HIDING PLACES

There are days I hardly remember what my body has gone through. Those days are bittersweet—Despite the anxiety that accompanies the memory, the thought of “what was” makes my “what is” more precious.

In the early days, when the scars on my belly were pronounced, I would quiet my mind by turning up the volume of the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir—

I sought the Lord. He answered me. And delivered me from every fear. From Every fear.

What we go through is mostly hidden, not only from others, but sometimes from ourselves. Anthropologically, fear’s companion is nearly always the impulse to flee—from what we know, from what we dread. 

After all these years I am still mystified by the soft dew that blankets the fields of my discontent. The majesty of the Infinite wraps me in the quiet peace of rivers running, of rays of light streaming. How is that my spirit is elevated though my body is not lifted out of the hard circumstance?

This woman cried and the Lord heard me, and He saved me, from my enemies.

Sometimes, I crave the desperate places that leave no room for separation…He and I wedged together amid the soft landings and jagged edges, between what is, and what is coming.  There, the cadence of His breath steadies the wild in me, the angst in me, the doubt.

Let us bless the Lord every day and night. Never ending praise. May our incense rise.

I run my finger over the tiny scars, evidence of my humanity.
How much like the cracks and crevices of our imperfect lives.
Life—the real of it, the majesty, inhabits both darkness and light.
Life, pushing its way through the darkness is the definition of glory.
At the brink of our humanity, He is glorified.

Magnify the Lord with me. Come exalt His name together. Glorify the Lord with me.
Come exalt His name forever.

Together—
Me, in agreement with Him.
Us, consecrated by all that has gone before.
Like a choir of ten thousand voices.
Praise eclipsing darkness.
Holy work.

Let us bless the Lord. Every day and night. In and through all things.
May the sweet fragrance of our hope, like incense rise.
May our words wage war in hidden places.
Through everything. Through everything.

Psalm 34—Oh blessed is he and she who hides in him.