psalm 3.

I know I’m supposed to write. I was going to say I feel like I’m supposed to write, but that’s a sugarcoating of the truth. I know I am supposed to write. I know that words on a page are an outlet for God’s story to be known. For the work he’s doing in my world. But I haven’t published words in over a year. I’ve written a few Instagram posts, a lot of handwritten journal pages, but digital words - formal, written, planned and processed words…nonexistent. 

I feel more resistance to writing on a Word Document than I feel in any other area of my life. Today I was going to do the “holy” thing when writing became difficult and I went to my piano. I tried to sing the discomfort away, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Nadab and Abihu, Aaron’s sons, who were consumed with fire dying in God’s presence because they brought a fire God had not commanded. With an eye roll and an “okay, I hear you” I aggressively turned the piano off and marched up the stairs to my laptop. I think sometimes God has very spiritual requests of us, fasting and worshiping. He does great things in those moments, more profound than we’ll ever know this side of heaven. But I think sometimes he asks us to do very practical things to move heaven and in my life those often come with many more complaints. Just let me learn the spiritual, metaphorical lesson – get to the heart of the issue, don’t make me do this very practical thing to get there. 

So here I am. Typing words on a Word Document with that achey feeling like my heart is slowly being extracted from my chest with a rusty scalpel. That run away feeling. That “just get it out, Jesus” feeling. And I know something is here. There’s a lie that fears exposure and a King coming to the rescue.

So I pull out Psalm 3 and start walking my heart through verse by verse.

Lord, I have so many enemies, so many who are against me. Listen to how they whisper their slander against me, saying: “Look! He’s hopeless! Even God can’t save him from this!” 
(Ps. 3.1-2)

There are some whispers flying by my ears.  

You’re not meant to do this, that’s why it doesn’t come easily.
You don’t have anything to say.
Publish these words and everyone will see how shallow you really are.
You’re a fraud.

Those whispers don’t sound much like Jesus. He’s alive in the whisper, but not these. Must be enemy slander. And there’s that word again…fraud. It’s been making an appearance more often than invited over the last couple of weeks. Selah is after verse one so I settle my heart down and take these whispers into the throne room. Jesus will know what to do.

But in the depths of my heart I truly know that you have become my Shield. (Ps. 3.3a)

I sit with these lies and accusations. Asking Jesus questions and sorting through the trash – I want to know what He is here. What is his answer to the whispers? I look up the definition to fraud. I go line by line of the lies asking for truth. Frauds are intentionally deceiving, am I being deceptive? No, I’m just telling my story. Okay, why? Because I feel like I’m supposed to tell that story – just like the woman at the well running into her village to tell all that Jesus had done. Then just tell the story, I can’t. Why? Because what if it’s wrong and people think judge-y things?

And there it is, the whisper inducing sin in my heart in need of saving – pride. Pride says don’t click publish without perfection. If it’s not right everyone will judge you. If it’s not clever they’ll think you’re simple. But why am I writing these words in the first place? To satisfy my pride? Or to tell the story of Jesus in my life hoping to make the walk a little easier for someone else. To let anyone in proximity know that he really is that good. To submit. 

Just as David sat in God’s presence with the slander of his enemy, remembering that God is his Shield. I sat in God’s presence with the slander of fraudulence to remember that God is worth it. He’s worth someone thinking I’m simple, he’s worth not-clever but honest words. Writing a description of the Jesus I see doesn’t make me an expert thus it cannot make me a fraud – today it simply makes me obedient. So I continue typing with realigned thoughts behind a singular truth – He’s worth this. Whatever else I may feel while my fingers punch at these keys, he’s worth it. 

 You take me and surround me with yourself. Your glory covers me continually. (Ps. 3.3)

I feel almost unprotected as I continue writing. Like my agreement with my prideful thinking was protecting my vulnerability. And I guess it was – only write what you know, that you know, that you know is commendable. The enemy can sound so logical. But I don’t want pride protecting my heart so I ask Jesus to allow me to trust and realize that he’s the one surrounding me. There’s a vulnerable place in my heart that mistakenly used pride to fortify it. That space needs defending. 

You alone restore my courage; for you lift my head when I bow low in shame. (Ps. 3.3)

Shame so often accompanies our hurts. In my opinion, it’s the infection of a wound that spreads out from the original injury. It’s also one of the things that makes hearing God so hard in these moments. The moments where our heart is signaling a dysfunction but every clue is murky and frustrating. Plenty of times I’ve tried to will courage from my heart in an effort to hurdle over shame. But the Bible is pretty clear here. That “for you” indicates that shame can mess with our courage. It also indicates that courage is restored when we let Jesus in to lift our heads out of the heaviness of shame. 

After I ask Jesus to show his glory surrounding me, I ask if I’m holding any shame here. Nothing really comes to mind, but I keep pressing in to be sure. In these moments when I think there’s something to know, but I’m not completely sure I pull two phrases from Genesis and 2 Corinthians – let there be light (Gen. 1.3)and lift the veil (2 Cor. 3.16). A fuzzy picture of me sitting in a metal elementary chair with a wooden desktop comes to mind. Embarrassed by an answer to a question my tiny heart agreed to never feel that kind of pain again and pride became the defender of a piece of my heart.

 I repent for choosing pride over Jesus. I see that little face lift. 

 I have cried out to you and from your holy presence. You send a Father’s help. (Ps. 3.4)

Now from a place of restored courage, a place of recognizing God’s worthiness, and surrounded by his presence – I cry out to God. He promises life in place of the enemy’s assaults and I ask for that life here in my words and in my purpose. I ask for submission and obedience and purpose and His worth-it-ness to drive and guard all that I do.

 So now I’ll lie down and go to sleep – and I’ll awake in safety for you surround me with your glory. (Ps. 3.5)

I am the nap queen, but it’s dinner time and I don’t think the mouths in my house would appreciate a nap at this particular time. I do however feel peace. Which is the point, right? The enemy’s taunts are not necessarily silent, but my heart, mind, and fingers are at peace with every stroke. Not because of a change on the computer and not because the whispers were silenced – but because of peace and the knowledge that I’m surrounded.

Even though dark powers prowl around me, with their words like sharp arrows, I won’t be afraid. (Ps. 3.6)

My enemy hasn’t changed, but I have. My heart is no longer protected by cowardly pride, but by a King without rival. 

I simply cry out to you: “Rise up and help me, Lord! Come and save me!” And you will slap them in the face, breaking the power of their words to harm me. My true Hero comes to my rescue, for the Lord alone is my Savior. What a feast of favor and bliss he gives his people! (Ps. 3.7-8)

The header for these last two verses says “The Secret of Strength.” In this moment, my heart and mind and will are aligned with this truth. The secret of strength is not my ability to fight through the feelings but rather in bringing my heart to God and offering every cell to him to save. We can’t close our eyes, clinch our fists, and will away the enemy. But we do have a God that’ll slap them in the face. Slap. Them. In. The. Face. That’s a mental picture I’m gonna take with me in every prayer. Uhhh Jesus, can you slap this fear in the face? Okay, thaaannks!

I say “in this moment” because truthfully it’s easy to believe right now, but I know there will be a day when it’s not easy again. I will need to walk back through these Psalm 3 verses and relearn to trust there’s a face-slapping, Father-like helping God on my side. Until then I’m going to keep breathing and typing and running from the well of Jesus encounters telling every person I can to come and meet the man (who slaps enemies in the face)!