Fearful and Troubled

Israel’s fear

Joshua 8:1: “Then the Lord said to Joshua, ‘Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.’”

Of course Joshua and his fellow Israelites are afraid! Of course they’re discouraged! Look what just happened to them.

In chapter 6, they were cruising along, miraculously crossing the Jordan River on dry ground and destroying the walls of Jericho simply by marching around the city, blowing trumpets, and shouting. God was with them. They could see His hand at work. After forty years of wandering in the wilderness, He was beginning to fulfill His promise to give them a land of their own. What could be more exciting?

Following the easy victory at Jericho, they headed out for the second battle in this new territory, fighting the city of Ai. They were so passionate. So confident of God’s presence and their own strength that they limited the number of warriors they sent into the battle.

“But they were routed by the men of Ai.”

They never had a chance.

“At this the hearts of the people melted and became like water.”

Even Joshua was shaken. He questioned whether they should have crossed the Jordan. He feared that the Canaanites would hear about it and “wipe out our name from the earth.” They were understandably afraid of their enemies.

The Lord revealed to them that the cause of their disaster was sin. One single man out of the entire population had defied God’s direct order. Because of one man’s disobedience, approximately thirty-six men were killed in the battle with Ai, all of the Israelites were put to shame, and the man and his children were executed.

Who wouldn’t be afraid of God after witnessing His judgment? Who wouldn’t be discouraged as they looked at their own sinful hearts and realized that they could be next?

And yet He comes to Joshua and clearly says, “Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Under these circumstances, I have to think that this isn’t a command (in the sense of demanding instant repentance and obedience) so much as a word of encouragement.

Could anyone honestly command someone not to be afraid after he’s just faced terrifying actions from both men and God? Could anyone expect that person to respond to that command by straightening his spine and banishing all his fears without another drop of anxiety seeping in? Surely God knows us better than that.

The disciples’ troubled hearts

It reminds me of Jesus saying to His disciples in John 14:1, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” What had happened in the days and hours before He spoke these words?

Jesus had predicted His death by crucifixion and told them about the frightening time of judgment to come (Matthew 24, 26:1-2). Impending danger from both man and God.

In John 13, He prophesied that He’d be betrayed by one of them. That He’d be going away and they wouldn’t be able to go with Him. That Peter would disown Him three times before the rooster crowed in the morning.

Who wouldn’t be troubled? Yes, He’d also provided some comforting words and actions (like washing their feet to express the depth of His love for them), but if the disciples were like me, the scary stuff would make a deeper impression than the comforting stuff.

And yet He says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”As if they could really do that. As in Joshua, I can’t see this as a command. It sounds more like an attempt to strengthen His friends in preparation for the most difficult challenge of their lives. To turn their focus from their fears to His promises and His character so that they would, in time, be able to overcome their troubled hearts.

God knows

When God tells me not to be afraid, I often feel like my fear is fully justified. Terrible, frightening things are happening. Doesn’t He understand that? How can He expect me to just let go of my fears and move ahead as if nothing was wrong?

But, as with the Israelites in Joshua’s day and the disciples shortly before Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion, the Lord often comes to me (through His Word, through worshipping at church, through other people, through His Holy Spirit) not to sternly rebuke me for my fears, but to strengthen me by comforting and encouraging me.

What does He base this on? Surely He can’t expect me to just pretend all’s right with the world and the threats don’t really exist.

In both the Old and New Testament passages, God based it on the fact that He knew what was coming. His hearers didn’t. Neither do I.

He knew that the Israelites would defeat their enemy the next time around. He knew that Jesus would be resurrected from the dead on the third day.

After the Lord encourages Joshua not to be afraid or discouraged, He says that He’s given Ai into their hands. Past tense. He provides them with the strategy for doing it (using the whole army, not just a few thousand, and setting an ambush). Israel experiences a decisive victory.

The events that occur after Jesus’ conversation with His disciples are even more spectacular than the victory over Ai. He’s betrayed by Judas (one of the chosen twelve) and arrested in front of an angry mob. His disciples scatter in fear.

He faces multiple trials, beating, mocking, a crown of thorns, and the death penalty. Isaiah says His appearance was “disfigured beyond that of any man and his form marred beyond human likeness” (Isaiah 52:14).

He’s taken to Golgotha, where He’s brutally crucified along with two criminals. He cries out to His God, who’s forsaken Him. He dies. His body is laid in a tomb. How much worse could it get? How could any of His followers not be shocked and terrified?

