Husband.
Father.
PCA Pastor.
Slightly sarcastic.
Apt to laughter.

Anti-Psalm 30

I will extol you, O Self, for you have drawn me up
    until the next tragedy overcomes me.
O Self, my hope, I looked to you in trouble,
    but you could not heal me.
O Self, you cannot bring up my soul from Sheol;
    you cannot restore me from the pit.

I crave praise for myself,
    hungering after a mighty name.
Glory lasts but a moment,
    and anguish for a lifetime.
Joy tarries for the night,
    and weeping comes with the morning.

As for me, I said in my fleeting success,
    “It will never be enough.”
By your power, O Self,
    I accomplish enough to pretend;
but the facade always ends;
    I am dismayed.

But, Self, there is none
    to whom I can cry for mercy:
“There is no profit in my death,
    and I will go down to the pit.
Praiseless dust I become,
    because praiseless dust I already am.
There is no mercy.
    There is no help.”

And so, dancing will become mourning;
    my gladness will be loosed
    and I shall be clothed in sackcloth,
for my glory will be silent.
    Closed with my eyes in death.

Anti-Psalm 24

Anti-Psalm 137