By day the Lord directs his love, at night his song is with me–a prayer to the God of my life (Psalm 42:8).
When I’m stressed, I don’t know which is worse–
Day, when I have to deal with all the garbage that is arrayed against me, or
Night, when I can’t sleep because I can’t escape all the things I didn’t do right today and probably won’t accomplish tomorrow.
And yet HIs love is with me, day or night or twilight or dawn or sunset or sunrise or gloaming.
He is the God of my life.
All will be well.
Happy Wednesday, Beloved
Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me (Psalm 42:7).
Water is an interesting thing.
It is necessary for life and delightful in a tall glass with ice, but it can also
It can be wild and uncontrollable and utterly unstoppable.
All in all, a pretty solid metaphor for the sorrow and pain David is feeling.
And maybe not just David.
Beloved, when the water threatens to sweep you away, remember that you have an Anchor.
And your Anchor holds.
Happy Tuesday, Beloved
My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you from the land of the Jordan, the heights of Hermon–from Mt. Mizar (Psalm 42:6).
Wherever God takes you in this life, remember that it is He who takes you.
You know, the One who
loves you and
calls you and
keeps you and
guides you and
He’s got you, Beloved.
Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. (Psalm 42:5)
What, you never talk to yourself?
Sure you do.
That’s what the Psalmist is doing here. He’s giving himself a pep talk, looking in the mirror and saying “Suck it up, Boyo! God is still God, and you’re gonna praise him, come what may!”
Kinda one part cheerleader, two parts drill sergeant.
I love this. I love that the Psalmist is not giving in to despair, nor is he letting his emotions rule the day. He is making a conscious decision that he will praise God.
And it is a matter of will.
Lord, let me hope in you, even when I see no hope. Let me praise you even when I don’t feel like it.
Happy Friday, Beloved.
These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go with the multitude, leading the procession to the house of God, with shouts of joy and thanksgiving among the festive throng (Psalm 42:4).
So…church this Sunday.
As the Psalmist writes this, he is unable to go to the temple. Don’t know why–maybe he has been carried off by a foreign army, maybe he is sick or disgraced in some way. Whatever it is, it’s resulting in mocking by the ungodly and anguish in his soul.
And what is on his mind, in the midst of all this trouble?
He wants to go to church.
He wants to lead the crowd, singing at the top of his lungs and crying “Hallelujah” from the pews/folding chairs.
Because of his circumstances, he can’t.
But you can.
Happy Thursday, Beloved.
My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long, “Where is your God?” (Psalm 42:3)
When life is hard, the world is watching.
When you are at your lowest, they wait and wonder how you will respond.
Perhaps they mock, or taunt, or ridicule.
Perhaps they simply stand back to see how you handle this dark day.
You see, though they may not show it, they want to see how real God is to you
This is your chance, Beloved.
This is your witness.
When the tears pour out
let your heart hold firm
that the world may see
that you are Beloved.
As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God? (Psalm 42:1-2).
Does time with God feel like a precious, priceless gift
something to be sandwiched between
checking your news feed
racing to the shower?
I’m not accusing you, Beloved.
I’m just looking in the mirror.
Father, give me the desire for you, the hunger, the thirst, the aching need that can only be met by the One who knows me completely
and loves me anyway.
Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends (John 15:13).
Thank you, Veteran.
Thank you for leaving your home behind in order to protect it.
Thank you for setting aside your freedoms to help safeguard mine.
Thank you for fighting for my right to protest, even when my protest saddens or angers or disgusts you.
Thank you for shouldering a rifle, or climbing into a chopper, or racing toward a bomb blast, knowing that today could be the day that you are called to give “the last full measure of devotion.”
You must be terrified.
You go anyway.
For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish. (Psalm 1:6)
It’s a promise.
It’s a warning.
It brings comfort
It provides hope
It’s the beginning
or the end
but either way
Happy Friday, Beloved.
Not so the wicked! They are like chaff that the wind blows away. Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous (Psalm 1:4-5).
Sometimes I look at the nonbelievers around me, and I envy their “freedom.”
I forget their destiny. I forget that, without Christ, they are like chaff that the wind blows away. Ever wonder why chaff blows away, while the wheat (that would be you) remains? It’s because chaff has no substance, no weight. There is nothing solid to it, nothing to keep it from drifting away on the breeze.
What the world calls “freedom” is often just the aimless drifting of an empty soul.
One day they, like we, will stand before the Father. They will not be clothed in the righteousness of Christ—they will be naked in their sin. They will not stand firm in the armor of God—they will be crushed under the weight of their own well-earned guilt. They will not rejoice in the fellowship of the saints—they will be ever, forever alone.
Father, sometimes I forget. But when I remember, let me rejoice in your grace, and let me remember never to envy the lost, but ever to pity them, to pray for them, to reason and wrestle and reach for them.
But for God’s grace, we are chaff.
Happy Thursday, Beloved.