What I Can Pray Because Jesus Prayed Psalm 22 In My Place

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Because Jesus experienced Psalm 22 fully, in Him, I can pray:

“My God, my God, you’re my closest friend.

You’re here before I call for you. It’s like dialing your number, putting the phone up to my ear, and you’re already talking to me.

Even when I can barely sleep and focus when going about my day because of anxiety, you answer me and give me rest.

And you’re holy, riding the adoration of generations of faithful people like a king mounted on a proud Clydesdale horse. These people trusted you without looking back and you never let them down.

Yet I think I’m a boss. People usually love me (at least I think so–that’s all that matters, right?), smile at me, and think my opinions matter. I want them to say, “Look how happy he is and how nice of a life he’s made for himself! He’s found his place in this world!”

I wiggled away from you in my mom’s womb, pushed you away as a teenager, but you sprinted after me, tripped me from behind by kicking my legs out from under me and forced me to turned around and stare at you.

You were never far from me, but I was far from you.

You’ve bound the beasts that encircled me. I entertained them like a lion tamer in the circus.

My heart is refined like gold, my bones have extra cartilage, and my stature is strong.  My tongue moves freely, singing a new song, one that you downloaded into my heart free of charge like that U2 album that no one wanted.

Those “dogs” that surrounded me have been euthanized–they were rabid anyways. You did the work of putting them down while I turned my head. I used to think they were family pets, but a smart dad knows when his kids are in danger.

You’re always here–your Spirit is more present than my phone always vibrating in my pocket.  Notifications are turned on, along with location services, even though that sometimes takes extra battery.

Spirit is given to me like a sword–but I’m the one being handled.

I’m not sure what I can contribute. Other people’s stories seem more impressive than mine. But they all lead to you, and so I’m freed to be my true self.  I don’t have to be afraid like that kid who clashed his cymbals at the wrong time and ruined the whole performance.

The cultural, political, social, economic, and racial gap you crossed to get to me is wider than any ocean, train track, or Rio Grande.

Every Fortune 500 executive will cower and pull the lint out of their pockets.

Every dead person will dust off their shoulders.

The generation of unborn babies that is on their way (whether legislation wants them or not), will memorize this as their first nursery rhyme.


Written by keywoodblog

April 3, 2015 at 2:53 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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