The "wicked" are always somebody else. Couldn't be you or I. We're so civil. What if our assumption is a false hope? What if hate is crouching at ourĀ hearts' door? https://bible.faithlife.com/bible/niv2011/Ps119.113
An illuminated screen serves as a lantern to find my children in the darkness. Beyond specifications it discovers my sleeping heart. https://ref.ly/Ps119.105-109;hcsb
Nothing is moored to the dock. The tethers are all frayed from the constant inconsistencies. Or does the port no longer reach the sea? https://ref.ly/Ps119.89-96;hcsb
I spend hours trying to erase around the edges, rarely thinking of how I'm being filled in. Brushes and palletes are consequential. It's the artist that matters. Psalm 119:73-80
Snake oil must cure something - if not the salesman's poverty, the buyer's conscience. For a moment all is right. But the peddling of false hope is like blessing without sacrifice. https://ref.ly/Ps119.49-56
I've been reading Psalm 119 a lot recently (maybe some of you have noticed). One theme that the psalmist returns to over and over is the theme of "being afflicted" or "being wounded" or "being brought low." Psalm 119 has become a roadmap for my emotions. As I consider how utterly desolate this ancient poet felt, how that resonated with Israel, and how Jesus of Nazareth must have personally connected with this Psalm, I am humbled. But I don't particularly care for being humbled. Being knocked off of my pedestal, being put in my place - reminded of who I am... those aren't things I sign up for. The funny thing is: I've always thought of myself as a pretty humble person. I don't ask for a lot. I don't…