Have mercy upon me, O Lord, for I am weak: O Lord, heal me; for my bones are vexed.
I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.
Mine eye is consumed because of grief; it waxeth old because of all mine enemies.
Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity; for the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping.
The Lord hath heard my supplication; the Lord will receive my prayer.
To help with my pain and grief, I am re-reading the psalms.
As I read, I feel I can reach my hand out to the poet who wrote. I can touch his grief, feel his anger and allow his celebration of faith and life itself.
This particular psalm reaches deep into my heart, finding the parts of me I was convinced were lost.
The deepness of the grief in this psalm reaches across times, slides through our different lifestyles – and speak, it whispers into my heart.
Oh, at last I can grieve, I can “make I my bed to swim”.
This is a blessing, this is healing. It is a recognition that I am worthy of becoming whole.
I am not the dirt that others just throw away.
In the psalms I find a space where pain is faced head-on. Not made pretty, not dismissed by “oh well, you got through it alright”.
No, it seen as real, it seen as paralysing, it is seen as part of the terror..
Pain is never pushed away in the psalms – “my bones are vexed”.
That is grief and pain to me, it is every cell of my body. It affects my sleep, my daily life – it is a shadow that refuses to leave me alone.
I can reach and touch the grief of this psalm.
The poet grieves that he cannot change what and how his enemies have sent close to destruction.
I would prayer, rage and cannot change the johns and the managers who came so close to destroying me.
I cannot change that so many that I know, did not know, those close to my heart, those I hold in the depths of my soul – I cannot change that the sex trade destroy them.
I cannot change that their lives went unnoticed.
But I can prayer and express my rage at the hate that destroy them.
I will never allow that their lives were nothing.
I placed all them inside my heart. I write this blog for all the women and girls who cannot speak.
I especially write for those women and girls who were taken from us.
They were the good – they must never be forgotten.
This post is vague, but then it is written from a place of grief.