the psalm (iii)

He reached into the cabinet over the workbench and pulled down a can of coffee and with water from a gallon jug under the bench started a pot of coffee in an old but operating coffeemaker sitting on one end of the bench. As it began to drip and he continued to say the verse out loud, over and over, he walked slowly around the van again, reaching out over and over to stroke the sides. He’d step in close to better see the surface, then back away. It had taken a week to paint the van. Aside from all the prep work and the post work removing miles of tape from the windows, there was all the painting. Lots of painting. Seven coats of paint. It took that to completely cover the inscriptions, the one to be replaced.

If only the van were a big blackboard he could just erase it and write the next message, but that would be easy. That would not require the labor, the time, the slow and methodical process of readying the canvas, performing the purification, and then inscribing the message with care and process, always conscious of the holy power of each letter, of each word, every phrase, the complete passages.

“I’m going to need a lot of red and orange for the flames licking up and around Daniel’s friends,” he said out loud, raising his arms in the direction of the leaping flames. “Going to need really hot colors, reds and yellow and shadows of orange, thick bands of fire and snapping tentacles reaching up.”

He dropped his arms down, then raised his right hand, pointed his finger straight into the near silk surface of the van’s wall, and spoke softly.

“But for you, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and for you, you son of the gods...for you there will be only blue, four honest shades of cool,” he said, pouring a cup of coffee, feeling the heat of the cup in his cool palms.

the psalm (ii)

He got up from the bed holding the Bible held in one hand, closed with his finger marking the verse and walked directly towards the little house’s kitchen and screened back porch. He wore only the cut-off jeans and faded grey tee-shirt he’d worn the last three of days for both work and sleep.

He stopped on the back porch long enough to step into a pair of sandals and then walked out into the cool morning air. The sky was clear and the stars brightening with the lowering of the moon and its fading light. There was no breeze, but the occasional flash of lighting, far over the horizon to the west, meant someone was getting rain.

As he walked across the sandy yard to the garage he continued to whisper the verse. He pulled open one of garage’s two wooden doors and effortlessly laid his hand on the light switch, having reached for that spot to turn on that light for 30 years. He stepped into the strong odor of paint from his week of work, and when the light illuminated the interior, he was again pleased and almost a little surprised at the magnitude of his completed task.

The Ford Econoline beamed like polished white porcelain. Every inch was smooth with a layer of Bright White paint. The dark windows in the front and rear and the passenger and driver doors were struggling black holes, pushing against the overbearing white, trying not to be swallowed up by white. There had never been a more pure canvas, he thought.

He walked all around the vehicle, opened both garage doors, and stopped to lean on the workbench to gaze at the broad panel on the driver’s side, tying to see something that was not there, yet.

the psalm (i)

“Daniel.”

He thought the word, and he thought he spoke it.

“Daniel.”

He opened his eyes as he spoke it the second time, and let his eyes focus on the setting quarter moon through the open window over his bed. He knew he spoke it because he heard it.

He lay still except for his eyes. He blinked as he let the bright moonlight wash over his face. He could feel it brush past his cheeks and into his open eyes. He licked his lips so he could speak clearly.

“Daniel.”

He knew he heard it then, but he didn’t know why he was saying it.

He lifted his head a little to see the illuminated clock on the VCR

“3:27”


He lay back against his pillow and looked out the window again at the moon. His last readings before he went to sleep were in Colossians. He remembered the passage for he repeated it, like counting sheep as he went to sleep. He said it out loud, softly.

“He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.”

“…in him all things hold together.” He especially held onto those words as he drifted off to sleep. He lay quiet for a moment then suddenly but methodically sat up on the edge of his bed. He looked out now see the trees beneath the moon and the glimmer of the city’s lights on the river.

“Daniel 3:27.”

He said it again as if not to forget.

“Daniel 3:27.”

He turned on the light by his bed and picked up the only book on the table, the Bible, a worn copy, its hard cloth back bent and softened by use. His glasses were on top of the closed book, just where he had left them when he had gone to sleep.

He adjusted his glasses and as his eyes adjusted to the light he opened the book to Colossians, where he’d stopped the night before.

“Daniel 3:27,” he said softly and as he quickly found the reference.

He looked down the page and read out loud as was his habit when he needed to hear, really hear, something he was reading.

“And the princes, governors, and captains, and the king's counselors, being gathered together, saw these men, upon whose bodies the fire had no power, nor was a hair of their head singed, neither were their coats changed, nor the smell of fire had passed on them.”

Without a pause, he read it again, out loud, pausing at points for emphasis.

“And the princes…governors…and captains…and the king's counselors…being gathered together…saw these men, upon whose bodies the fire had no power, nor was a hair of their head singed, neither were their coats changed, nor the smell of fire had passed on them.”

He lowered the book and raised his head to look at the moon, now a little lower and into the trees. He looked at the clock again: 3:40.

He knew who “them” was; them was Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, the friends of Daniel, the friends who refused to bow down to Nebuchadnezzar’s golden image and were punished by being thrown into a burning fiery furnace. When the Babylonian king looked in the furnace to witness their execution he saw a fourth person he described as a son of the god, and he saw all four of them walking around, unaffected by the fire.

“...but,” he said emphatically and punching the air with his hands, “the fire had no power, nor was a hair of their head singed, neither were their coats changed, nor the smell of fire had passed on them.”

A warm, comfortable smile came over his face and he spoke softly and with certainty.

“They were cool. They were cool as blue...blue cool. The color of cool and calm is blue,” he said, nodding in agreement with himself.