But then, just as God knew would happen, just as Jesus had told them would happen, the whole reason the Son could say to them, “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” the most unexpected and amazing thing happens. Jesus rises from the dead.

It was too unbelievable for the disciples to understand Him when Jesus predicted it beforehand (e.g. Matthew 16:21-23). It was too unbelievable for even His closest followers to accept someone else’s word for it (Mark 16:9-12, Luke 24:9-27, John 20:24-25). It’s the greatest, most spectacular, most unbelievable event in the history of the world.

And God knew it was coming. That’s why Jesus could reassure His disciples that they didn’t need to be troubled. Nearly every time He told them about His coming death, He also promised them that He would rise from the dead.

My hope

When I’m fearful and troubled, when life hurts, when scary things are happening, I have the same reassurance that Israel and the disciples had. God knows my future.

It might involve additional suffering. The scary circumstances won’t necessarily just miraculously go away (although they sometimes do). Jesus’ followers went through an intensely painful time before experiencing the unexpected, overflowing joy of the resurrection.

As the years passed, many of them were imprisoned and tortured and killed because of their faith in Him. He doesn’t promise me a life of ease.

But God knows my future. He knows that my future, in this life, includes intimate fellowship with Him and with other believers, joy and wonder at the works of His hands, and the fruit of the Spirit growing inside me.

He knows that my future, in the next life, includes the overwhelming, unimaginable joy and love and peace and glory of being with Him. It includes being completely separated from sin and all its painful consequences. Forever and ever.

Jesus has defeated death. I think He can probably see me through even the most frightening and troubling days ahead.

I don’t always find it easy to trust Him to do that. But I can look at the many examples in His Word and imagine His voice saying, “Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged,” and, “Do not let your heart be troubled.” I can know that He knows my future, just as surely as He knew Israel’s and the disciples’ futures. I can learn to trust Him a little bit more.

 

 

 

Good Company

Despair

Rereading books from my personal library, deciding which are keepers and which can go. A Reason to Live, edited by Melody Beattie (1991), is my current choice.

Two quotes on page 125:

“So if you [God] are going to deal thus with me, please kill me at once.”

“It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life.”

The title of the article in A Reason to Live: “You’re in Good Company.” These words were spoken by Moses and Elijah in Numbers 11:15 and 1 Kings 19:4. Many of the readers of the book could relate to their despair.

Glory

Where’s the one place in the New Testament where these two great men appear together? With Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration (Matthew 17:1-9).

I’ve always wondered why they were sent to the Lord at that time. I’ve heard a couple of good explanations, but you know me. I continue to question God’s choices (or man’s explanations for God’s choices).

I’ve heard some say that Moses represents the Law while Elijah represents the prophets. That makes sense, since Jesus came to fulfill the Law and the prophets. But a little part of my brain asks, “Why should Elijah represent the prophets? Was he the greatest of them all? He doesn’t even have his own book, like Isaiah or Jeremiah.”

I’ve heard some say that one link between them is that neither had a definite burial place, just as Jesus’ tomb is empty. A good observation. Moses died on Mount Nebo and was buried “in the valley opposite Beth Peor, but to this day no one knows where his grave is” (Deuteronomy 34:6). Elijah was taken up to heaven in a whirlwind without ever dying (2 Kings 2:11). But if that was God’s reasoning, why wasn’t Enoch on this mountain, too (Genesis 5:24)?

I’m fine with these explanations. There may be others that I’m not familiar with.

But as I read these words of desperation from the lips of the two who came to Jesus on that mountain in the final days before His last journey to Jerusalem, I see God’s choice from a different perspective.

In Matthew 16:21, “Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders, chief priests and teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.” He repeats this message in 20:17-19. In between is the transfiguration.

His coming suffering must have been on His mind even as His glory was revealed to Peter, James, and John. And then Moses and Elijah appeared and talked with Jesus.

Good company for Jesus

According to Luke 9:31, they “spoke about his departure, which he was about to bring to fulfillment at Jerusalem.” Jesus would be in control of His departure, but we know from His experience in the Garden of Gethsemane that it wouldn’t be easy.

As I read this article in this book I think, What do we all crave when we’re facing a difficult trial? The good company of someone who can relate to our fears and our pain.

Is that maybe one of the reasons the Father sent these two particular men to be with His Son at this particular time? Did they remind Him of their own trials and struggles, their own despair? Did their presence and their words strengthen Jesus as He faced both human and divine judgment at the end of His life on this planet?

