Cracked Lips in the Desert

 God, you are my God; I eagerly seek you. My soul thirsts for you, my body faints for you, in a land that is dry, desolate and without water.  Psalm 63:1

Yes, he is my God, I am so grateful I am his and he is mine.  I understand the eagerness and desperation of seeking him in the dry and desolate land. This is me since Abigail left. My lips are cracked and bleeding; my throat is hoarse with thirst. My body and soul cry out in desperation, weary for him. 

So I gaze on you in the sanctuary to see your strength and your glory. (2)

When my body is in the sand, scorched by the heat and when I can move nothing or nowhere else, I can move my eyes. They seek him with an urgency. I must see HIS strength and HIS glory, as there's nothing left of me. His strength will move me from this desolate place. His strength will enable me to stand. His strength will enable me to press on through the desert (with purpose) until I enter that promised land. His glory provides hope and purpose beyond what my eyes can see. For so long as they gaze on him, they see enough. 

My lips will glorify you because your faithful love is better than life. (3)

His faithful love IS better than life. Without it, life would hardly be worth living. "My lips WILL glorify him. There are days when that is indeed a future tense verb as pain and sorrow soak up any praise like a greedy desert floor. There are, and will continue to be days, my dry and cracked lips bleed as they praise him. It won't be pretty to the onlooker, perhaps even unrecognizable. There will be, there are days when lips glorify him in the whisper of a parched throat longing for relief. No matter how broken, my lips will glorify him. The broken praise will come, does come. One day there will be no more broken praises- only restored praise. NO more "broken hallelujahs". I wait in eager expectation. 

So I will bless you as long as I live; at your name I will lift up my hands. (4)

Whether from the desolate land or the promised land, I will indeed bless him. This doesn't mean I will understand him, or even that it comes easily. Again: cracked lips, parched throat, scorched body faint on the desert floor. Lift up my hands? Some days it is all I can muster to raise my hands just a few inches. Some days I rely on the Aaron and Hurs to lift my weary weak arms. Some days these are hands lifted in praise. Some days these are hands lifted in desperation as a thirsty man reaches for water or a drowning man clings to a dry rock. Surely there is praise in the desperate hands as well. 

You satisfy me as with rich food, my mouth will praise you with joyful lips. (5)

If honest, I'm tempted to skip over this one.  It would make it easier than admitting the thoughts that have come to mind: thoughts such as "it's not rich food I want, but water. Rich food is hard to swallow when you're so thirsty. I long to drink in the sound of my daughter's laughter, yet even she is not living water. Sometimes blessings, happiness, laughter, or the passage of time are hard to swallow in my sorrow. They get stuck in my throat, as though it's too much too soon. 

I know joy and sorrow intermingle- I've written on this before. Therefore, I am apt to believe this rich food which is spoken to bring satisfaction likely applies to the "faithful love that is better than life" in verse three. Indeed, I can say this is palatable: the richest of fare washed down by the Living Water. Thus, these same dry, cracked, and bleeding lips can also praise him with joyfulness- not necessarily giddiness or even happiness. Like the sting after an initial application, I suppose it acts as a balm to these chapped lips. I feel a little self-focused in all of this- being as the satisfying comes from the ministering of his faithful love to me. I pray this is further evidence of his goodness and compassion, and less my selfish soul. 

I skip to verse 8, not because it is the easier thing to do this time, but because I adore the imagery it brings to mind. 

I follow close to you; your right hand holds on to me. 

Somehow, through my Savior's loving faithfulness, strength, presence, and thirst-quenching water, I'm up off this desert floor and am pressing close to him as a child in a throng.  I need to be near him, clutching anything on or of him. He slows his gait to my awkward limping stride. Even if my hands can't find him, his hand reaches on to me. He KEEPS ME. He clutches me, drawing me to the safety of his side as a strong, loving, and determined parent. Sometimes he may end up half dragging, half carrying me as my strength and stamina give way. Other times I know he slows for me while I get my bearings. Then other times he tenderly picks me up, carrying me close to his chest. This produces a beautiful image in my mind. 

I also wonder: "Am I a compliant child?" Just as a child has the choice to trust in the guiding, keeping, strength, and shelter of a parent's arms, I too have a choice. Will I see it for the sweet relief it is, or will I rebel, trying to wriggle my hand loose thinking I know a better way? Will I kick and scream, pounding against his chest? Some days this is the shape I'm in. He holds me lovingly, strongly, tenderly, and faithfully to his chest as I push and pound in protest and tears. Yet even on those days he weeps with me. He pauses; he holds my head to his tear-soaked chest while stroking my hair. He does not tell me it IS alright, for he knows it is not. The sting of death is NOT alright. But he does tell me it WILL BE alright when all is made right when we get to where we're going. 

"Thank you. Thank you so much, Lord, for not rushing me forward, nor leaving me behind. Thank you for weeping with me, not merely attempting to pacify me." 

When I think of you as I lie on my bed, I meditate on you during the night watches because you are my helper. I will rejoice in the shadow of your wings. (6-7)