A Psalm of a Lamenting Prophet (words blooming in a barren desert)

By: Lizzie Hoy (loveland) Nunemaker

I see pain and pain and pain cascading

I feel so much

And ask Him, what do you want from me?

Even with all my effort, chronically misunderstood. 

God is the only one who truly sees things as they are.

My people are utterly numb

They stare at screens and listen to the wardrums in their heads and from their stereohearts

They imbibe and imbibe and they don’t see what I see and don’t hear what I hear and don’t feel what I feel

They don’t know what I know.

I used to be one of them.

Oh how the increase of knowledge adds sorrow! And yet, my people suffer from their lack of wisdom. 

They don’t know how to recognize what demons sound like

But I am well acquainted and know how they like to whisper and prod and console

Always prowling about. Persistent vigilance is required to keep them at the perimeter or to shoo them from the house if they are accidentally invited in.

My people spend all their efforts building sandcastles on the shoreline and cry when the tide comes in

And then blame God for it

I must watch and sit with them during these times of high tide.

Even the most religious among us don’t truly see very often

They see only what appeals to them

They don’t see the potential hidden among the unlikely, the other multitude of unseen.

My people are the dead and wander among the dead. They are walking graveyards waiting for the other number at the end of their epitaph

As for me, I will go on seeing, go on feeling

I feel for my people and see for my people

And hear their collective cries and groans and sighs 

Let the Lord keep me in His thoughts for I am poor and needy. And chronically lifting my hands to Him and crying what more do you want from me?!

Or otherwise, what else do you have for me Lord?

I feel it all, the futility and the pain 

But still, continue to sing alone on a mountaintop,

Where there is no one around to hear me

Words blooming in a barren desert

Because still, my God sees and hears and knows 

And even though I am a grieving sinner

Wanting to be good, trying to be well,

And failing utterly, 

I still serve a Holy God

And for that, and for my lost, 

numb people,

I sing.