I was invited to speak at a women’s retreat recently. Though I am not a preacher nor public speaker, I said yes to the invitation. The theme of the weekend was a spa retreat (perfect for my massage therapist self) and the focus was on the psalms. The following was my offering for worship.
Psalm 139:1-18, 23-24
“You are such a crybaby.”
“Why are you so emotional over this?”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Get over it.”
“No one needs to see your tears. Go away.”
I heard these types of things over and over in my youth. My parents and siblings would say it. Schoolmates would tease me. I was the emotional kid, the sensitive one, the tenderhearted child.
Eventually, I learned to hide the tears. I learned to stuff down the emotions. Just like everyone else, I wanted to be accepted and loved, and if it meant that I had to hide who I was, I would do it, just so everyone around me would be comfortable. My already introverted self became even more inwardly focused. I trusted very few people to know the true me, and even then, I still guarded the most tender places of my heart and never let anyone in.
Had I been more open, more vulnerable, if those around me had actually listened, or paid attention, perhaps my youth would have been different. Perhaps I wouldn’t have had to deal with the demons of depression. Perhaps the thoughts of suicide wouldn’t have been there. Perhaps, if I had someone, anyone, that I trusted enough to share with, I would not have had to carry such a burden alone.
But I felt alone. And it was a heavy, heavy burden to bear.
The first time I remember contemplating suicide was at age 13. That is also the first time I remember really feeling the presence of God in my life. I grew up in the church, in a very strict, traditional church. I knew of God, but I didn’t know God. To me, God was this strict disciplinarian who was sending me to hell, no matter what, because I was a mess and a sinner. But this day, this day that was one of the worst days of my life, is also a day that I cherish in a bittersweet way.
As I sat with a razor blade against my wrist, trying to muster the courage to end my life, I felt arms around me. In my darkest moment of hating myself, I felt the tangible presence of the Lord and I heard His voice speak the words, “ I love you. You are more than this. You are my Beloved.”
Never before had I felt love like that. Never before had I felt wanted, cared for, or known, like I did right in that moment, when God held me on that bathroom floor. I cried like I never had before. The God who had knit me together in my mother’s womb began to knit the broken pieces of my heart back together.
And I would love to tell you that that was it. I was cured, I was healed, I had joy again, and I never battled the darkness again.
But I would be lying.
I have battled that demon of depression on and off through the years, sometimes succumbing to its darkness. I have spent months barely able to keep from drowning in its depths. I have spent years teetering on the edge, sometimes fighting the darkness with medication and counseling, other times just mustering through it, leaning on very close friends and my husband.
But in all of it, I have learned to turn to God over and over again. I have learned that I cannot flee from His presence, He is there beside me in the heavens and in the depths.
Now, I grew up in a faith tradition that focused more on teaching creeds and catechism than encouraging us to read Scripture. Memorization of our religion’s rules was more important than reading the Bible, and, with the exception of the Gospel read during worship, I never heard much scripture in my early years. I wasn’t familiar with Psalm 139, nor any other psalm, other than perhaps the 23rd psalm.
I was probably in my early 20s before I read the Bible for myself. It was during another dark season and I was at a place of no hope. I had nothing left to turn to, so I turned to God. I began to read the Bible. And, like so many people do, I played a game of Bible roulette and opened the page to Psalm 6.
1 Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger
or discipline me in your wrath.
2 Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am faint;
heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony.
3 My soul is in deep anguish.
How long, Lord, how long?
4 Turn, Lord, and deliver me;
save me because of your unfailing love.
5 Among the dead no one proclaims your name.
Who praises you from the grave?
6 I am worn out from my groaning.
All night long I flood my bed with weeping
and drench my couch with tears.
7 My eyes grow weak with sorrow;
they fail because of all my foes.
8 Away from me, all you who do evil,
for the Lord has heard my weeping.
9 The Lord has heard my cry for mercy;
the Lord accepts my prayer.
10 All my enemies will be overwhelmed with shame and anguish;
they will turn back and suddenly be put to shame.
It was as though every line from this psalm was my thoughts, my pain, typed out across the page. For the first time ever, I realized how alive the scriptures were, how God spoke to me through the words on the page. “All night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears.” Oh, how I knew that feeling. And I knew enemies, I knew the battle strategies of Satan, who used shame and guilt to wear me down. I felt battle-scarred and broken. I felt as though the enemy had been pummeling me for years and suddenly, here were these words of scripture that spoke to the weariness and to seeking the Lord to fight my battles for me. I found hope in the midst of this psalm, and in the pages that followed.
