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Thy Word is…

Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.

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Parched and weary, but well-worn

O God, you are my God;

I earnestly search for you.

My soul thirsts for you;

my whole body longs for you

in this parched and weary land

where there is no water.

~ Psalm 63:1

A parched and weary land

Somehow I find it comforting that this cracked trench has been made so by the many who have trod this path before me.

The Lake and I played today

The Lake and I played today.

We played peek-a-boo.

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We played hide and seek.

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We played with crayons, mostly orange.

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We played red light, green light.

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We played follow the leader.

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Which started me singing. Step by step, you lead me. I will follow you all of my days. So touched, was I by this Mom who peeked out from the bushes and, seeing only me, thought it safe to cross. She shuttled the brood – mostly grown – out ahead of her, and then sidled past to lead them down the grassy hill to the stream below.

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I am that mother.

Across the planks of that wooden walkway I jogged and sang in her honor until entering the path through the wrought-iron gate marked, “Asbury Trail.” I slowed, and stepped, and looked to the Lake.

There it was, playing. 013ed45b1f3414da53ead32b3521a9e2187193adf7 Reflecting the arch of a blackened branch. How lovely, but really not remarkable, but for its moment. It became the still waters of psalmists, long gone and modern day. This moment.

A graying man walking toward me, his little furry friend on a leash, smiled in my direction. I, feeling sheepish because he had first looked to where I was aimed and snapping a photo. Nothing remarkable about that spot or that shot his eyes said. I know, I wanted to say. Just illustrating a psalm here. Having a private conversation in this amphitheater filled with years and tears spent in weathered times, hope and peace, gathered in all times.

I’ve written a book, can you illustrate it for me? the Lake had begged. I obliged. But it was not the Lake who asked. It was the lake’s Keeper.

I’ve written a book, can you illustrate it for me? whispered the Keeper. Not with camera or crayons, simpler still. I want you to illustrate my book. You be the artist for my clay.

I rounded the bend and traversed the goose-poop-laden asphalt of the parking lot. I hurdled and jumped, hopped and cut right and left, till I stood face to face with the Lake. That psalm still churning.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies,
You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

Cup overflows…cup overflows… I’m stuck on cup overflows.

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The Lake and I played today.

 

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