My Psalm

What should I say? It’s been months since I’ve opened up my laptop to write. I recall why I wrote. There’s always so much stirring in my spirit that impeding the flow of all things felt & seen is allowing a dam to rise from within.

I’m stuck on God’s provision. He gives & takes away; all for a plan of His that I am not privy to because His thoughts are not my thoughts; His plans greater than mine.

I’m stuck on the pain of gratefulness. Feeling & trusting His greatness, knowing His love & care is so great that, as a shepherd that nudges His sheep with a rod, it often hurts but is for my own good. I’m saying thank you, Lord, while also feeling confusion, overcome by loss & hurt.

How do I separate the two? I don’t think I’m meant to. I don’t think I’m meant to separate the gratefulness & the pain. I think I’m meant to accept that He knows what I need & what I had wasn’t what I needed. Not forever. For a moment, He allowed my clouded heart & judgement to blind me so that, in time, I may see His plan a little clearer. “You think you want this man & that this man wants you, but allow me to raise your standard where it reaches closer to what I have in mind for you.”

So, here I am. I see it, Lord. & I was wrong. I was wrong, my heart wrings.

My favorite Psalms, Psalms 119, is lengthy but is colored with pinks and greens; highlights of David’s prayer that mirror my heart.

“My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word.” [Psalm 119: 28]

“My comfort in my suffering is this; your promise preserves my life.” [Psalm 119:50]

& one of my favorites:

“It was good for me to be afflicted so that I might learn your decrees.” [Psalm 119:71]

I woke up this morning as the day dawned, brewed my coffee & stepped out into the crisp, cool air, wrapped in a throw blanket, Bible in one hand & a warm mug in my other.

Across the backyard, a small farm road separated the landscape; a horse stood eating over a sprawling field. I flipped to my Psalms. Having made a habit of reading 119 in full in times of sorrow, anger or confusion, it felt like a familiar place to put my tears.

I began aloud, “Blessed are they whose ways are blameless….”, reading to the field, the birds and my soul.

As the sun began to peak, a trembling voice uttered,

“I rise before dawn and cry for help; I have put my hope in your word.”

It wasn’t highlighted.

I paused. Here I was at dawn - reading the passages as I’ve done many times before & something old yet somehow new had emerged. “I cry for help but I have put my hope in your word”, I paraphrased, speaking directly to the Lord this time, in response, even.

I began to cry. & I cried as I kept reading, moved by the prayers of David that stirred in me too.

The last verse of 119 is verse 176:

“I have strayed like a lost sheep. Seek your servant for I have not forgotten your commands.”

& I won’t.

In His giving, in His taking - I will look for comfort & wisdom in His word.

In joyfulness, in suffering - I will see the lamp at my feet.

I am not strong, I realize. I have never been. I keep saying I am because I’ve overcome a lot, and because I stand back up each & every time I fall. I said I’m strong because I didn’t allow my life to limit my potential; because I fought odds more days than not. But I have been crushed. I have been deceived. I have been foolish, and I have been weak. I have allowed myself to love people that are worthy of God’s forgiveness & love but have not been ready to value or respect me.

I have justified clearly sketchy behaviour thinking perhaps…..in time……

But time is not a gift I can give. Change is not a thing I can inspire.

A Godly man will not need ME to be his compass, because God will.

He’s truly the only one worthy of such a position.

For my part, I can be an ezer kenegdo. A helpmeet, as found in Genesis 2:18. The two Hebrew words, ezer ("help") and kenegdo ("opposite him" or "corresponding to him"), combine to mean a "helper suited to him," or "a helper like him".

A helper LIKE him. Suited to him.

We will befit one another; ornament each other; enhance one another. Or, I will walk gracefully on my own as I’ve done many times before - this time, with a greater understanding of what I deserve because He is my compass; a thing I can never be. Thank you, Jesus.