Just as David was a man after God’s own heart, I often felt like David was a man after my own thoughts. Some of the words that are recorded in the Psalms by him, could have been words that I had written over the years (minus the incredible poetic talent).

Psalm 13:2 records a struggle that David and I share in common. A struggle to maintain a God-honoring thought life. There have been days, in my 37 years, that I have desperately searched for an off button. My mind can race a thousand directions, sometimes all at once, leaving me feeling exhausted, drained, and like I wrestled a fierce opponent.

In Psalm 22:1-2, David confesses his frustration at the silence of God, a silence that, I am sure, most honest believers have felt. So many books have been written about where God seems to go when we are at our lowest point. Why does it seem like He is so far away, when we clearly need Him the most?

Psalm 68:5 turned into my life verse 6 years ago. The protection and covering that, only a father can provide, was snatched away from me so quickly. I can recall sitting on the stairs at my mom’s house, just hours after my dad took his final breath, and one of the only thoughts I could muster was, “I will never hear my daddy call me beautiful again.” (quick note, dads tell your daughters they are beautiful, if they are little, if they are teenagers, if they are adults, they need it. You have no idea the impact that those words will carry throughout their lives.)

So I decided to write my own Psalm. It’s important to keep in mind that David’s Psalms often began with the trauma that he felt, but almost always ended with the triumph he knew he had.

Psalm 1.25

O Lord, brokenhearted only begins to describe the place I am in, but You already know that.

I yearn for her touch, her smile, her laughter. I ache for her joy, her hugs, her comfort. Lord, I am jealous of You for having time with her, jealous of You for walking hand in hand with her, talking with her and enjoying her.

I second guess every emotion I feel. Is this too much pain, not enough tears, am I revealing too much of my broken heart to people who can hurt me?

I sit here in the darkness of night, unable to sleep, with streams of warm, sticky tears, leaving permanent roads of sadness, as they create a map of grief on my face.

I close my eyes and create scenarios in my mind where none of this is real. She really made it home that night, and right now, I can run upstairs, as I so often did when I was afraid or overwhelmed, and I can crawl in bed with my security blanket baby, and she will scoot over and warm me up, with her love and extremely high body temperature. Really, Lord, she had been that for me from the time she was born.

These scenarios are such a waste of my time though. They leave my face covered in runaway mascara, my eye lids puffy and my nose runny.

But You O Lord…

You hear my moans, my sighs, my breaths in, that I hold until I remember to exhale.  You cover me with Your wings, and safety flows through me. You create solid steps for me to walk in. The lamp You use to light this dark path of grief, is often shining with words that bring healing to my brokenness.

I have nothing besides You Lord, everything has been stripped away, everything I held on to, God, has crumbled into dust around me, but You are my strong tower. As I look around at the heap of rumble that I am standing in, I know that my only option is to put my weary steps to use, and begin to run to You, my hiding place.

I love You, Lord…hug my baby for me.