The Psalm I Needed to Write

This week we are studying Psalms.

And I have to admit something.

I have been struggling with it.

I know Psalms is beautiful. I know people find comfort there. I know these are words written from some of the deepest places of grief, praise, fear, longing, and worship.

But I wasn’t feeling it.

I would read and find myself trying to make the words mean something to me instead of actually feeling them. And I don’t want to study scripture that way. I don’t want to check the box and say I read it. I want to find the Lord there.

Then a thought came into my mind:

What if you wrote your own psalm?

Not David’s reasons for loving the Lord.

Mine.

Why do I love Him?

That question stopped me.

Because when I started thinking about my own life, I realized I don’t love the Lord because I have lived some perfectly faithful life. I love Him because I have needed Him.

I have needed Him desperately.

A couple of years ago I became so sick that I was given a life sentence from a Doctor (so scary).

I don’t think I talk very often about how scared I actually was.

There were moments when my body didn’t feel like my own anymore. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know if I was going to get better.

And I remember praying for more time.

Please let me stay.

Please heal me.

Please give me more time with the people I love.

Those weren’t eloquent prayers.

Sometimes they were barely prayers at all.

Sometimes they were tears.

Sometimes they were fear.

Sometimes they were me lying there wondering if God could hear thoughts I didn’t even know how to turn into words.

And strangely, that was when I began to know Him most.

I had known about Jesus Christ before.

I believed in Him.

I worshipped Him.

But suffering introduced me to Him in a way comfort never had.

When everything else felt uncertain, He became personal.

He became the One I talked to when everyone else was asleep.

The One who knew how afraid I really was.

The One I didn’t have to protect from the truth.

I didn’t have to be brave for Him.

And He healed me.

I almost hesitate when I write those words because they carry so much for me.

He healed me.

There was a time when I wasn’t sure I would get more life.

And now I have it.

I get ordinary Tuesday mornings.

I get to wake up and open my scriptures.

I get to hear the voices of people I love.

I get another drive home, another sunset, another temple day, another prayer.

I get another chance to become.

And sometimes... if I am being truthful... I forget.

I get irritated by an inconvenience. I worry about things I cannot control. I become frustrated with people. I rush through a day that I once would have begged God to give me.

Then every once in a while I remember the woman who wasn’t sure she would get another ordinary day.

And something inside me whispers,

Look what the Lord has done.

But my psalm can’t only be about healing.

Because I have also prayed prayers that weren’t answered the way I wanted.

I have buried people I loved.

I have known heartbreak.

I have watched relationships change.

I have felt lonely in rooms full of people.

I have carried questions into sacred places and walked back out still carrying them.

I have begged God to change things He didn’t change.

And that is where my faith has gotten a little more complicated.

Because I love the God who healed me.

Of course I do.

But I am learning to love and trust the God who doesn’t always heal something when I ask Him to.

The God who sometimes asks me to wait.

The God who doesn’t explain everything.

The God who allows me to wrestle.

That has been harder.

I am learning that hope in Christ cannot only mean believing He will give me the outcome I am praying for.

Sometimes hope in Christ means saying,

Even if this doesn’t turn out the way I want...I still know Who You are.

I am still learning that.

I still want answers.

I still want to know the ending before I surrender the middle.

I still catch myself telling God how I think things should work out.

But when I look backward over my life, there is one thing I cannot deny.

He has been there.

In the healing.

In the grief.

In the questions.

In the temple rooms.

In the quiet mornings.

In the prayers that were answered and the ones I am still waiting on.

He has stayed.

And perhaps that is my psalm.

Not a song about a life where everything worked out.

A song about a Savior who stayed.

A Savior I came to know when I wasn’t sure I would live.

A Savior who gave me more days.

A Savior who has been patient with my questions, my fear, my wrestling, and my need to understand.

So maybe I understand Psalms a little differently this week.

Maybe a psalm isn’t something I have to figure out.

Maybe it is an invitation to remember.

To look back over my own life and ask:

Where was God?

And when I do that... I see Him everywhere.

So here is my psalm:... Ready?

Lord, I love You.

Not because my life has always been good.

Not because every prayer has been answered.

Not because I understand everything You have allowed.

I love You because when I was afraid... You were there.

When I was sick... You were there.

When I was healed... You were there.

When my heart broke... You were there.

And when I couldn’t find You... somehow You still knew exactly where to find me.

I am still here.

Still becoming.

Still asking questions.

Still learning to surrender.

Still claiming blessings before I can see them.

And still choosing You.

Not because I know what happens next.

But because I know You.

(breath)

And maybe that is the psalm I needed to read this week.