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.