While hiking through a particularly marshy area, where the mosquitos were rampant (and in Alaska they are huge), a friend told me about a Buddhist who had a particular practice. He would venture out into a place in the woods where he would sit and meditate for hours, allowing the mosquitos to bite him. He didn’t swat at them (like I did). Nor did he kill them. He allowed them to feast on him in awareness that these small creatures are connected to him.

All life is suffering, I retorted to my friend’s laughter.

I thought about this practice when I read Psalm 67. I considered my response. How quick I was to dismiss the glory of the mosquito.

Praise of God isn’t just about me and my needs. It’s not about my itchy arms. Or my frustrations. There are also the needs of the mosquito and the other creatures that I would be more likely to dismiss. They have value and purpose. They are part of God’s creation. God is not only gracious to me, but also to those that I would rather dismiss. God blesses us all.

I’ve been attempting a version of the loving kindness meditation in my own practice because I want to believe that love reaches beyond myself, but sometimes I even struggle with believing that there is love in me. This version of the psalm considers that intention and dares to believe it all matters.

Psalm 67

May God be gracious to us and bless us.
Isn’t this how loving kindness begins?

It starts with a tiny spark of love
for the whole world, for every creature
including the annoying mosquito 
who just stung my arm, but
even that tiny creature hopes
that God’s grace and blessing will fly 
into their heart and make their face shine.

Though I am stung and swollen
and it itches like all get out,
I am still full of praise.

Praise for the life
and that I can still feel 
something that stirs me 
enough to hope that there might be
more graciousness, more blessing.
Not just for me but for all the peoples 
on the earth. That your love
would reach the mosquito 
and the rat, the pigeon and the skunk.

Your loving kindness feeds
the roots of the trees and scatters the seeds
until it finds me again and reminds me 
that there is nothing but praise
for the connection we share
In your graciousness and blessing.
May this praise continue, always.

I wrote this for the Living Psalms Project of the United Church of Christ. It is intended to be used on the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost on August 16, 2026. It comes just as summer ends.