A Journey Through Psalm 69
Introduction
Psalm 69 is one of the most emotionally intense and theologically rich psalms in the entire Psalter. Written by David, it plunges the reader into the deep waters of human suffering, rejection, and desperate prayer. This is no polite devotion; it is a cry from a soul drowning under the weight of affliction and abandonment. David gives voice to a pain so raw that it reverberates through centuries, finding its ultimate echo in the sufferings of Jesus Christ. Indeed, Psalm 69 is one of the most frequently quoted psalms in the New Testament, especially in relation to Christ’s Passion (see John 2:17; 15:25; Romans 11:9–10; Acts 1:20).
Yet in the midst of lament, the psalm also contains remarkable declarations of trust, costly praise, and prophetic hope. It teaches us how to bring our pain honestly before God without losing sight of His justice, mercy, and final victory. David, though mocked and misunderstood, anchors his soul in God’s covenant love (hesed) and dares to sing while still in sorrow. He intercedes for others, pleads for himself, and ultimately affirms that God will save and restore His people. Psalm 69 is not only a window into David’s suffering—it is a doorway into the suffering and triumph of Christ, and an invitation for us to pray when we, too, are afflicted.
When the Waters Rise
Psalm 69:1
“Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck.”
Psalm 69:1 begins not with poetry but with a gasp: “Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck.” David’s imagery is visceral—he is not simply anxious; he is overwhelmed. The metaphor of rising water evokes the slow, suffocating pressure of sorrow, betrayal, or opposition that threatens to submerge him completely. Charles Spurgeon captures the urgency well: “The waters are rising even to the soul: the danger is imminent, and the soul feels it keenly.” In this moment, David does not mask his desperation—he prays with raw honesty, revealing that prayer begins not with polish but with need.
Eugene Peterson renders the verse poignantly in The Message: “God, God, save me! I’m in over my head.” There is no pretense here—just the authentic voice of someone barely keeping afloat. And yet, embedded in this cry is an act of faith. David turns not to his own strength but to God. Isaiah 43:2 echoes with reassurance: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.” God does not always keep the waters from rising, but He promises His presence within them. This opening verse reminds us that desperation is not the opposite of faith—it is often the soil in which trust is born.
Sinking Without a Foothold
Psalm 69:2
“I sink in the miry depths, where there is no foothold. I have come into the deep waters; the floods engulf me.”
Psalm 69:2 deepens the sense of despair. “I sink in the miry depths, where there is no foothold,” David writes, painting the image of a person slipping further into a pit where nothing is firm or stable. This is more than fear—it is the sensation of being unanchored, without even the illusion of control. Matthew Poole notes, “He has nothing solid to rest upon; the ground has given way beneath him.” This verse evokes the emotional experience of panic and exhaustion, where every attempt to find footing leads to more sinking. It reflects those times in life when our resources, relationships, or even prayers seem to offer no traction.
G. Campbell Morgan highlights that the danger is not only external—“The picture is not of external danger alone, but of inward collapse.” The floods are not merely circumstances crashing in; they symbolize the internal unraveling that often follows prolonged suffering. David’s words speak for all who have felt submerged under burdens too heavy to bear—grief, shame, betrayal, despair. Yet in this very place of weakness, David continues to cry out to God. His cry is a lifeline, not a solution, reminding us that faith does not always stand tall; sometimes, it clings while sinking. Psalm 40:2 later echoes hope from such a place: “He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock.”
When Waiting Wears You Down
Psalm 69:3
“I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched. My eyes fail, looking for my God.”
Psalm 69:3 captures the fatigue that comes not only from suffering, but from sustained hope in the midst of it. David confesses, “I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched. My eyes fail, looking for my God.” This is the exhaustion of unanswered prayer—the kind that leaves the body dry and the soul strained. He is not giving up on God, but he is showing the cost of persevering faith. Alexander Maclaren poignantly observes, “The long waiting makes the eyes ache with looking for the dawn.” This is a verse for anyone who has ever watched for relief that doesn’t come, cried out to heaven and heard only silence.
Yet even in the weariness, there is still direction—David’s eyes are fixed on God. His gaze does not wander, even as it blurs with tears. The prophet Jeremiah echoes this kind of grief in Lamentations 3:49–50: “My eyes flow unceasingly… until the Lord looks down from heaven.” These verses remind us that waiting on God can be one of the most painful disciplines of faith. But they also remind us that prayer is not just asking—it is enduring. It is refusing to look away from God, even when His presence feels distant. In that refusal lies a quiet but profound act of trust: the belief that God still sees, still hears, and will, in time, respond.
