From the time I was a small child, I went to church with my family each week. I participated in Sunday School, VBS, and plenty of other church activities. I learned about God the Father and Jesus His Son. I dutifully memorized scripture, knew the books of the Bible, and I watched my mother spill tears every Easter as the choir sang the stately old hymn, “He arose! He arose! Hallelujah, Christ arose…” Even with all that Christian formation, I never really “got it.”

My grandparents owned a small service/gas station and motel in the Ozark mountains of Missouri. There was a small general store and their living quarters were a few rooms in the back. There was a lovely, warm kitchen that you could see into from the general store and there was always something cooking, the aroma enveloping you as you came into the front door of the station. There was a long counter with stools that twirled and that was where home cooked meals were served to weary travelers.

Anger. Hopeless. Trust. Despair. Hope. Confusion. Trust.  For most lament is rarely a straight path. It is a wandering towards God in the midst of pain.

I am about to tell you about one of the most impactful worship experiences of my life. What do you think it was? Can you imagine the scene?

The wordiest Psalm in the Book of Psalms (and the longest chapter in the Bible) is a song about the Word.

Running out of chores, I tackled my “blessing drawer.” I’m not sure where, or from whom, I got the idea but when I got a note or a letter that was affirming I tossed it in the bottom drawer of my desk. Over the years it filled up, that’s not bragging, just saying a lot of years went by, and a week ago with the quarantine at full tilt, it was time to open it. I dumped them into an empty moving box and settled in. One by One One by one I read them, often pausing to ponder or cry like when I hit one from our deceased son, AJ.

I don’t recall the dreams, I don’t think they were “nightmares,” but when I awoke I was assaulted with, well, “Daymares.” Daymares of reality.

Do you feel like you're in the wilderness? Have you completely lost your bearings? Are you in the ocean depths—overwhelmed and under pressure? Are you floating in an open sky—feeling disconnected from everyone and everything?

For the past 5 years, Barbara and I have made it our gift to each other to go to a beach a few days after Christmas. So, it’s a sunny and seventy-five degree New Year’s Day 2021. We’re mostly shaded by our umbrella. Barb’s caught up in a murder mystery and I’m watching the pelicans fish. I’m also reading a book, it so happens, on fishing. It’s about fishing for folks like Jesus called his disciples to do.

“Wait a minute...that’s what I weigh? Is that right?” “That’s what the scale says, sweetie. Don’t feel bad, that’s everybody this year.” I knew 2020 had been a year of stress eating. My daily dose of stress relief during quarantine was anything covered in cheese dust (popcorn, Cheetos, Pringles, chips, goldfish, etc.). And yet I was still slack-jawed in the doctor’s office, staring at that number. I just wasn’t prepared to see exactly how much I had gained. That was a week ago, right before Christmas. And now...to plan.