PCA Pastor.
Slightly sarcastic.
Apt to laughter.

Anti-Psalm 42

As a deer thirsts for running water,
    so thirsts my pride for approval.
My pride thirsts for recognition,
    the admiration of others.
When shall I finally have it?
To be alone is to feel the weight
    of my own insufficiency,
while I ponder the success of others,
    “How have they done it?”
As my soul aches,
    I remember every compliment:
“You are gifted.”
    “You are brilliant.”
“There’s no one like you.”
    But each kind word
is but a reminder
    of my thirst for more.

O my pride, why do you hunger so,
    why bow at this tedious altar?
To hope in approbation
    is to feast on the wind—
    a full mouth and empty stomach.
The admiration of others is a cruel master,
    promising much, delivering little.
And yet I continue to chase it,
    an addict hoping that once more
    will be enough.
Recognition offers the fleeting warmth
    of the sheets where the lover lay
    before abandoning her beloved.
I say to approval:
    “Why have you forgotten me?
Why do you provoke me so?
    You give and take away;
    you wound but never heal.
You taunt me all the day long
    and mock me in the still quiet.”

Why are you cast down, O my soul,
    and why are you in turmoil within me?
Because you worship at a tedious altar,
    and exchange steadfast love for brutality.

Anti-Psalm 14

Anti-Psalm 86