He doesn’t jump to resolve. Or rescue. The psalmist is moving through his pain and fear.
Moving through the murk, into trust.
He knows who God is.
And cries out to Him.

He doesn’t jump to resolve. Or rescue. The psalmist is moving through his pain and fear.
Moving through the murk, into trust.
He knows who God is.
And cries out to Him.

Word of God in the mouth of the prophet. Sweet to the taste. Like honey.
So says Ezekiel. David. And the apostle John.
Word of God, eaten. By Jeremiah.
The words He gives sometimes hit strong with judgment. Jarring.
But even there, sustaining. Healing.
In a world that groans to be made right again.

Travel plans so carefully made. Flights scheduled and booked.
Anticipating long-delayed reunions. After many covid19 restrictions. Requirements. Roadblocks.
Then, sudden uncertainty. Again.
Everything is up in the air.
Like the autumn leaves outside my window. Scattering in the wind. Landing who knows where.
