“Oh, that their hearts would be inclined to fear me and keep all my commands always, so that it might go well with them and their children forever!”
Deuteronomy 5:29 (NIV)

The bedroom is absolutely quiet but for the softness of the deep breaths of fresh slumber. All is dark but for the warm glow of the nightlight near the door. I lay stretched out on the mattress and feel the warmth of my grandchild’s little body cuddled up next to mine.

This has become one of my favorite moments in life. I am happy to lay here long after the wee one has slipped into sweet dreams. Sometimes, I choose to stay until I follow them into the land of nod. In the meantime, my soul bathes in the holiness of the moment. I consider their tender young lives and the long journey ahead of them. I pray over their parents. I pray over them. Prayers of blessing, of protection, and guidance – bedtime transformed into Papa’s quiet vigil over this precious little life that I love so much.

In today’s chapter, Moses continues his final words to the next generation of his loved ones. He takes them back to the basics. In our English translation and Christian tradition we call them the Ten Commandments. In so many minds they have become nothing more than laws. Rules. Black-and-white demands of obedience. For many they are a symbol of a tyrannical God eager to punish.

As I read and shema (e.g. really listen) to the chapter, that’s not what I see and hear at all.

In Jewish tradition it’s called “the decalogue” or “ten words.” They’re not commands. In fact, rabbis speak of it being one ineffable sound of the divine from which Moses drew the ten words. What’s more, the context is not one of a tyrannical power monger but the intimate marriage vows of a lover.

God, who initiated the relationship.
God, who made a covenant with us, not the other way around.
God, who delivered us from slavery and chains.
God, with us – not our ancestors – with us here and now.
God, who amidst the chapter lays his heart bare:

“Oh, that their hearts would be inclined to fear me and keep all my commands always, so that it might go well with them and their children forever!”

The Hebrew word for “keep” is shamar. English flattens it into simple obedience. English has a way of forcing meaning into a box that can never contain it. This is a great example. Shamar is a whole-body verb—warm, protective, attentive, deeply relational. It is the Shepherd watching over his flock by night. It is a gardener guarding her precious plants from every threat. It is tending something fragile so it survives.

The root imagery of the word comes from watchmen on the walls of the city in the darkness of night, heart steady, every sense attentive. Not policing, but protecting because what they are guarding is precious.

Suddenly, my life-long perception of ten black-and-white “commands” is laid bare for the hollow and meager interpretive shell it has always been. The ears of my heart begin to shema the intimate heart’s desire that God groaned in one ineffable utterance, from which Moses teased ten words:

I am in love with you. I have proposed to you. I have delivered you.
I desire your love and devotion.
I desire to experience your honor and respect.
I desire regular rest with you, to stop and just be together.
I desire family to be a perpetual place of life, love, and security.
I desire that life, faithfulness, and truth be the core of who we are.
I desire contentment, because if we have each other – it’s always enough.

Which brings me back to the warm glow of the nightlight in the darkness. The soft repetition of a toddlers respiration as I feel the rise and fall of that little chest pressed up against me. Papa, the night watchman guarding over this precious little life. I lie there in the holiness of the moment feeling a love I can’t even describe. I think I’ll just lie here a while longer and shamar.

It’s taken nearly sixty years, Lord. I think I’m finally starting to get it.

Wendy and I celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary this New Year’s Eve. We’re leaving today for an early anniversary weekend getaway. As I read through my paraphrase of the ten words, it’s a good description of what I’m looking forward to savoring with m’luv.

Which means, I’m taking a few days sabbath from our chapter-a-day journey. See you next Thursday.

If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.