Today, as I was spending some time reading at a cozy local coffee shop in my home town, I began to feel the anxiety and fear of the unknown come creeping into my soul like a sneaky snake: slow and venomous—and threatening to kill my hope and joy.
I found refuge in psalm 34. As I read and prayed through the words of the psalmist, I noticed the sweetness this psalm’s promises: The Lord hears His people’s cry.
Lately, I’ve been fighting for control; control over fundraising for my job, control over the well-being of my friends and family, control over other people's perception of me...
...from the hours in the day, to the clouds in the sky I've been hungering for control.
But as I find myself failing to control time and the weather, I feel crushed and defeated under the weight of this hefty responsibility.
So I am left with two choices. One shuts God out, and one cries out. And the latter seems to be the hardest for me lately. Psalm 131 speaks to the great difference between what God, in His divinity, and me, in my weak flesh were designed to take on.
1O Lord, my heart is not lifted up;
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.
2 But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child is my soul within me.
3 O Israel, hope in the Lord
from this time forth and forevermore.
This gives me confidence to cry out.
I am free to give up the heavy weight of control over things that are far too great and too marvelous for me. I am free to not "know". I am free to enter into the calm and quiet under the shelter of my savior’s wings. I am free to be broken and to have broken, messy prayers. I am free to not have it all together. I am free to embrace humility, because in my neediness Jesus is at work. And in my weakness, Jesus is strong.