I am out of sync with both Psalm 88 and Good Friday. Today is Tyler's 60th birthday, and that is worth celebrating. The weather promises to be beautiful. Our dog has been ill, but seems to be recovering, enough so that we are planning a family outing. Therefore, I take some solace in what Emile Griffin shared in Small Surrenders about a time when she, too, felt out of sync, when family life kept her away from an Easter vigil: "The answer, of course, is in the interior gaze. Jesus is present to us when we are present to him, and that can be anywhere, whether we are riding eastward or westward. We can think of him when we are stuck in grocery lines and traffic jams."
This I know to be true, though at times I forget that practice.
Psalm 88 is a deep lament. The anguish is tangible, and the line "I begin each morning in lament" is heartbreaking because we all have experienced such times and we know we would much prefer to not return to them. Yet, the psalmists courageously dig deeper into their sorrows and sing of them to God. The struggle is lifted to the heavens as an offering drenched in earthly tears. Gethsemane gardens can grow anywhere.
Yet, today, I offer my joy to God for this small family that I am a part of. Psalm 88 asks, "Could you work miracles in this lost land, in this countryside of dreams?" The answer, I believe, is yes.
Blessings on your journey to the Easter season. Know that whether the countryside you are moving through is rough terrain or a gentle footpath, you do not go alone. Eastward or westward or on our knees, we are on sacred ground.