When I was a small, innocent child, my favorite book of the Bible was Psalms. I liked that whether King David was victorious, anxious, frustrated, or terrified, he always clung to the Lord and gave him ultimate glory.
And embarrassingly enough, I started writing my own psalms as a six year-old. My parents have the cassette tapes to prove it.
Twelve years later, I started writing psalms again. I was definitely channeling a “brooding-freaked-out-King-David” vibe, because at the time, I held deep anger against God that I could only articulate by writing.
As my theology and understanding of God deepened, these accusatory scribblings soaked with hot tears were reshaped into honest praise. Slowly, my writing focused less on my emotional outbursts, and more on the consistent Grace and overwhelming kindness of Abba God.
After battling clinical depression, anxiety, addiction, and suicidal tendencies for years, the Lord has graciously given me a desire to communicate the Grace shown to me in my darkest times to other brothers and sisters who still dwell in the shadows.
My hands still shake with fear when I write sometimes. Other times, my fists curl up into balls, white-knuckling their way through a poem. I hope that in all seasons, I can still hold up my trembling hands in worship to the God who enables me to create.
For the glory of God and the good of his Kingdom,