Light of Thy Countenance (Psalm 4:6)

Bathed in warmth and awash in the comfortable glow of Your face, this is the place I want to dwell.  Pen in hand and heart in silence, it is well and it is glory.  Cast Your light on me and on my hurried, harried steps, that I may dwell despite the busied but blessed moments.

Arise to Judge (Psalm 7)

With pen in his hand and tune in his ear, he writes unguardedly, the song his soul sings to its Maker that night.  The song that resembles nothing my soul has ever dreamed of singing.  Arise, O Lord, to judgement.  Awake, O Lord, and judge me according to my righteousness.  

Arise, O Lord, and judge me?  Judge me according to my righteousness?  Or lack thereof, I should say.  For, every day, I do what I do not want to do and I do not do what I want to do.  More often than not, I am who I do not want to be and I am not who I want to be.

David, saved and sainted, but sinner nonetheless, how is this his cry, his song?  What did he know that I do not?  What had he seen of his Lord that I have not seen of mine?

To pray that my Lord would arise to judge me, what would that take?  The gentle assurance that my Father's love is limitless?  The faithful assurance that His grace is enough?  The joyful sound of His delight-song over me?

Could it be that David somehow knew the depths of the divine love?  Did he feel the Closeness I long for?  Did he behold the Face I seek?  Did he dwell in that perfect Presence?

Lord, come judge me is a prayer I cannot imagine praying.  But oh to know the love of a Father so delighted in me that judgement brought no fear or shame.  Oh to know and rely on the depths of that love day to day.

Likeness (Psalm 17:15)

As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness
Over and over the veil between the majestic and the mundane thins in moments poignant or picturesque and I behold Your face, Your righteous and glorious face.  A glimpse this morning, a little last week, bit and pieces over the months and years form a heavenly Papa that my heart loves.  Every day He speaks a clearer I delight in you.  Every day that I see His love for me, I feel even less deserving.  I behold His face and I don't want to behold mine.
But one day.
One day I shall be satisfied.
I shall see the fullness of Your glory, I shall join the fullness of Your glory.
I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness.
Lord, transform me into that likeness I am beholding.

You're Right

He answers my mumbled "I can't" with a "You're right" and I stop in my tracks.

I'm right?

"Yes," He whispers holding my overwhelmed gaze in His loving eyes.  "You can't because otherwise it would mean nothing that I can."

Not quite sure He understands, I try to assert my case with a desperate "I'm not enough."  I show Him my laundry list: not strong enough, not patient enough, not wise enough, not creative enough, not able enough, not caring enough, not together enough.

Gentler still, He breathes the words right into the middle of me, where my fear and self-doubt live.  "You're right, you're not.  You're not enough because otherwise it would mean nothing that I am."

Deliverer (Psalm 34:4)

Papa, I cannot imagine being set free from my fear.  I can read the words, repeat the promises, and sing the songs, but I don't know how to believe that you are my Deliverer.

My Morning (Psalm 30:5 & Psalm 34:5)

The rhythm of the rain outside my window is my alarm clock this morning.  In my stupor it sounds like clapping and I am oddly relieved.  The gray skies are clapping their sarcastic applause.  Perfect, I agree.  A miserable soggy day is in order for me, a failure.

It's the morning after the night that ended with silence, my mess uglier than I want to put into words.  Uglier than I want to put into words in front of him.  And he knows it.  He prods gently with such care but I shut him out.  It's too much and I'm too tired, I tell myself.  I'm fine, really, I tell him.  But how many times in ten years have I avoided his eyes?

And that night came on the heels of another, where I collapsed in a heap knowing I had just barely made it through another day.  A day of hearing my floundering in the sounds of every whining, complaining heap of child on the floor.  Of watching my defeat in hitting hands and kicking feet.  Of seeing my not-enough in the sounds of shutting down, shutting out, and shutting doors.   It's all I can do not to shut my eyes and shut my heart.

It's the morning after and the morning after the morning after.  And sometimes it doesn't look any better than the night before.  Or the night before.  Or the one before.

He says joy comes in the morning.  He whispers it this time.  Whispers it to my morning that is begging for a reason to rebel.  My morning that balks at Him, daring Him to defy Himself.

Except that it isn't.

At least not entirely.

Underneath its disheveled hair and disheartened spirits, my morning longs to taste and see that He is good and true and loving and here.  My morning, my afternoon, my evening, and my night.  All of me wants to know all of Him.

All of me wants to know this God who hears me when I cry.  Who is near when I am broken-hearted.  Who redeems me when I am desolate.  Who made my heart such that He can strengthen it.  Who makes me radiant when I am ashamed.

This God who is teaching me day by day and hour by hour that I am weak, fallible, and inadequate on purpose.  By His very design I am made to be whole only in Him.  By His very design I am made to experience fullness in my dependence on Him.

If my weakness is not only my weakness but also His strength, is it even my weakness at all?  How great is my God!

Pip

I feel you
though your hair escapes my touch
I see you
only in the periphery
vanishing when I try to focus
You live in my dreams of night and day
my moments of distraction
my deep hopeful corners
my reflexes and instincts

But you don't live at the table for supper
in the backseat of the van
or amongst the cars that drive across the carpet

Yet