We live in a world that is constantly trying to push back the “dustiness” of our humanity, from creams for fine lines to hair dyes meant to cover those pesky grays. None of these things are evils, in and of themselves, but sometimes I wonder if we use them as a concealment to try to ignore the truth before our eyes, that we are in fact, dust.
We all like to win, but as we aim for the winner’s circle, we sometimes fall short. A lot of times we feel in both big and small ways like we’re not enough, like we don’t have enough, and like we weren’t given enough. The good news is, we don’t have to be enough. Jesus already is our enough. And Jesus has already claimed the victory.
In my moments of great loss, I have often turned, alone and in hiding, to the Psalms of Ascent. They’re short. They cut straight through to my soul. They give me permission to cry out, forlorn, toward God—to show my hopelessness and my trust, my hunger for rescue, my angry energy at injustice, and also, finally, the exhausted peace of having been heard and finally being safe.
I was in my 40s when my grandmother, Jewel, died in her mid-90s. One of my strongest childhood memories was sleeping in the extra twin bed in her room and hearing her pray aloud for each family member by name before she went to sleep.