(I don’t mean to imply that He was so dependent on help from human beings that He would have failed in His mission if He hadn’t had this encounter. Sometimes God sends us unnecessary blessings out of the abundance of His grace.

I’ve had times when I really would have been okay without any encouragement or strengthening from others, but the Lord has gone beyond my need and blessed me through someone else’s words. I treasure those moments.

The presence of Moses and Elijah wasn’t necessary for Jesus to have enough strength to face His coming trials. It was a gift from a loving Father to His Son.)

The background

When the Israelite slaves suddenly escaped from Egypt, they’d spent hundreds of years living in poverty and in terror of their masters, with few opportunities to make meaningful decisions. As a result, they understandably experienced fear and doubt and stumbling on their initial journey.

God was patient with them and provided for their needs during their many periods of grumbling. In the book of Exodus, He rebukes them for their complaints, but the only time He punishes them for their attitude and behavior is when they worship the Golden Calf at Mount Sinai in chapter 32.

The next book, Leviticus, is mostly peaceful. The only rebellions described are by individuals and are dealt with individually (chapters 10 and 24).

Then we move on to Numbers. The first ten chapters concern commands from the Lord and the departure from Mount Sinai. But something changes in chapter 11. The outline in my 1985 NIV Bible labels it, “The Beginning of the Sorrows.” Now the Lord becomes “exceedingly angry” with them for their complaints. He sends fire to consume “some of the outskirts of the camp.”

What’s happening here?

Through every trial, God had demonstrated His tender loving care for Israel. On Mount Sinai, He made a precious covenant with them to be their God. Their departure from that mountain signals that they have everything they need to enter into a deeper relationship with Him than any group has had since the fall of mankind.

It’s time for them to grow up, stop grumbling, and start trusting Him. Time for God to start using different teaching methods.

This is when Moses asks God to take his life. He doesn’t see how he can possibly bear “the burden of all these people.” And yet he does. For forty more years.

At the Mount of Transfiguration, Jesus knew He would soon be bearing a great burden involving many people, on the cross. He and Moses could relate to each other.

In 1 Kings chapters 18 and 19, Elijah experiences a powerful victory over the false god, Baal. Queen Jezebel sends him a message vowing to kill him within twenty-four hours. He runs for his life and prays that he could just die by God’s hand. Elijah quickly plummets from the heights of success to the depths of sheer terror.

As they were talking, Jesus knew that He would soon go from the glory of the transfiguration to the intense suffering of the cross. He and Elijah could relate to each other.

In Mark 9:19, Jesus expresses exasperation with His disciples’ lack of faith, asking how much longer He’ll have to put up with them. Kind of like Moses and Elijah telling God they’re ready to be done with this life.

Jesus could relate to both Moses and Elijah. They provided good company for Him.

Good company for the disciples—and me

Shortly after the incident with the Golden Calf, Moses asks to see God’s glory. The glory of the Lord passes by him while he’s covered by God’s hand in the cleft of the rock. Moses only sees God’s back.

After asking the Lord to take his life, Elijah hides in a cave on Mount Horeb. (NIV note: probably an alternate name for Mount Sinai.) God says to him, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Elijah experiences God’s presence in a “gentle whisper.”

Moses and Elijah had indirect, yet intimate, encounters with God’s presence and glory. Peter, James, and John are there when Jesus is transfigured in all His glory. It wasn’t only Jesus who could relate to Moses and Elijah. These three disciples were in good company, too.

And I’m in good company. In both my despair and my joy. Moses, Elijah, and even Jesus went through deep emotional suffering. I can relate to them.

Moses, Elijah, Peter, James, and John all had intimate encounters with the glory of God. I don’t expect to ever see some kind of vision of God’s glory, like Jesus’ transfiguration, in this lifetime. But with the Holy Spirit within me, I can have a growing sense of His glory. I can relate to these men. I’m in good company with them in both their pain and their joy.

Part of that glory, part of that joy, is the Wow! I experience when I see new connections between different Bible passages. Moses and Elijah both despaired to the point of asking God to take their lives. That same Moses and Elijah appeared to Jesus shortly before His agonized prayers in the Garden of Gethsemane. God’s Word and His working are amazing.

 

 

 

Drawing Nearer

Drawing nearer in the storm

“Jesus Draw Me Ever Nearer.” One of my favorite worship songs. We first sang it in church when I was going through a tough time.

The initial plea: “Jesus draw me ever nearer as I labor through the storm.” I felt like I was lost in the darkness of a raging storm, alone in the middle of nowhere with no sense of direction, being drenched and blinded by the downpour and blown about by the wind. Laboring hard but not getting anywhere.

