Psalm 54 Novels & Stories

He took out his bible and read a passage there. "Psalm 82:1-5: 1 God has taken his place in the divine council; in the midst of the gods he holds judgment: 2 'How long will you judge unjustly and show partiality to the wicked? 3 Give justice to the weak and the fatherless; maintain the right of the afflicted and the destitute. 4 Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked.' 5 They have neither knowledge nor understanding, they walk about in darkness; all the foundations of the earth are shaken."

O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent. Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One, you are the praise of Israel. In you our fathers put their trust, they trusted and you delivered them. They cried to you and were saved, in you they trusted and were not disappointed. - Psalm 22:2 * * * * The skies were dark and gloomy that early Thursday morning when Yuri Kirisawa made her way into the Aoyama cemetery at the break of dawn, wearing her coat. The gloomy weather that Thursday morning only added to her already sombre mood as she entered the silent cemetery.

He mentioned last night that he wanted to read it. Behind the sound of delicate pages being rolled between my fingers, I hear the loud trickling of water. His eyes are set on me and he makes himself comfortable, a smile spilling on his lips which I catch from the corner of my eye. “Isaiah, chapter 54, verse ten I wanna speak about...” “Yeah, sure.” “So it says, “Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken, nor my covenant of peace be removed,” says the Lord who has compassion on you.”

I stretched out my hands first and I was still relaxed. ***** "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” Psalm 27:1

he says. I blink. “Read?” He nods toward the open Bible on the lectern. “Psalm 51. The Miserere. Aloud.” I hesitate only a second, then cross to the lectern. My fingers tremble as I turn the pages. The text swims for a moment before steadying. “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love…” My voice is soft, unsteady at first. I feel him behind me—close now, just at my shoulder. Not touching, but near enough that the air between us hums.

I sigh and shut my eyes, slowly putting my arms around his neck. “Feel better?” I drop my eyes. His thumb stops a tear from falling. “Look at me, Soph. I wanna talk to you.” I oblige him, enduring the heat spreading through me as he strokes my back. I feel the heat in my middle, too, threatening to push a reaction out of me. One I don’t want. “You asked about the scripture tattoo… Verse fourteen of the one-thirty-ninth Psalm. Wanna know what it says?” I blink and sniffle before giving him a nod.

“You look like the devil himself has been chasing you.” “Something like that,” I muttered. He stepped in. “You need rest, Dorian. You’ve been carrying too much.” “I’ll manage.” “Prayer,” he said softly. “Go to the chapel. Psalms have calmed stronger men than you.” I gave a curt nod, and he closed the door again. So I did. I went to the chapel, the candles burning low. I knelt hard on the wood and opened my Bible. “Psalm 23,” I whispered. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”

I didn't realize just how hoarse my throat was until I spoke. It felt so patched and dry thatit seemed as though I hadn't had any water in months. The nurse poured out water for me and handed it over to me in a glass cup. She helped me into a sitting position and assisted me with drinking the water. I drank the water slowly till I felt completely satisfied. I felt so refreshed by the water... It made me recall, Psalm 42:1 which says. " As the deer longs for streams of water, so I long for you, O God. "

She knew Someone watched her still. Her fingers reached to the cloth tied around her waist. From within, she drew a small scrap of parchment. It held verses she had once written herself — lines of psalms and prophecies, inked in haste, in the days when her heart burned to know more of the divine. She opened it now with trembling fingers and read aloud in her weakened voice “He who sits in the heavens shall laugh. He shall scatter the wicked with the breath of His mouth. He shall lift the righteous from the pit,

he says. I blink. “Read?” He nods toward the open Bible on the lectern. “Psalm 51. The Miserere. Aloud.” I hesitate only a second, then cross to the lectern. My fingers tremble as I turn the pages. The text swims for a moment before steadying. “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love…” My voice is soft, unsteady at first. I feel him behind me—close now, just at my shoulder. Not touching, but near enough that the air between us hums.