A friend posted this passage tonight, I’m sure for much different reasons than me. It ministered to my soul though as I lay here, awakened by my dreams and kept awake by thoughts that so easily wander and wonder if God can truly be trusted over the fears and anxieties that clamor for mental center-stage. My brain is able to draw to mind and play on a loop words that would tempt me to believe God is like man; fickle, untrustworthy, exacting, and impossible to please. But his words ring louder, clearer, truer.

Psalm 77:1-13 I cried unto God with my voice, even unto God with my voice; and he gave ear unto me. In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord: my sore ran in the night, and ceased not: my soul refused to be comforted. I remembered God, and was troubled: I complained, and my spirit was overwhelmed. Selah. Thou holdest mine eyes waking: I am so troubled that I cannot speak.

I have considered the days of old, the years of ancient times. I call to remembrance my song in the night: I commune with mine own heart: and my spirit made diligent search.

Will the Lord cast off for ever? and will he be favourable no more? Is his mercy clean gone for ever? doth his promise fail for evermore? Hath God forgotten to be gracious? hath he in anger shut up his tender mercies? Selah.

And I said, This is my infirmity: but I will remember the years of the right hand of the most High. I will remember the works of the LORD: surely I will remember thy wonders of old. I will meditate also of all thy work, and talk of thy doings.

Thy way, O God, is in the sanctuary: who is so great a God as our God?


But my God is not like man. And man, from the greatest of us to the least, is very often a poor, broken reflected image of Holy God. Man, in his bought but broken state, is like a shattered mirror, sometimes cutting to wound, or causing concentrated burns to those around it with its jagged edges and too intense, often sloppy refractions of light. But God, in Christ, by the tender beauty and power of the Holy Spirit, is not like us. Precise and mindful of our scars in his hurting to heal, abounding in steadfast loving kindness, never incinerating us with his splendor, but rather warming us throughout and drawing our eyes to behold his glory and goodness.

Friend, whatever fears, anxieties, broken memories of things you’ve done or that were done to you that haunt your thought life, you are able to rest now in the presence of one who is faithful and offers you rest for your soul. If your eyes are propped open tonight, consider that God may be directing their gaze toward his faithfulness, and reminding you that he can be trusted above man, including your own fickle, distracted, broken heart, because he was crushed for your iniquities, he was bruised for your transgressions, and was punished so thoroughly that your peace was purchased and paid in full. And his resurrection is proof that “weeping may tarry for the night, but joy cometh in the morning.”

Thank you, friend, for ministering to my heart in the night even as yours cried out. I am echoing this truth off of another canyon. May the reverberations of spoken truth from the mouths of the broken spread like a love song in billion part harmony across a world that needs to hear and be ravished by our beautiful Savior.

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