Psalm 5 is the morning cry. The groan before coffee. The whispered protest that still makes space for hope. It knows injustice firsthand, yet doesn’t collapse into bitterness. It speaks directly to Love while the world still spins on delusion.
Beth Ann, that’s the holiest kind of liturgy: off-key bowls and cracked-open tears. The world doesn’t need you polished, it needs you porous. Every time you stop trying to fix yourself and just let the song break out crooked, you’ve already helped the world more than you know.
Confusion
Cravings
Should-have-been
I am tired
Soft enough to weep in
And then i just cried. And let myself. Couldn’t finish reading it for awhile. Wasn’t one word that didn’t resonate like it was in my cell tissue.
Selfishly trying to fix myself which would help the world (maybe). I have a bowl and a song but guarantee it will be off key
Beth Ann, that’s the holiest kind of liturgy: off-key bowls and cracked-open tears. The world doesn’t need you polished, it needs you porous. Every time you stop trying to fix yourself and just let the song break out crooked, you’ve already helped the world more than you know.
Both the Psalm and the comment are like gentle rain on parched soil. Thank you!
“Bless you, Hazel. Sometimes the soul just needs a drizzle, not a sermon. Glad the words landed soft.
❤️