This is my story.
This is me:
I searched the ground.
I searched the sky.
I shook the bottle over my dry lips.
I mumbled his name like a drunkard
And stumbled in the alley of bewilderment.
He leaned his ear into my cry.
He heard my shuffling and my sobs
And came.
The voices now are gone;
Death and all his friends ran naked.
We watched them flee across the plains.
Unspin their lies, O Lord!
Wipe their names from every stone, leaf, and heart.
My heart.
Sweet Jesus! Your gaze is upon me.
Tenderly.
Gladly.
Firmly.
Now.
This poor man staggered under shame,
But you heard my cry and came.
Now you walk so close,
I hear your breathing.
I bless your name endlessly!
Your praise eternally echoes
In the cavern of my mouth.
Come, what other boast do I have
Than in my strong deliverer?
And who else will take up this praise
Than the contrite and humbled heart?
Humbled.
This is me.
This is my story.
“Death And All His Friends Ran Naked,” by Ben Palpant
A poetic rendering of Psalm 34
This rendering of Psalm 34 brought tears to my eyes. Thank you. And it brings to mind a poem I revisited this a.m. by Ann Bradstreet entitled “May 13, 1657”. I was adding it to my “file” for a future essay called “Wailin’ Mamas.” Here are a few lines:
“To HIm that heard my wailing voice.
My winter’s past, my storms are gone,
And former clouds seem now all fled,
But if they must eclipse again,
I’ll run where I was succored..
I have a shelter form the storm,
A shadow from the fainting heat,
I have access unto His throne,
Who is a God so wondrous great.
Your poem is an inspiration and comfort and joy to this sometimes wailing mama.
Love,
Mom