Dear God, I woke up this morning and read the Substack post my wife put up about Psalm 18. It really moved me. So much so that I decided I wanted to spend some time on it with you this morning.

In it, she wrote a poetic dialogue with you that I want to go ahead and see if I can share it all here.

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Hello, Poetry Friend

There is no way to express the debt I owe to Sr. Miriam James Heidland, for her role in the Abiding Together podcast and for the many meditations she’s offered on the Hallow app. A couple of years ago, when I’d gone to the chapel to pray right before my husband’s fundraising dinner, I did one called “Healing Wounds: The Ache of Our Hearts.” I wrote up what happened, tucked it away.

Then this week, as I was preparing to sing Psalm 18, I found this amazing nugget from Sr. Irene Nowell, whose commentary Sing a New Song: Psalms in the Sunday Lectionary continues to be foundational for all my psalm-poems.

“The opening phrase, ‘I love you,’ is a puzzle. The verb, raham (see Ps 51) is never used with God as object. It is God who is the source of this tender, womb-like love.² Is it possible to read the first stanza as a dialogue? ‘I love you,’ God says to David. In wonder, David exclaims, ‘LORD, my strength!’”

–Sr. Irene Nowell, p. 72

And so, I rewrote my meditation as a dialogue, with Psalm 18.

Psalm 18

God: I love you—
Megan: Are you there, God? It’s me, Megan. (Seven words in, and I’ve already sinned—stolen a title from a book I loved as a girl.)
God: Titles aren’t copyrighted.
That is a great book. 
Got anything more interesting to confess?
Megan: Oh, the usual. And I don't have the strength right now, for any of this. Also I’m not sure I understand you.
God: Who ever said I Am understandable?
Megan: David understands you.
God: David loves me. 
Megan: He's shameless, puts it all out there, even though he’s not all that great at loving his enemies.
God: Neither are you. 
David gave me his heart, and I gave him mine.
Would you do that? 
Megan: How do I give you my heart?
God: Go get it. 
Set it right here
On the table.
Megan: Are you sure? ‘Cause it’s a rock, like, granite. I don’t even know if I can get it to you.

[I pull out a pale purple 50-pound kettlebell —  not pull, exactly — more like I shove it out of my chest. It clonks on the table, falls on its side.]

God: I don’t think you can carry this anymore. 
I can.
May I?
Megan: Okay.

[He leans down, straightens my heart, then lifts it with a finger into the  Sacred Heart of Jesus, aflame with love. My heart changes, beats red, blue, green, gold, and a deep passionate purple.]

God: Would you like it back?
Megan: I think so? Maybe not. It’s scary-beautiful now.
God: My child, you are in a state very similar to when you read Judy Blume’s famous coming-of-age novel. 
It’s quite common to go through another cycle of Orientation-Disorientation-Reorientation when you are in midlife, especially if you wander too near a wood. 
(Just ask Dante.) 
Megan: My Orientation back then was quite Disoriented. 
God: In many ways, yes. 
Not completely. 
You always forget the good.
Megan: Haven’t we gone through all this before?
God: Yes. 
It’s a story we tell again and again. 
A mighty song. 
Megan: Is that what you want?
God: I want your love. 
Megan: That’s all?
God: Yes, and: 
Love everyone. 
Especially those even weaker than you.
Megan: That’s all?
God: Isn’t that enough? 
No? 
Alright, then, use your words.
Megan: Do you mean my poems?
God: Every word.
Every note.
Every prayer on every dark walk. 
Megan: Some of it will be— 
God: Yes, please.
Megan: Okay. You can put my heart back now. 

[With all love and no effort He replaces it.]

God: Do you remember that November when you got a manicure right before Thanksgiving? 
You were so weary that you just stared into the middle distance.
And the nice nail tech from Houston kept trying to engage you in small talk? 
Megan: Yes. He also gave me a hand massage and didn’t charge extra. 
God: And what did he say when he did that?
Megan: He said, ‘I have reattached your hand.’
God: This is like that.

Happy poeming!

Megan

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So here are my thoughts as I take this in:

• The whole part about, in Hebrew, you cannot be the subject of the verb. You are the source of the love. It makes me wonder just how much scripture I misread because of my ignorance and how much of my theology is skewed because of it. I’m sorry for my ignorance.
• I love the description of your love for us as a “tender, womb-like love.” What a great image to describe your love for us. You are amazing in who you are for me and all of us.
• I love her reference to the book, Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret by Judy Blume. It brought me in immediately.
• “Whoever said I am understandable?” I think this is what made the whole thing “art” to me. Yes! We try so hard to understand you. We strive to figure out our theology under you. Some of us even try to figure out your plans for the future and the end times. It’s like the videos I watched for Ted Lasso, trying to figure out where the writers were taking us before we got there. We are such weird creatures. Even the I eschew efforts to figure out the end times, I could probably still learn some lessons about sinking into you more and trying to definitively figure you out less.
• David’s not good at loving his enemies. Neither am I. Hmmm.
• What does the heart I have to offer you look like? This is probably where I should spend some time. I think my proclivity isn’t as much towards hardness of heart as it is self-pity. Maybe that’s why King Saul resonates with me a little. Imposter’s Syndrome. Insecurity. Self-pity. I probably look more like Saul than I’d like to admit. I think the best way I combat that is to intentionally lift others up, even if it might be at my expense. The more I take myself down and then raise you and others up the more I get comfortable with who I am. The more I elevate myself at the expense of others, the more uncomfortable with who I am.
• “You always forget the good.” I can do that when my self-pity is ruling my heart. I have some loved ones who I think have forgotten the good. It breaks my heart. I wish I could infuse them with the good memories too.
• God: I want your love. Megan: That’s all? God: Yes, and: Love everyone. Especially those even weaker than you. Megan: That’s all? God: Isn’t that enough?

Father, thank you for a wife who is the woman who wrote this. She’s amazing and I love her. I’m grateful for her. I need her in my life. She makes me better, smarter, softer… And while I am apparently not allowed to make you the object of a verb according to Hebrew tradition, let me just say that You have me and I offer myself up to you. The idea of loving you is an inadequate phrase. So I just give myself to you. Here I am. Thank you for loving me.

I pray this in Jesus and with your Holy Spirit,

Amen