Ruth had a suggestion for this first Thursday that ties to the season of Lent: write a Psalm of Lament. I have been laid up with Covid all week. It’s not a severe case, but it’s lingering and frustrating me with headaches and a lack of energy. I got outside for a walk this morning, and that has helped my disposition greatly. On my walk, my priest (who happens to live in my neighborhood) stopped her car and asked, “Are you off of school today?”
We talked, and she advised me to lean into this quiet time. To let God work in God’s time. Of course, that is good advice, but it’s not what I wanted to hear when I just want to be over it already. I pulled out a copy of the New Zealand Prayer Book and started to read the Psalms.
As I read, I realized the psalmists were just regular people living their regular lives and wanting more, wishing for God to redeem them, make their suffering worthwhile. When we read these old texts, we feel ourselves in those moments of stress, worry, ill health, and mourning. It’s a universal experience, lament.
Like my cats mew waiting
for my footsteps, waiting for me to greet them,
so do I long for you, God.My illness clouds my thoughts,
so I reach for your presence. I cry,
“Where now is my God?”I wait in hope
as a desert rose thirsts for clean water.
I open my ears to hearthe roar of wind breaking branches
calling through tones
of a wind chime in the tree.I am the one whose branches are broken
who sings a mournful tune.You, O God, are my strength.
You save me from the destructive wind.
You hand me a cup of hot tea, a spoon of honey,
sweet taste of life.Why do I mourn when I have such gifts?
Wait, you say, wait in hope.
Sit in stillness
for You are here
with me.Margaret Simon, draft
The Kidlit Progressive Poem is with Robyn Hood Black today.
Reflections on the Teche 