Psalm 77

Two mornings ago I woke from a dream about Lynn C. Bauman's translations of the Psalms.  I know that is a strange sentence, and I really cannot describe the dream, but I woke knowing it was time to return to them.  I have been stuck at Psalm 77 for awhile, and this Advent was busy enough that I veered from regularly reading and sharing the psalms.  Yet, I am always called back to them and I am grateful they do not let me go.  This morning as I read the Psalm, I remember there was water in the dream.   

Psalm 77 is rooted in  a sleepless night: "My mind, an endless cycle, my spirit at lowest ebb." A night without comfort; a night drenched in questions and dismay.  While I have had those nights, that night was not one of them.   This Psalm is beautiful, and when a sleepless night returns, I hope I remember to turn to this ancient voice who was awake, not to keep watch, but to cry.

Later that day,  I had an appointment at Kaiser that included a fairly long wait for lab work.  As I looked around the crowded waiting area, I saw faces etched with frustration, pain, weariness, and even some tenderness as family members patiently helped those too ill to navigate through Kaiser on their own. I also witnessed staff members valiantly staying encouraging and welcoming. As I often do in crowds, I asked the Holy Mother to be with us all, and I envisioned her starry mantel wrapping around the room bringing peace. The woman sitting next to me noticed my collar and asked me what church I belonged to. I told her a little bit about SpiritCare, and then she told me her son had recently been murdered. As I remember her darkened eyes, I am certain she has known many nocturnal tossings and turnings with thoughts that "turn ever backward, unreeling through the night."    

However, the psalmists always remind us that whatever we are going through, we can and must eventually surrender our hearts and minds to the mystery that is God. There we can find  strength, renewed purpose, and even peace. This psalmist ends his nighttime turbulence with a beautiful reminder of the fearlessness of God: "You walked through water, your path lay through the sea, and though we never saw you take a step, you were our company."    

  

 As this woman and I talked, I heard my number called. I gave her a blessing and went through the door. The technician waved me in, and he and I joked as he efficiently did his work.  When I walked back through the waiting area, I noticed the woman  was dozing.  I pray that in time she can look forward, not backward, and know that both she and her son are held in an unfathomable love, no matter how overwhelming the  waters might seem.  May a gentle good night be hers once more.    

    

Holy Mother, where there is sorrow and despair, may Your gentle presence be known. Help me to be a presence of Your love.  Help me to don the mantle of peace.  Amen    

    

   Today is Epiphany.  Blessings to you all.