The Wound of Unjust Hatred
Psalm 69:4
“Those who hate me without reason outnumber the hairs of my head…”
In Psalm 69:4, David laments, “Those who hate me without reason outnumber the hairs of my head.” He is overwhelmed not only by opposition but by the irrational and baseless nature of it. There is a particular anguish in being hated unjustly, when one’s conscience is clear but malice still multiplies. James Boice observes, “Hatred without cause is the most painful kind, for it leaves the soul defenseless.” When people turn against us without reason, there is no argument to make, no apology to offer, no peace to negotiate—only the ache of being misunderstood and reviled. David names that pain honestly, not with bitterness but with open lament before God.
This verse is prophetic as well, finding its fullest voice in Jesus Christ. In John 15:25, Jesus quotes this psalm, saying, “They hated me without reason.” David’s suffering, though real in its own right, becomes a shadow of Christ’s rejection—a man despised not for evil, but for perfect goodness. John Trapp comments, “Many hate me, but none can give a reason why,” and this truth echoes down the corridors of history toward the cross. When we face unjust opposition, we walk a path familiar to our Savior. Though isolating, it is not a path we walk alone. Christ has walked it before us, and in Him, even the most senseless hatred can be transformed into redemptive suffering.
Confession in the Midst of Conflict
Psalm 69:5
“You, God, know my folly; my guilt is not hidden from you.”
Psalm 69:5 offers a striking moment of humility amid lament: “You, God, know my folly; my guilt is not hidden from you.” Though David has just described the cruelty of his enemies and the injustice he faces, he does not claim to be blameless before God. This is not self-pity disguised as piety—it is the honest voice of a man who knows that even in the face of slander and false accusation, there are still personal sins he must confess. Adam Clarke remarks, “He justifies not himself, though he is wronged by others.” This kind of transparency is rare and powerful: David acknowledges both the pain of being falsely accused and the truth of his own failings.
This verse reveals a crucial truth for anyone navigating suffering or opposition. It is possible to be wronged and yet still in need of repentance. David holds both realities together—he does not let the injustice done to him blind him to his own need for mercy. His posture before God remains humble. The apostle John echoes this posture in 1 John 1:9: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us…” Confession clears the heart, not only from guilt, but from pride. In the presence of God, the most freeing thing we can do is tell the truth about ourselves—especially when others tell lies about us.
A Leader’s Burden of Influence
Psalm 69:6
“Lord, the Lord Almighty, may those who hope in you not be disgraced because of me…”
Psalm 69:6 reveals David’s deep concern not only for his own reputation but for the spiritual well-being of others: “Lord, the Lord Almighty, may those who hope in you not be disgraced because of me…” Amid personal anguish, David’s focus turns outward. His pain is not merely private—it has public implications. He fears that his suffering, if misinterpreted, could shake the faith of others. Donald Coggan insightfully observes, “This is the prayer of the leader who knows the impact of his life on the flock.” David is aware that those who look to him might stumble if his suffering leads them to question God’s faithfulness. It is a sobering reminder that leadership carries not just visibility but spiritual responsibility.
This verse mirrors the apostolic concern found in Romans 14:13—“Make up your mind not to put any stumbling block… in the way of a brother.” David prays that his life, even in distress, would not be a barrier to someone else’s trust in God. What grace to think this way when one is drowning in sorrow! It teaches us to pray, not only for deliverance, but for integrity—that our suffering would not become someone else’s disillusionment. This is the heart of a shepherd, of a parent, of a disciple-maker: to care that one’s faith, even in trial, points others toward God and not away from Him.
Shamed for God’s Sake
Psalm 69:7
“For I endure scorn for your sake, and shame covers my face.”
In Psalm 69:7, David declares, “For I endure scorn for your sake, and shame covers my face.” His suffering is not the result of folly or failure, but of faithfulness. He is mocked, not because he has done wrong, but because he belongs to God. This is a suffering that cuts deeply—it is one thing to bear reproach for mistakes, but entirely another to be ridiculed for loyalty to the Lord. David’s face is covered with shame, yet it is not the shame of guilt—it is the shame unjustly heaped on him by a world hostile to God. Charles Spurgeon writes, “The world’s curses are often God’s crowns.” What others see as disgrace, God sees as devotion.