As I began to read Scripture, as I spent more time in the Word, I found freedom within its pages. I had always been told not to question God, just to believe what I was told. But within Scripture itself, I found writers questioning God. I saw people wrestle with doubt. I saw fear. And I saw faith. It bolstered my faith, not diminished it, by reading of those who battled through hard times, who struggled in trusting God and yet they kept their faith. Rather than causing discord within me, it fanned a fire and a passion within me to know this God, a God of compassion and love and justice, and not just of judgement. My eyes felt as though they were finally open.
Perhaps you have had this same experience. Perhaps you have wrestled with your own seasons of doubt and fear. Perhaps you have also had the joy and the wonder of the Scriptures being opened to you, and God’s love pour out to you through the pages. I hope that you have. I pray that you have experienced the love of God and the knowledge of who He is.
For many years, I ran from God, feeling unworthy of His love, of his forgiveness. I realize now that though I am unworthy, Jesus has given me worth. By His blood I am made new, redeemed and purified. I also realize now magnitude of his mercy and grace because, even in my brokenness and sin, He still lavishes it upon me and loves me without bounds.
I wonder how many of us have spent time running from God. I wonder how many of us have spent time in hiding, shackled by fear, chained by shame. Don’t let the enemy lie to you. You are worthy of freedom, of redemption. You are a precious daughter of the king of heaven and you too have been made worthy, have been made new. You too are loved without bounds, and are lavished with mercy and grace. As God has continued to work in me, bringing me healing as He has showered me in his grace, I have become more bold in proclaiming my faith and belief in Him. Even in the times that I don’t get the answers I am seeking, in the time I am seeking, God has proven to be faithful in my life and i can trust that he knows what is best for me, in His timing, not mine.
As we have journeyed through the psalms this weekend, once again I realize how much beauty there is within them. I am overwhelmed with the honesty and truth they contain. They speak to our lives. They run the gamut of emotions, from love, to anger, to fear, to uncertainty, to depression. And sometimes, all of that happens in the same chapter. There is pain, there is suffering, there is loneliness and anger and disappointment. But there is also gratitude. There is joy. There is celebration. There is every aspect of the human experience and, woven through it all, is the presence of the Lord.
The psalms all point to God. They show us the many aspects of His nature. The psalmist continually reminds us, as he reminds himself, that God is sovereign, God is good, God is holy and God is our refuge, our safety, our hiding place. Every single chapter tells us how the Lord watches over us, is our shield, is righteous, hears us, brings justice, is majestic, reigns forever, protects His people, has unfailing love, saves us. They bring us back into communion with God, by reminding us of who God is.
The psalms speak of trust in God, when there is nothing else to trust in. They speak of obedience to the laws of God, clinging tightly to the truth of the Divine. They give praise, they cry out in despair. They express the fullness of humanity in all of the 150 chapters. The psalms remind us how we can find God in the MIDST of our human experience.
And God knows the fullness of humanity. In sending His son to live the human experience, to be born into our broken world, our God connected with us in the best way He could. We love, we serve, a God who knows what we are feeling, what we are going through, because He himself experienced our humanness. What a beautiful gift God gave us in that!
I know that this is a heavier message that what you may have been expecting. But God has put me in a season where I am trying to be obedient to Him as He has called me into a place of honesty and vulnerability. Even though my personal psalm today is one more of lament, I can praise God. I turn my eyes to Him, because He has saved me from the pit. He has redeemed me. He has given me hope, not just for my days on this earth, but for my eternity living in joy with him.
Sisters, in whatever season you are in, whether it is one of joy and celebration, or whether it is one of lament and confession, God is hearing your voice. He knows you. He knit you together, he knows your innermost thoughts. In every season of our life, our song rises to God. Even in our times of lament or anger, God hears our cries and knows our burdened hearts. His love is what softens our hard edges, what cares for our shattered souls. Our personal songs of praise, lament, wisdom, pilgrimage, confession, vengeance, and thanksgiving all rise to the ears of God, and He knows our hearts. Let us do as the psalmist did, and turn all of our personal psalms into praise. Let us worship the God of the universe. The God who has redeemed us from the pit, the God who has walked through this human experience and knows the depths of sorrow and pain, the God who loves us in the midst of it, and loves us through it. Let God be praised.
I want to end today’s message with Psalm 150. Will you read it with me?