I needed Jesus to draw me nearer to Him. I was too helpless to approach Him in my own strength.

Over the next few years, as I sang that song in my head in difficult situations, I took the prayer to mean that special kind of drawing me closer temporarily to comfort me in a time of pain. Like a child sitting in her mother’s lap after she’s fallen and bumped her knee. When the storm passed, I wouldn’t need that same kind of help.

But recently, as I thought about the words, I realized that God’s been answering that prayer in an even bigger way.

Remaining nearer

A loving mother snuggles a crying child in her lap. When he’s feeling better, she encourages him to go back to playing with his toys. Even though he’s physically more distant from his mom, he remains just a little bit closer to her emotionally because of that moment of snuggling.

In the same way, even after my need for comforting has passed, my relationship with God remains stronger than it was before He drew me into His lap. Having a fresh taste of His nurturing love, I’m more aware of His presence more of the time. I know Him better, I understand Him better, I see the beauty of His character more clearly, than I ever did before.

When it comes to thinking about how God grows me through suffering, my thoughts have a tendency to go in two main directions. One, there are many lessons that I couldn’t learn any other way. As a fallen human being, I can’t understand the most important things in life when I have an easy time of it. I need the pain.

Two, one of the primary purposes behind my suffering is to enable me to minister to others. God comforts me so that I can comfort others (2 Corinthians 1:4). Suffering is intended to take my eyes off of myself.

Both of these ideas are biblical and important. But that’s not the whole story.

I get so focused on how God’s comfort makes a painful moment more tolerable that I don’t even think about the long-term effects of that comfort. The drawing ever nearer, not just for the moment.

Being comforted builds a bond that doesn’t simply go away when I no longer need that personal sense of comfort. And each time He comforts me, that bond grows stronger.

Strength for the future

Sometimes, when a child who’s been abused is fostered or adopted by new parents, she becomes clingy. She runs to them over and over again, seeking comfort in what might seem to be trivial situations. She has a hard time venturing out into the big bad world.

Although it might seem like an unhealthy need for attention, this behavior has a purpose. Each moment of comfort draws her nearer to her new parents, not just temporarily, but for a lifetime. Each moment of comfort builds a greater bond that keeps on growing until the child has the strength to play with friends for hours without having to continually turn back to her family. And that’s a good thing.

She isn’t cutting herself off from them. She’s not declaring her complete independence. She’s carrying that comfort and that bond with her as she stumbles out into the wider world. A world that she’s meant to be a part of.

In the same way, God’s comfort strengthens me, not just for the moment when I feel it so intensely, not just to give me a temporary high that I can treasure, but for my long-term growth. When I’m not feeling the immediate need for His comfort, that doesn’t mean that I’m walking away from Him or declaring my independence from Him. It means that His comfort has done the work that it was intended to do.

Because I was comforted for a moment, I’m now strengthened for a lifetime. I can venture out into the world having that greater bond to my Lord. I can love others better and serve Him more effectively.

My life has been tough in certain ways. I almost had to laugh when a woman at church commented to me a few years ago that we’ve reached that age when life starts getting harder. Starts? I hit that point in my early thirties. Didn’t have to wait till my sixties, like I was apparently supposed to do.

So I’ve thought a lot about suffering. I tend to think that the most biblical view is one that confirms that growth comes through pain. It hurts, God gets us through it, and we learn some valuable truths that we wouldn’t pick up any other way. I knew that, with each lesson, I would grow in my understanding of God’s love. I knew that He would comfort me in my trials. And that I could look back on those times of comfort to provide hope when the next trial came.

But I didn’t really think about the ongoing effect of that comfort in drawing me nearer to Him. I’ve sung so many times, “Jesus draw me ever nearer,” without recognizing until now that that’s exactly what He does. His comfort doesn’t just have a short-term effect. A moment of comfort draws me nearer for ever.

 

 

Just Right

 Our Goldilocks universe

They tell me I live in a Goldilocks universe. They say that if conditions weren’t just right, nothing would exist as it does today. Life couldn’t survive on this planet. I wouldn’t be here. Everything is just right.

For example, the force of gravity is just right. It’s strong enough to hold the individual planets and solar systems together, but weak enough to keep everything from crashing into one giant blob.

And the universe is expanding at just the right rate. If that rate was any higher, the speed would overcome gravity. Nothing—not the planets or the stars or the galaxies—would be able to stick together. If it was any lower, gravity would outweigh it, and everything in the universe would collapse in on itself. (Source: “A Fine-Tuned Universe.”)

