Once I finished school and no longer had writing assignments that were part of course requirements, most of my writing has been the product of my own interests. But that changed sometime in early March when I joined the creative writing group at Evergreen Commons, our local senior center. Led by a capable writer, our two-hour weekly sessions begin with a brief writing activity followed by each of us reading the writing we produced based on the prompt from the previous week. Prompts from week to week have included such things as bullfrogs, a purple towel, bottles and beer cans, a white car driving the wrong direction . . . I think you see the challenge. One week we received a slightly different prompt. It was to write something using any of the metaphors and similies in Psalm 102. I have decided to share what I wrote that week. (You may find it worthwhile to read the Psalm first.)
An Unexpected Visitor
Elizabeth slowly opened her eyes. It was getting dark and there were no lights on in the room. She needed her clock to orient her to the day and time and glanced at it on the small table across the room. More than a clock, it was an information center spelling out in enlarged and glowing words and numbers the day, the time, and the date. It was an appropriate gift for an aging woman from a younger friend. She was grateful. She read Friday night, 8:15 p.m., April 7, 2023.
Now, she remembered. In the late afternoon, weary from the day’s activities, she sunk down in her favorite recliner and lifted the footrest. Long tapering and diminishing shadows crossed the living room floor as they slid through the open slats of her vertical blinds on the patio sliding door.
Taking her Bible from the table beside her, she opened it to the Psalms and began reading where she had finished the day before, Psalm 102. As she came to the closing verse, her eyes began to close. The Bible lay on her lap and her glasses remained on.
Unaware of the passing of time, she half-opened her eyes and saw a figure seated in the wingback chair across from her. She was startled and would have been scared, but he seemed vaguely familiar. She looked at him as he sat quietly looking at her. She needed a minute to mentally process.
Glancing down at her Bible, her eye caught the descriptor before Psalm 102 “A prayer of a afflicted man. When he is faint and pours out his lament before the Lord.”
Elizabeth blinked. There he was before her eyes, slumped, tired, gaunt, with no light in his sunken eyes. He had described himself to God so clearly that she recognized him.
Is he real and should I speak to him, she wondered. “I think I just read your desperate prayer. Did I not?” Elizabeth tentatively questioned.
He affirmed with a nod.
“Well, I must say I’m surprised your’re here. This means of Scripture ‘coming alive’ is new to me.” She smiled and hoped to elicit one in return. Did I detect an attempt? she wondered. “Since you are here, do you mind if I make a few comments?”
Her visitor shrugged and moved his hands as if to say, “It’s up to you. Go ahead. I’m listening.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and let it out slowly, giving herself a moment to think about where to begin. “Well, first I have to say you are very poetic. Your description of your condition was quite moving.”
Her visitor continued to look at her but his gaze and body language acknowledged nothing one way or another.
She went on. “What truly amazed me was your willingness to approach the Lord described as – well, let me read it back to you. You said, ‘I eat ashes as my food and mingle my drink with tears because of your great wrath, for you have taken me up and thrown me aside.’ Do you remember saying that?”
His head movement indicated he did.
“Obviously, you know and trust this Lord or you would not have turned for help to the One who threw you aside. The way you address Him from the beginning told me that despite this graphic picture you paint of yourself, hope is the punctuation on your lament.
“You so beautifully described the greateness, power, glory, and eternal aspects of this Lord whom you petition, along with his compassion that it is no wonder you write ‘Let this be written for a future generation, that a people not yet created may praise the Lord.’ My dear man, that did in fact happen and you are looking at me, one from a future generation not yet created when you prayed your prayer.
“You asked God not to take you away in the midst of your years, but I am getting old and my days are like the dwindling, evening shadows more often than not. Do you see that they fade slowly? It is a process with its own form of peacerfulness. They are not frightening and I am not lamenting them. I also trust this Lord you addressed. You reminded me that He is eternal and unchanging although the earth is not and is wearing out like a garmet. And, as you said, I will live in His presence.
“In fact, someone who came later than you, wrote ‘we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.’ Although I’m sure you don’t see your troubles as light and momentary, it might be useful to try another perspective.”
Just then the phone rang. Fumbling to reach the switch on the lamp beside her, Elizabeth turned to pick up the cell phone on the table next to her chair. The screen on her phone read ‘potential spam’. She cut it off and when she looked across the room her visitor was gone.
I can’t talk to anyone about this, she thought. I’ll put it in writing and tuck it away in a drawer. some day when I am gone, my family will find it.