This verse points us forward to the suffering of Christ, who bore the ultimate scorn “for the joy set before Him” (Hebrews 12:2). Like David, Jesus was despised not for sin but for holiness. In Him, David’s cry finds its fulfillment, and in Him, our own experiences of rejection for righteousness find meaning. When we suffer for God’s sake—for speaking truth, for standing firm, for choosing the narrow path—we stand in a long line of faithful witnesses. The shame may feel unbearable, but it is not the final word. 1 Peter 4:14 reminds us, “If you are insulted because of the name of Christ, you are blessed.” What covers our face before men is a mark of honor before God.
Forsaken by Family
Psalm 69:8
“I am a foreigner to my own family…”
Psalm 69:8 mournfully confesses, “I am a foreigner to my own family…” Here, David reveals the most intimate kind of rejection—the wound that comes not from enemies but from kin. The pain of being misunderstood or cast aside by those closest to us strikes at the core of our identity. David is not simply isolated in public; he is estranged in his own household. This verse echoes the bitter loneliness many have felt when faithfulness to God puts them at odds with family traditions, expectations, or beliefs. Alexander Maclaren powerfully observes, “The Messiah stands forsaken in His own vineyard,” capturing how such rejection anticipates the deeper forsakenness of Christ Himself.
This verse is prophetically fulfilled in Jesus, who “came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him” (John 1:11). The incarnate Son of God faced alienation even among His siblings and townspeople (Mark 6:3-4). Like David, Jesus experienced that painful paradox: to love purely and be pushed away. But this shared sorrow becomes a point of sacred connection between our hearts and His. When our own families cannot understand our faith or stand with us in suffering, we do not walk alone. Christ has been there. He is the brother who never turns away, the friend who remains closer than any other. And in Him, even the sting of familial rejection is not wasted—it becomes part of our deeper communion with the One who bore it all.N
A Zeal That Burns Pure
Psalm 69:9
“For zeal for your house consumes me…”
Psalm 69:9 declares, “For zeal for your house consumes me,” revealing a heart so passionately devoted to God’s glory that it cannot remain indifferent when His name is dishonored. David’s zeal isn’t merely emotional fervor—it is a consuming fire that shapes his actions and stirs his soul. His longing for God’s house, God’s worship, and God’s presence is so intense that it costs him. James Boice rightly calls it “passion that purifies.” This is not zeal for tradition or personal cause, but for the holiness and honor of God. Such holy fire often draws misunderstanding, even opposition, but it marks a life set apart for divine purposes.
The New Testament sees this verse fulfilled in Jesus Christ. When He drove out the money changers from the temple, the disciples remembered this line and applied it to Him (John 2:17). Jesus embodied pure zeal—not out of anger for personal offense, but out of love for His Father’s house. His passion for God’s holiness led to confrontation with religious corruption. This kind of holy zeal is not optional for believers; Romans 12:11 exhorts us, “Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord.” True zeal energizes, purifies, and aligns our hearts with God’s priorities. In an age of distraction and apathy, Psalm 69:9 calls us back to fervent love—a fire that, while it may cost us, reflects the burning heart of Christ.
Mocked for Devotion
Psalm 69:10–11
“When I weep and fast… I put on sackcloth… I am the talk of those who sit at the gate…”
In Psalm 69:10–11, David recounts, “When I weep and fast… I put on sackcloth… I am the talk of those who sit at the gate.” His expressions of repentance and humility—fasting, mourning, and sackcloth—are not met with respect but with ridicule. Rather than drawing sympathy or reverence, his spiritual discipline becomes the subject of public scorn. Eugene Peterson paraphrases these verses with painful clarity: “I poured myself out in prayer and fasting, and got laughed at for it.” This is the sting of being mocked not for sin but for holiness. The faithful soul may expect misunderstanding from the world, but when prayer is met with jeering, the wound cuts especially deep.
John Trapp’s words remain true across the ages: “The devout are ever the devil’s derision.” Acts of sincere piety often provoke contempt from those who see only the outward form without grasping the inward heart. What David experienced, Christ also endured—He was ridiculed for praying, fasting, and obeying His Father to the point of death. In following Him, believers must be prepared for the same misunderstanding. Yet, these verses also remind us that God sees what others mock. He treasures the tears, receives the fasting, and honors the sackcloth. In a world that may scoff at devotion, Psalm 69 encourages us to persevere—not for the approval of others, but for the pleasure of the One who sees in secret and rewards openly (Matthew 6:6).
