The Psalmist says, “Oh, how I love your law!” (Psalm 119:97). Now I know why. The best-kept secret in town is that God’s commands are little doorways into grand pavilions of many rooms.
Put on “a garment of praise instead of a faint spirit” (Isaiah 61:3). “Sing, O barren one, who did not bear; break forth into singing and cry aloud” (Isaiah 54:1). “Finally, my brothers, rejoice n the Lord. To write the same things to you is no trouble to me and is safe for you” (Philippians 3:1).
I don’t know how God can stand it sometimes. He stocks his Word with escape hatches from depression and temptation, and we skim them and say, “What lovely poetry.” Poetry schmoetry—these are our deliverance. The commands are counselors; they are like a dentist’s instruments laid out neatly to hand him on an as-needed basis.
Andree Seu