They tell me the force of gravity, the rate of expansion, and many smaller aspects of Creation are all just right.

And yet everything seems so wrong. With my life, with my country, with my world. Too much suffering. Too much pain. Too much strife and division.

I want a Goldilocks world. One where everything is always just right.

Our Goldilocks world

But was Goldilocks’ world really so perfect?

No. In every case—the chairs, the porridge, the beds—she had to try three different options in order to find the just-right one. And when she found the just-right chair, she broke it.

Maybe that’s more like the real world than the idealistic phrase “Goldilocks universe” implies. I do often find the just-right in this life. I do have those special moments of deep satisfaction and lingering pleasure. But it usually requires trying out a few unpleasant choices first.

Sitting in the too-hard and too-soft chairs. Experiencing discomfort.

Breaking the one that suits me the best. Facing a painful loss.

Sampling the too-hot and too-cold porridge. Being burned and placed in a distasteful situation.

Lying in the too-soft and too-hard beds. Unable to meet my needs.

God’s just-right plan

Sometimes I think that if I’m really following God’s will, if every choice I make is the one He’s designed for me, I won’t have to try the hot and cold porridge or the hard and soft chairs and beds. He’ll bypass those and take me directly to the just-right ones.

But does He? In His perfect plan for each of us, can we expect every step to be one of personal comfort and satisfaction and success? Not in my experience. Or in the Bible.

Joseph suffered through a long period of slavery and separation from his family before his dreams were realized (Genesis 37 to 43). David was oppressed by Saul for several years before he could claim his crown (1 Samuel 16 to 2 Samuel 5). These situations aren’t described by the Bible as punishments for sin. They were painful and difficult experiences inflicted by Satan on God’s chosen men, which the Lord used to grow His people and further His own purposes.

Maybe my idea of just right is very different from God’s. Just right for me means easily finding a fulfilling career, having great relationships, and using my gifts to minister to others. If something bad does happen, just right means knowing His loving presence and peace so well, and being surrounded by so many understanding and supportive people, that it barely hurts. Minimum suffering. Maximum satisfaction.

But maybe God’s just right includes sampling different chairs and porridges and beds (and breaking the best chair). Maybe these events don’t only happen when I miss His guidance. Maybe I can be right on track, following Him faithfully, and still suffer the weariness and disappointment of having to try multiple options before reaching the path that I’m longing for.

My just-right life

For example, change has always been very stressful to me. I liked school as a child, but I’d get so many butterflies in my stomach when the time came to return to the classroom after a long summer vacation that I’d become nauseous and want to stay home.

As the years passed, I learned to recognize my fear of change and deal with my natural feelings in a healthier way. (Becoming a Christian during my early teens definitely helped.) I learned to look forward to new adventures rather than letting the anxiety of the unknown rule in my heart.

Then, while I was in college, I gradually and unexpectedly sank into a major suicidal depression. I began struggling with emotions that I’d never experienced before. As a nerd, of course I looked for the root cause.

I eventually realized that during the preceding months, I’d made several decisions that led to huge changes. For example, I took some time off from school to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I traveled with a group of strangers to see the world and “fell in love” with one of them, only to have to say a permanent good-bye when the period of exploration ended.

Yes, I’d learned to cope with change in most cases, but I found myself caught up in too many too-big changes in too short a time. I became convinced that the stress of change was what triggered my depression, even though most of the changes were good ones. (I probably also had a genetic predisposition—people on both sides of my family had suffered from a similar condition.)

For months, maybe years, I beat myself up with regret for the decisions I’d made. I must not have understood God’s leading as well as I thought I had. Suicidal depression couldn’t possibly be His will for me. If I’d only done things differently, I wouldn’t be in this pit. I yearned for the life I could have had if I’d just avoided some of that stress.

It took a while, but I finally realized that I was wrong. I had followed God’s will as well as I was able to. I had made the right choices. He had led me into and through this valley of the shadow of death (see my article, “God Leads Me,” in Anchored Voices). And He used that experience to grow me and bless me and increase my impact on the world around me in ways that couldn’t have happened without it. It was part of His plan for me. It was my just-right life.

A Goldilocks universe doesn’t mean one free from suffering and pain. God has set things up so that I can have life—even eternal life!—but on this side of heaven there will always be times when I have to sit in the too-hard and too-soft chairs (breaking the just-right one) and taste the too-hot and too-cold porridge and lie in the too-hard and too-soft beds. This world includes trials and traumas and fears and frustrations. But if I follow Him faithfully, it will be just right.

