Psalm 2/23

Changing the Psalm of My Life

Tender places also need to be touched, but with a gentle hand.

Neglect doesn’t make the tender parts less so; it just amplifies the longing for a touch that is informed and compassionate; a hand that takes the time to learn what feels like trust, like love, like care.

This is a rehearsal. This is a prayer.

I grew up with fear as my shepherd. I don’t blame my parents for this; they love/d me with the tools they were given, and bequeathed me with a miraculous measure of gentleness, considering the abuse they weathered. I was spanked; they were battered. Fear was the gift they could offer because their worlds were utterly unsafe and unpredictable.

Again, fear shepherded me, setting a table with a cup of anxiety about failing my parents and my kin and my God. I had better excel in school, I had better save myself for marriage, I had better not question the Bible, and I had better not chat back at my parents. Crossing those lines was like crossing an unforgivable abyss of worth and salvation.