I am glad for Psalm prayers I don't write and for Saturdays where silence can really stretch out. I didn't realize I was whispering at the bagel shop until the sweet red-haired girl leaned in closer and raised her eyebrows over tortoise shell Warby Parkers, "Sorry, hon, what did you say?" "Um, ehm.. I'd like an egg and avocado..."
"Oh, you want number 4 on 7 grain? Anything else?"
I felt like a child whose mom sent her out for eggs and this redhead knew I was breaking the rules. But I just bought a Dirt Devil and I'm hosting Thanksgiving, so I read the [free copy of the] New York Times like I belonged in the adult world. I picked up a few groceries on my way home. And when I got home, I stayed. I baked and pureed pumpkin, hand wrote a few cards, made brown sugar+cinnamon+chocolate chip cookies for tomorrow, put away dishes and drank tea. (Okay, I also ate four Oreos but I did not feel good about that). At some point in the middle of the candlelit silence, I read this:
By the word of the LORD the heavens were made, and by the breath of his mouth all their host. He gathers the waters of the sea as a heap; he puts the deeps in storehouses. (Psalm 33:6-7 ESV)
And I breathed prayers without any new words. All these Psalm words are prayers enough and my words can't get that big. My words can't make heavens and my breath can't make host to fill them. The waters ignore my commands and the deeps don't respond. Only God can do this. And only God would want to cause this kind of creation commotion when He needs no one and no thing.
I feel very created today, very in my place.
Our soul waits for the LORD; he is our help and our shield. For our heart is glad in him, because we trust in his holy name. Let your steadfast love, O LORD, be upon us, even as we hope in you. (Psalm 33:20-22 ESV)
Why is the One who gathers the waters in a heap also my help and shield? And how is He that?
The radiator is hissing in the corner, sputtering like antique apartment heaters do. It feels selfish to stay indoors, but I don't feel well and I can't remember the last day when I didn't have plans. I suppose that is an excuse. Scripture needs silent space and time. I came to no conclusions and wrote no prayers; I don't feel better or wiser. But I am remembering. I remember who the Lord says that He is. And I remember that I trust Him.
I trust that He is God and He has not given up on His redemption plan. He is very much in the middle of making all things new - old things and dead things and dry bones and this old, stubborn heart.
I've been a lot of inward lately. Last week, I was walking out of the subway after a frustrating stop-and-go "We are delayed because of train traffic ahead. We apologize for any inconvenience" situations. I was bundled and hunched and leaving sighs on the sidewalk when someone touched my arm and pulled me close. Patrick was leaving to go to work, but caught me just in time to say, "Hey, I love you." I hoped that he couldn't see all the self-pity in my face because the streetlight lit up his and it was full of the best husband love.
Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labor in vain. Unless the LORD watches over the city, the watchman stays awake in vain. (Psalm 127:1 ESV)
Sometimes living is labor. I don't mean working the 9-5. I mean just living. I let Psalm 127:1 sing over some of the silence today until it felt like my deeps started to listen.
And I remember. Unless the Lord builds the house (read: plans, days, vocation, prayer, family, community), I will labor in vain. My building efforts end up being for my own glory or my own preservation or my own pride. But, the Lord - He is a great builder and none of His plans go to waste. None.
It is still Saturday and there is a bit of it left to savor.
To read more from my grief journey, you can find those posts here.