When the kids were young, they often helped me prop up our aging wooden fence after a storm. We’d use the fallen limbs to steady it—until the next storm. More recently, my father’s old wooden corral needed propping up. My daughter wanted to clear it of undergrowth and overgrowth because it held such wonderful childhood memories. As she did, however, some of the boards dropped to the ground as we cut the vines. Others broke into pieces when we moved them. A few had already decayed into the soil leaving their rusty nails behind.

Where did this come from? Maybe it’s a meteorite!

We’d donned boots, gloves and pruning nippers to explore a deer path through the woods. My brother had just purchased the land we were curious to explore. We discovered the surprise just beyond a small clump of trees—the meteorite, or, more likely, an ordinary iron ore boulder. This one, though, was gigantic and resting awkwardly on top of the ground.

I often find the direction and comfort I need in the Psalms. King David penned the words of Psalm 62. The introduction mentions Jeduthan, a person or possibly a school or style of composition often used by David’s musicians. Imagining the possible rhythms and poetic Jeduthan style draws my heart deeper into its richness.