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Psalm 62

I’ll not go quietly into your good light.

I won’t deny this surge, this great swell demanding answers.

I choose a turnabout; I stare into those doubts, so long suppressed.

And the doubts stare back.

Do I question too much? When all you ask of me, is Faith?

Faith. Now there’s the rub.

Faith may be the deal but right now, I feel

Compelled to kick against the pricks.

Oh, I know of your goodness, your miraculous might,

Your omni this and your omni that.

But where are the Miracles, now?

And Goodness simply rolls along, humming its own song.

So, enlighten me.

Here I am. I have stepped out of the shadows.

Shine your great and glorious light.

Blind and burn. I dare you.


Be more than a tale handed down through the ages,

Refined and embellished with so many changes

Until it’s too good to be untrue,

And so we crave rolls in this story of you.


I’ve stood on the promises you made to me;

The terra firma I know you to be,

But what if...?

What if it’s just me, a revolving earth and gravity?


To plunge my hands into the soil beneath my feet and take hold of the truth of you and lift it out to give it air and hold it to my chest and just see what happens. Might we share a breath and a beat and some time.


The ground is hard. My nails break, my knuckles ache. I scratch and scrape and all I get is grit and grime.


My blackened fingers curl inward. And I rage, rage against the light.

I can be a fool for you,

But don’t make me just a fool.


My soul feels old;

Your comfort, cold.

Where is my selah?

I want a Behold, a Remember, a Rejoice...

I want a word that slaps my face or takes hold of my shoulders and shakes my body and says: Look!

Something more than knowledge (which slides down my back and clatters about my clumsy footsteps).

I need a truth that can find the cracks in my brittle skin.

Give me a selah,

And I will hold it with both hands,

And place it in my lap and feel its warmth.

And I will close my eyes

To sleep,

And dream dreams.

Do you remember

When on the cross, filled with grief

You saw a spark in that wretched thief?

Breathe on this ember,

Heave a flame. Help my unbelief,

So I might praise you through these crooked teeth.


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