 

 

Fading Away

The fade

I’ve been a Christian for a long time. I’ve participated in hundreds of Bible study sessions, I’ve listened to thousands of sermons, and I’ve read dozens of books on living the Christian life. I’ve even written about lessons learned through my own painful experiences. Like all good evangelicals, I just keep getting better and better.

But then I reflect back on something amazing God did for me a year or two ago and realize that the impact has faded. I get discouraged or feel like a hypocrite when I know that I haven’t really retained the powerful lessons God has sent my way.

One day, I open my Bible to the Psalms. In my darkest times in the past, this book brought me hope and strength. The writers sometimes wrestle with serious questions about who God is and what He’s doing. They bring their frustrations, their hopelessness, their rebellious thoughts directly to Him, freely and openly.

Their words have given me the courage to do the same. To voice my anger and anguish and despair, knowing God will respond with love and patience. (See “Scriptures That Soothe My Soul.”) He didn’t punish those authors for their weaknesses—instead, He included their writings in His Holy Word.

David’s experience

But this time around, the Psalms are comforting me in a different way. I’m wondering how I can have an incredible encounter with God’s love, then let that sense of His presence and His power fade over time.

As I read David’s words, I realize that I do it because we all do it. Even David did it.

Most of his psalms reflect his confidence in God and declare his praise for who God is and what He’s done. David had a deep intimacy with Him and a gift for expressing profound truths. He wrote some of the most familiar and memorable psalms, including numbers 8, 23, and 139. But at other times his human emotions seem to overwhelm his trust in God.

Psalm 6:3: My soul is in anguish. How long, O Lord, how long?

Psalm 13:1-2: How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Psalm 22:1-2: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent.

Psalm 55:2 and 5: My thoughts trouble me and I am distraught. . . . My heart is in anguish within me; the terrors of death assail me. Fear and trembling have beset me; horror has overwhelmed me.

Psalm 69:3: I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched. My eyes fail, looking for my God.

Psalm 143:4: My spirit grows faint within me; my heart within me is dismayed.

This doesn’t sound like the same David who fearlessly faced Goliath when all the seasoned soldiers of Israel were trembling before that giant. It sounds like a baby believer who hasn’t yet had those life-changing experiences of triumphing over fear and evil.

But it’s not. These are the cries of one who knows God intimately, who’s confident that he’s been chosen by God to lead His people, who’s had incredible experiences of God’s deliverance from trouble. One who has a far greater awareness than I’ll ever have of God’s presence and His leading.

It brings me comfort to recognize that the fading over time of powerful experiences is normal—even for someone who knows God as David did. It’s not hypocrisy, it’s not backsliding, it’s not sin. It’s the natural ups and downs of fallen people of faith. And maybe there’s a good reason for it.

If those memories remained as vivid today as when the events occurred, would I ever step out in faith again? Maybe. Maybe it would inspire me to trust Him more. But it's just as likely that I would be content to rest on what He’s already done, never growing, never learning anything new. Jesus taught us to pray for our daily bread.

David’s example

There’s something else reassuring in the Psalms quoted above. Every one of those passages appears in the first part of its chapter. The David who faced Goliath, and who wrote many other poems celebrating how God has delivered him, doesn’t stop after pouring out his troubles. He doesn’t wallow in his hopelessness. He moves on to remember who God is and develops renewed confidence in His power to save him once again.

Many modern psychologies stress the need to face and vent our deepest emotions. Based on Freud’s teachings, the suppression of feelings and desires is seen as harmful. David’s examples tell me that God knows that we need to honestly voice our hurts, our disappointments, even our anger. But too often popular psychology seems to assume that releasing whatever’s bothering us is enough. Once the emotions are out in the open, there’s no need to look for ways to change and grow.

David’s psalms paint a different picture, though. After the expression comes the reflection. His eyes turn away from himself, seeking a better solution to life’s troubles than simply pouring out his heart whenever he feels like it. He looks to God, remembering His revealed character and His past actions. There he finds the best resource for increased maturity and strength.

This process will lead to spiritual growth, but it won’t be a straight line moving steadily upward. Because we’re fallen people, the line will droop in places, the doubts and fears will come again and again. Hope will flee and discouragement will set in.

It happened to David, a man after God’s own heart. A man who, as a youth, faced a fearsome enemy with confidence and won a great victory. It will happen to me. But that’s okay. God will lift me up again and again, as He lifted David up. God’s arms never grow weary and His love never grows cold.