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Inspired by the Psalms

I promised myself that, on completing the Psalms, I would have a go at writing one myself. And I know it’s been weeks and weeks since I finished my Psalm-a-day thing. Forgive me. But, I AM a finisher. A late-finisher is better than a never-finisher, right?

Here’s my Psalm. The third or forth attempt. And far from the lyrical beauty of the Biblical Psalms. But it feels good and right to end my Psalm season this way. To respond to creative expression with creative expression. If you’ve followed the Psalms with me, maybe you’d like to do likewise and end by writing a Psalm of your own to our mighty, amazing, gracious, all-knowing, intensely loving God. I’d love to read it!

 

MY PSALM

I look out across the expanse of this new day and see? I see you are there.

Blue-sky God. Thunder God. Drenching-with-rain God.

I look into the barely blushed petals of a magnolia bloom; you are there.

I look across the countless rooftops of this city, smoke curling from chimneys, trampolines in backyards, dogs yapping at gates; you are there.

I look into the eyes of my daughter as I pull on her jumper, the unblemished blue of trust; you are there.

I look up where the cumulous stacks high like bales of cotton; you are there.

I look at my own hand as it writes, veins like blue laneways wending to knuckle and freckle and thumbnail, and to the pattern of me under each fingertip; you are there.

Everywhere. You are there.

In the sheet pulled above my head, in the weeping behind the door, in the gulping back grief, in the wet cheeks on long car rides. You. Are. There.

Where can I go to escape you?
Where can I rest away from you?

Yet… Escape without you is a solitary confinement cell,
and rest without you is to drink from an empty glass.

Only with you and in you does my spirit know the joy of living.

Your way expands me, tears me open, unravels me, so that even the pain has its beauty.

Even the petals browned and stomped into the soil.
Even the smog and snarl of this city.
Even the bunched brows of frustration,
the storm clouds and the hand that aches in the cold.
Even these see us throw our arms heavenward, praising you.

Because you are right here.

Shalom,
Claire.
x

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I am a writer, mother, wife and believer in a reality bigger than my own. I love exploring the small epiphanies of life. Nothing is humdrum. Every moment is charged with opportunity, each one mixing its ideas with the ink in my pen. You call it alchemy, I call it God.

15 Comments

  1. Hilda de Weys says

    Oh Claire, that was so raw and honest, and so relateable. Thank you for sharing. I endorse your Psalm, much love from Hilda de Weys

  2. fibreworx says

    What a beautiful gift! Thank you Claire for sharing your Flam Psalm with usπŸ€—You’ve finished wellβ£οΈπŸ™Œ

  3. Honnie says

    that’s beautiful Claire- not a month ago we buried my second daughter Elizabeth – aged 62-a healthy beautiful daughter – married, Mum of 5 children – All her life she worked for others- had a great faith and not afraid to die – she suffered MSA for 3 years- we all are traumatised- and miss her so much- yet we are greatly relieved her terrible suffering has ended and is now praising her Lord face to face- surrounded by angels -in the presence of her loved ones that went before her. 400 friends and relatives attended her funeral on 30/07/19- God bless you Claire in all you do xx Honnie
    P.S. We lived in Tasmania for 5 years……………………….

    • I’m so sorry, how terribly difficult that must be, but as you say, a comfort to know where she is. May you find comfort and peace in the arms of our Saviour as you continue to grieve xxx

  4. Honnie says

    not 5 years but 56 years…………………………

  5. Bron Baker says

    That’s impressive Claire….you sure you’re not related to David?? Big congrats for your creative gift shared with us!! Bron Baker

  6. traversingtasmania says

    Hi Claire,

    I really enjoyed reading your psalm!

    Kind regards, Emily

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