March 24, 2023

  Psalm 34:15-22 NRSV

15 The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous,
and his ears are open to their cry.

16 The face of the Lord is against evildoers,
to cut off the remembrance of them from the earth.

17 When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears,
and rescues them from all their troubles.

18 The Lord is near to the brokenhearted,
and saves the crushed in spirit.

19 Many are the afflictions of the righteous,
but the Lord rescues them from them all.

20 He keeps all their bones;
not one of them will be broken.

21 Evil brings death to the wicked,
and those who hate the righteous will be condemned.

22 The Lord redeems the life of his servants;
none of those who take refuge in him will be condemned.

 

 

 

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted... his ears are open to their cry. 

I wonder at the ways Scripture is like ash in my mouth; how Lent is the dust on my face. These waning days of winter were torching in their singular capacity to remind me that it is not yet Spring. I wonder at the way this little plant has not been doing well since she joined my menagerie of succulents and pothos and wandering tendrils last autumn. How my own being has struggled for light and nourishment amongst the wind and open air. 

Psalms are the fibers in my veins and move amongst the poems in my soul. I wonder at their permanent flickering though I have not sung them in so long. These songs have brought me no solace and little reflection for some time. And yet, their tune rings within the sunlight through my window. And yet, I wonder when you read them if they feel less real. If you must hear them in your chest and ring throughout the room in a chorus passing back and forth the blessings and meaning within. I wonder if the Lord might not hear and rescue me from my troubles. That Lent is too long. That winter has eroded away any flame within me. 

Perhaps...perhaps there is still life when we have closed the door. Perhaps there is still a flickering light wandering amongst the eaves and shadowed windows where sunlight and technicolor wonder used to shine through. Perhaps my eyes are upon the Lord as well, though I have not been able to see Her. 

May my bones be kept well. 

May your crushed spirit find its rest. 

May this wandering in the desert ascend to the steps of the holiest of places; known and unknown.

 

- Kelsea Willis

 

“Lord our God, hear my prayer, the prayer of my heart. Bless the largeness inside me, no matter how I fear it. Bless my reed pens and my inks. Bless the words I write. May they be beautiful in your sight. May they be visible to eyes not yet born. When I am dust, sing these words over my bones: she was a voice.”
― Sue Monk Kidd, The Book of Longings