Psalm

I love the Lord, for He heard my cry.

Not my silver tongue and wit, spinning precious threads to catch the Almighty in thrilling glimmer words.

He is not my prey, that I should fell his Spirit in this way.

Not my golden intentions of muscle-faith, wells dug in an august age and beams swung high to build my towering tomorrow.

Mine is the broken cistern, splintered lumber and sand after the storm.

I fainted in faithfulness. But He heard my cry.

My dust-mouth croaked, the strain on the worn cords barely passing the faded crowns of yesteryear trees, not quite power enough to reach the brassy sky.

But He hears the brittle grasshopper drag himself along the same weighted earth.

My squinting eyes glimpsed the faintest whisp of prayer cloud along the distant barren line, doubting the good for mirage.

But He sees and sends the rain into desert-dead unbelief.

I love the Lord, for He heard my cry.

Fulness of Life

In an exhortation to the women in my church last April, the delightful Andrée Seu warned against what she calls "next Tuesday syndrome." As in, I'll be happy "next Tuesday", after that one meeting. Or, after I have that difficult conversation with so-and-so. But the innate problem with "next Tuesday" is that there's always another one ahead. This puts us in a holding pattern, holding our breath, holding out until then. Forgetting about now.

Her words went so deep into me that I forgot that they were there. But recently, it sprung up in the form of new resolve and purpose. Like a seed long forgotten in the deep, dark warm earth, it finally came up to breathe. Sometime in the midst of the tizzy of travels and trials this summer, God watered and gave the increase. I started to wonder.

Why do I delay things that will obviously bring relief and joy? How procrastination has stolen away moments, become hours, become years. I am not yet old enough for much bitter regret, but the gentle rebuke was enough to swing me into action. For instance, why live content with nameless Minnesota nice with my downstairs neighbor when I could offer my hand and friendship? Or, why continually skulk away guiltily from that neglected friend when I could write in an instant with email? Why spend even a moment of these broad, sunny summer days in dull self-absorption or -need I spell it out - spacebook - when I could be working, loving, eating, running, writing, reading, even napping to the glory of God?

This was all rather odd at first, since I've always fancied myself to be someone who enjoys life to the hilt. But oh, how we fancy ourselves. And how often we are wrong. As I thought about it more, a bevy of things from recent memory began piling up uncomfortably. Things that were meant to perch, and have since built nests in the crowded branches. Maybe it is time to shake the branches a bit. Time to walk in fulness of life. And since I myself don't know what I mean by that, I will have to keep you posted.

[The second photo is graffiti from Montreal that says "Down with everyday life."]