written on 12 June 2020
by Morgan Murdock

salt –
the air from the ocean’s scattered breath mingling with fresh tears
escaping from my eyes unhinged.

here I am again,
sitting on the ground
in the only place
where it’s always okay to let sobs shake my chest
and the animal howl of grief crack my voice:

“why, God?”

You promised
You’d be here.
You promised
You wouldn’t leave.
You promised…

…so why aren’t You speaking?
it doesn’t feel like You’re with me.

tell me something, God.
You said that You would,
and I need to hear from You.

…

waves crash on the shore below.

…

Trust in God, trust also in Me.

I gulp, stuck in the pause
between my anger and His words.

“how am I supposed to do that?”

I can’t, alone,
which I am, again.

confusion suffocates my thoughts.
defiance rises like roiling floodwaters
along with the judgy, guilt-tripped church kid in me
heaping condemnation on my honest conversation toward the sky:

you’re not supposed to talk to God this way.

…

pushing that thought back,
I let my anger out through pursed lips:

“Trust? Really? How in the world do I do that?”

I try to stifle my frustration.
“Anything else?!”

…

Be still.

raindrops hit my face,
like miniature missiles thrown from the sky.

and know that I am God.

…

sea air lurches into my lungs
my heartbeat seems to stop.
it feels like Someone
is pressing a finger gently against my lips
to settle me
in silence.

…

I sit in the quiet
on a piece of plastic tarp on the ground
next to Dad’s gravestone.
the breeze rustles the knee-high grass on my right,
and in front of me, grey clouds shower heaven-water on the narrows.

the waterfall at the corner of the cemetery
joins the wind and the rain in their whispers
of tumultuous Hope.

I will strengthen you
and help you.

I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.

…

a shot of cold, earthy dampness startles my skin into goosebumps,
a shock like wet clay
when it first hits the potter’s hands.

I look up.

no sliver of sunlight breaks through the clouds.
the rain doesn’t stop.
there’s no sign in the sky,
or angel by my side.

but there’s a gradual slowing of the hot tears.
a moment to breathe.
a quiet calm surrounding me.

it doesn’t feel like perfect peace,
but the rage and pain and hurt are no longer spinning themselves
into giants inside.

maybe peace isn’t always an overwhelming wash of triumphant song
or overflowing joy.

maybe sometimes,
Peace is just a stillness.

not a sudden shift to flat calm,
but the breath of a hushed, small voice
on the wings of the wind –

a whisper, really:
peace, be still.

– that touches our salt-stained faces,
and steadies our souls
with the comfort of silence.