Psalms 22:9-24

And to think you were midwife at my birth, setting me at my mother’s breasts! When I left the womb you cradled me; since the moment of birth you’ve been my God. Then you moved far away and trouble moved in next door. I need a neighbor. Herds of bulls come at me, the raging bulls stampede, Horns lowered, nostrils flaring, like a herd of buffalo on the move. I’m a bucket kicked over and spilled, every joint in my body has been pulled apart. My heart is a blob of melted wax in my gut. I’m dry as a bone, my tongue black and swollen. They have laid me out for burial in the dirt. Now packs of wild dogs come at me; thugs gang up on me. They pin me down hand and foot, and lock me in a cage—a bag Of bones in a cage, stared at by every passerby. They take my wallet and the shirt off my back, and then throw dice for my clothes. You, GOD—don’t put off my rescue! Hurry and help me! Don’t let them cut my throat; don’t let those mongrels devour me. If you don’t show up soon, I’m done for—gored by the bulls, meat for the lions. Here’s the story I’ll tell my friends when they come to worship, and punctuate it with Hallelujahs: Shout Hallelujah, you God-worshipers; give glory, you sons of Jacob; adore him, you daughters of Israel. He has never let you down, never looked the other way when you were being kicked around. He has never wandered off to do his own thing; he has been right there, listening.