Even well meaning, close friends have come to dread asking the
psalmist weak with sorrow, consumed by anguish, “how are you?” The answer is
always the same. “Not good.” Derided by neighbors, abandoned by friends,
surrounded by enemies, as useless as a broken pot, the psalmist is forgotten as
one long dead. And then after venting a laundry list of lament the psalmist gives voice to the one word that denies despair the final say and brings some measure of comfort and
not a little bit of hope to a desperate existence. But. But I
trust in you. Why? Because I trust my times are in your hands. Not the hands of
my enemies even if they manage to take my life. Not the hands of neighbors or
friends to whom I have become an object of derision and dread. Not the hands of
the sickness that saps my strength or the grief that grips my heart. No. I
trust in you for my life is in the hands of your unfailing love that will not
abandon me in my time of distress. Of course the faith that leads the psalmist
to declare “But I trust in you” also allows for “But hurry up and help me, O
Lord!”
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