I know—-we look like a lovely young family in that photo. And we were. Some of the time. But other times?
Here’s the day it started. It was the 60th straight day of being trapped on a roadless island in Alaska---my summer wilderness home. Six kids. A relentless commercial fishing schedule. Marriage was hard. The rain kept falling; the kids kept squabbling. My husband and I had a fight. Escape was impossible. I couldn’t sleep. I felt desperate, but I couldn’t pray. God felt SO far away!
Exhausted, on a whim, sitting in a cold dock house that served as my writing room, I turned to the Psalms. Here, at the end of myself, when I felt like I couldn’t even whisper my own words—I was riveted. I landed on Psalm 13:
“How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look on me and answer, Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing the Lord’s praise,
for he has been good to me.”
Suddenly I realized something. Throughout the Bible’s winding story of Redemption, God draws near to his people and speaks. Again and again. He speaks from clouds and fire, from mountains, through donkeys and children, and in the voices of men thought mad. Then Jesus arrives, and he too speaks. Always—God speaks.
Then—in the middle of all these words from God—here’s a book of God’s people speaking back. And the Psalms are not careful words but words of anger, agony, despair, abandonment, anxiety; and yes, words of fierce hope, rejoicing, confidence.
Can it be? The Holy Spirit inspired these writers to compose these yowls, doubts, and shouts, these oh-so-human songs back to himself? Yes, of course! Isn’t this Immanuel, God-with-us? What father does not wish to hear his children’s heart? God speaks to his people, his children, and the Psalms show us that he invites and even inspires us to speak back. (What? Me too, maybe?)
I had to try. I picked up a pen and a yellow legal pad, and, tremulously, began writing out Psalm 13 in my journal. As I went, I slowly relaxed into each word, hearing it more clearly. But I found myself drawn deeper. I sensed an invitation to conversation. In between the verses, following David’s pattern, I began to write my own questions, my own circumstances, my own pleas to God.
I was tentative at first. I didn’t want to twist the Psalms into another exercise of egocentric spirituality, nor did I want to remake God in my own image. But as I wrote, David’s words from the midst of his life gave me language to break my silence, to bring my own circumstances and my own sagging heart into God’s presence. I realized that this fuller physical engagement with the Psalms could help to move God from “knowledge” in my head into His real presence in my raw reality. I realized that maybe this was a way to get God’s story into mine—and mine into His.
(Yes! I STILL have that very first handwritten Psalm!)
When I was done, I read my words aloud to my Father God. I was astounded! My words opened my ears wider to God’s words. This was not a monologue, then; this was a holy dialogue with the living God. I felt it immediately: relief. The joy of reconnection. I understood in a fuller way that God was with me in the midst of the rain and despair, and he had spoken directly into my heart through his Word.
That was 20 years ago. That was the moment my decades-long immersion into the Psalms began (though I wouldn’t begin to write Nearing a Far God: Praying the Psalms with Our Whole Selves for another 18 years.) In those years, I discovered so much more about the Psalms, including the science of neurotheology, which explains why “Bible Study”---a knowledge-only pursuit of spiritual growth---leaves half of our brain and all of our body in the silent dark. (I believe this is why so many of us struggle to truly believe and live out what our theology teaches——that weare fully accepted, forgiven, beloved!)
That day, trapped on that roadless island, the Psalms began to teach me a profound truth: We are not meant to stay distant, mere observers or passive listeners to stories and information about God. The Psalms invite us into holy conversation with a Father who longs to dwell as near as our next breath.
Here, in our space together each week, may I bring you some treasures from the Psalms and this new book? I would count it a privilege.