Sunday Meds--He knows

“The days of the blameless are known to the LORD. . .” Psalm 37:18

I believe David—I honestly do. This isn’t hyperbole or poetic license. I honestly believe him. But, like Job, I don’t necessarily understand. Wish I did.

The joy of this line from David’s song, its open, warm, and loving hands, extended to us each morning, is the assurance that, simply stated, God knows. He’s not off on a cruise or so wrapped up with the crisis in Iraq that he has no time for our problems. The comfort of this verse is not only that he knows us—which isn’t pocket change—but also that he knows our entire lives. He knows perfectly well what we live through each night and each day. That’s what this verse says.

Those of us who suffer emotional or mental problems find life—simply living from day-to-day—an immensely severe trial all by itself. Those of us who care for them find ourselves dragged along, powerless sufferers too, of another stripe.

That famous Ecclesiastes passage doesn’t say “there’s a time to give thanks.” If it did, maybe it would suggest that there’s also a time not to give thanks, because this morning, I’d prefer not.

After a night of thick fog I’d rather not ever relive, I’m thankful for what my fingernails can find to hold. It would take so very little, it seems, for him to sneak some sunshine into the darkness, so very little. Believe me, time and time again I’ve asked the Lord to deliver the goods—day after day.

This morning’s brilliant sunshine through the window above my head cannot brighten my heart and soul. But I’m thankful for this single verse, even if it doesn’t usher out the fog. Here’s the promise that gives me morning breath: God knows.

I’m certainly not, by definition, blameless. Almost any psychologist would see quickly that I figure into the equation of the emotional distress this loved one is suffering. But, trust me, I’ll take the promise any day of the week when the world looks as dark as it did last night—and again this morning.

God knows my days. God knows our days—all of ours. The eternal God knows the times. He was here last night, and he’s here this morning. Through some kind of divine physics, the mystery that is God constricts himself into the fleeting sweep of the second hand over every last clock I see. He’s in my world. He knows. He’s transcendent, but he’s imminent. He’s here.

Maybe something will change, a step taken toward happiness, something ever so slight to push back the darkness, even if it’s only for a couple hours.

Then again, maybe not. We’ve been on our knees so long I won’t be surprised if nothing changes. And I’m not alone. I know dozens who suffer this way. But I believe that the poet and King is telling the truth: God knows every last one of our days.

That line of the angels to the shepherds—it’s here again in this single line, in spades: fear not. That’s my comfort this dark morning—every morning, rain or shine.