how to fall.

I was struck anew by something in the 23rd Psalm.  We all know how it goes:  God is our shepherd.  He will take care of our every need; He IS our every solution.  He will lead us in quiet and peace.

It then says:  He restores my soul.

What does it take to restore a soul?  As long as I've read this psalm, I've sort of basked in the restful, lush image of green grass, quiet waters.  I do think that's the point.  But the actual business of restoring a soul ain't for the faint of heart.  Shepherds were filthy guys.  In order to protect the sheep and do their jobs with, let's say, integrity, they got down in the dirt and the grime and the wool and the muck.

I think it's interesting that the psalmist uses the soul restoration line to finish the peaceful thought and transition to the more chaotic.  Then the shepherd will guide us down paths of righteousness and through the valley of the shadow of death where we will fear no evil.  I think we need restored souls to endure these trials.  I also think these trials are part of how He restores our souls.  I don't think it's all Irish countryside and bubbling brooks.

Going back to learning how to fall.  A few years ago I learned an Israeli fighting style called Krav Maga.  There is no respect for the opponent, no love of the fight; there is only survival.  The style assumes you will be outnumbered, out-weaponed.  It was born out of WWII and makes it clear that you will either survive, or you'll go down making your opponent very, very sorry.

The fight is close.  I mean, I mixed bodily fluids with opponents so much that after a while I never stopped to scrutinize whether my arm was covered in sweat or spit.  We wrestled.  In corners, on the floor, against walls, with fake knives, fake guns.  Just when we got the hang of it, instructors would blindfold us, or turn off the lights and blare the music, or make us fight our way out of a corner; one girl against 10 guys.  No way out.  Amidst all the hard rock and flashing lights and screaming, I could always hear my instructor.  He was screaming the loudest.  He was behind me, or visible just behind my opponents.

"Cross!  Left jab, NOW!  You can do this!"  The implication being, I know because I'm the one who taught you.


Who knows if I'll ever get in a real-world fight.  All I know is that I doubt most situations I'll find myself in will ever come close to those in the studio.  But the point is, I've been prepared.  My fighting spirit is ready.

I believe God restores our souls in this way, too.  Sometimes he shows us what we're meant to do by getting sweaty with us and working on our spiritual muscles himself.  So one day when we find ourselves on that rocky path of righteousness or descending into that valley, when we really need that spiritual muscle memory, we hear his voice above all the others and we remember, oh yeah - I've learned how to do this.  I can do this.

The Psalm ends, in one version, by saying that goodness and love will pursue me all the days of my life. As in relentlessly chase; follow closely after.

And I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.

Amen.