the 23rd psalm

The 23rd Psalm

For my Aunt Elinor on her 89th birthday

One summer, my Aunt Elinor enticed us

to memorize the 23rd Psalm

using a shiny cellophane bag

stuffed with candy and tied with a gold twist.

Pixie Stix, Tootsie Pops, Swedish Fish,

and bite-sized Charleston Chews.

She was strict about her proposition.

No half-memorized lines. No fumbles.

I was in fifth grade. What did I know

of the deep longing

to lie down in green pastures?

How might I have understood:

I will fear no evil?

All I wanted was the sweet

abundance in that crinkly bag.

Did she know, my aunt, that one day

I would deeply need

those truths?

That in memorizing the lines

I was binding to my heart

words like: Comforts. Restores. Still.

For...ever…more.

The candy was good.

I still love that stuff.

Even more, I love my aunt who coerced

God, so surely, into my life.

But most especially, I love

those ancient words—

how they last and last

with a sweetness like none other I’ve ever known.

Kate Young Wilder