A white-tailed deer drinks from the creek; I want to drink God, deep
draughts of God. I’m thirsty for God-alive. I wonder. ..”Will I ever make it –
arrive and drink in God’s presence?”
I am on a diet of tears – tears for breakfast, tears for supper. All
day long people knock at my door, pestering… “Where is this God of yours?”
These are the things I go over and over, emptying out the pockets of my
life. I was always part of the
worshipping crowd, right out in front, eager to arrive and worship, shouting
praises, singing thanksgiving – celebrating God’s feast.
Why are you down in the dumps dear soul?
Why are you crying the blues?
When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse everything I know
of You, from Jordan depths to Hermon heights, including Mount Mizar, Chaos
calls to chaos… to the tune of white-water rapids. Your breaking surf, your
thundering breakers crush and crush me! Then God promises to love me all day,
sing songs all through the night. My life is God’s prayer.
Sometimes I ask God; my rock-solid God – Why did you let me
down? “Why am I walking around in tears,
harassed by enemies?” They’re out for
the kill these tormentors with their obscenities, taunting day after day, “Where is this God of yours?”.
Why are you down in the dumps dear soul?
Fix my eyes on God ... soon ... I will be praising again.
Ps42
The Message
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