Greetings friends and random readers.
It seems, like many trends before it, that Blogspot will no longer be sufficient to host my writings. Upon the recommendation of a graphic designer friend of mine, I am "graduating" into the more progressive realm known as "wordpress."
And check this, I have my own domain. Wow, didn't see that coming.
The site isn't complete, but hopefully will be soon. However, this will be my last post on this site. To continue reading my blog, please direct your computer monitors to the following NEW blogging site.
willparkerblog.com
Thanks so much for reading, see you on the other side.
-Will
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Thursday, January 7, 2010
david
Today I wrote a kind of Psalm, or prayer. Though the words flowed from my heart, I couldn’t help feeling a bit short-changed by my source of aesthetic inspiration. Typing on a desktop in a cluttered office with no windows, using fluorescent lighting to see the keys on the keyboard.
I couldn’t help but think of David, who probably wrote so many of his Psalms while taking refuge in the wilderness. His words took tangible form to the sound of birds frolicking in branches and the gentle noise of their wings beating the air. To the wind sifting through blades of grass. There could have been dried blood on his hands, which were trained to thrive in the wilderness, and had learned to do whatever needed to ensure survival. There was probably a steadiness in his heartbeat; a calmness in his spirit, a wisdom in his movements. Enemies lurked in the surrounding wilderness.
All this to say, my Psalm is undoubtedly a tame, domesticated version of what that King of old would have written. But whether in an air-conditioned complex or in the wilderness of Israel, our God is the same.
I couldn’t help but think of David, who probably wrote so many of his Psalms while taking refuge in the wilderness. His words took tangible form to the sound of birds frolicking in branches and the gentle noise of their wings beating the air. To the wind sifting through blades of grass. There could have been dried blood on his hands, which were trained to thrive in the wilderness, and had learned to do whatever needed to ensure survival. There was probably a steadiness in his heartbeat; a calmness in his spirit, a wisdom in his movements. Enemies lurked in the surrounding wilderness.
All this to say, my Psalm is undoubtedly a tame, domesticated version of what that King of old would have written. But whether in an air-conditioned complex or in the wilderness of Israel, our God is the same.
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