Praying in the Time of Favor
Psalm 69:13
“But I pray to you, Lord, in the time of your favor…”
Psalm 69:13 marks a turning point in David’s lament: “But I pray to you, Lord, in the time of your favor…” Despite the ridicule, rejection, and sense of abandonment, David does not give up on prayer. Instead, he leans even more fully into it. He anchors his hope not in the circumstances around him, but in the character of God and in the divine timing of mercy. Matthew Poole comments, “He would not cease praying, even when mocked for it.” This steadfastness is faith at its most mature—continuing to seek God not because the clouds have cleared, but because one knows where the light will eventually break through.
The phrase “in the time of your favor” reflects a deep trust in God’s sovereignty over both timing and grace. David knows that God has appointed seasons of deliverance, and he aligns his prayer with that hope. The apostle Paul echoes this in 2 Corinthians 6:2, urging, “Now is the day of salvation.” For the believer, God’s favor is not a distant hope but a present invitation—through Christ, we are always welcomed into His presence. David’s resolve teaches us that prayer is not just for when we feel heard; it is also the posture we take while we wait to be heard. In doing so, we declare that our confidence is not in the speed of the answer but in the faithfulness of the One to whom we pray.
Appealing to Mercy, Not Merit
Psalm 69:16
“Answer me, Lord, out of the goodness of your love…”
Psalm 69:16 offers a beautiful glimpse into the heart of biblical prayer: “Answer me, Lord, out of the goodness of your love…” The word “love” here translates the rich Hebrew term hesed—God’s steadfast, covenantal love that is unwavering and undeserved. David does not approach God based on his own righteousness or suffering but rests his entire plea on the reliability of divine mercy. As Donald Coggan notes, “David appeals not to merit but mercy.” In the face of deep pain and opposition, David knows that what sustains the relationship between God and His people is not performance but promise—not what we do for God, but what God has pledged in love to do for us.
This posture of prayer echoes throughout Scripture and finds perfect expression in Psalm 103:8—“The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.” David is not bargaining with God; he is trusting in God’s unchanging character. Even when surrounded by mockery, injustice, and sorrow, he believes that God’s hesed remains his surest hope. This verse teaches us that in our own seasons of desperation, we too are invited to pray not as people with something to prove but as children resting in the love of a Father who delights in mercy. When we call on God from this place of trust, we find not only answers—but the assurance that we are heard, held, and helped by the God whose goodness never fails.
Through David’s Window to Calvary
Psalm 69:19–21
“You know how I am scorned… They put gall in my food…”
Psalm 69:19–21 gives voice to the raw humiliation and pain David endures: “You know how I am scorned… They put gall in my food…” He lays bare his suffering before God, not only as a personal lament but as a prophetic cry that would find its deepest fulfillment in Jesus Christ. The contempt, the cruelty, even the bitter drink offered in mockery—all are shadows of the cross. Charles Spurgeon remarks, “Here we look through David’s window and see Calvary.” David’s experience becomes more than an isolated event; it becomes a lens through which we glimpse the suffering of Christ, who was scorned, mocked, and offered gall mixed with vinegar as He hung on the cross (Matthew 27:34).
G. Campbell Morgan insightfully adds, “The sufferer of the psalm finds his full voice in the Suffering Servant.” The words David speaks in anguish become the very words Christ embodies in His Passion. In this, we see the mystery and majesty of Scripture: how one man’s honest pain becomes part of God’s redemptive story. For believers, these verses serve both as a mirror and a comfort. They reflect our own scorn and sorrow in a fallen world, yet they also assure us that we do not suffer alone. Jesus has taken on the deepest wounds of human experience—rejection, mockery, and pain—and redeemed them through His love. In seeing Christ in David’s cry, we find not only identification but hope: the cross transforms even the most bitter gall into the promise of resurrection.
The Cry for Justice
Psalm 69:22–28
Psalm 69:22–28 stands as one of the most striking examples of imprecatory prayer in Scripture—a passionate plea for God’s judgment against the wicked. David shifts from personal lament to prophetic indictment, calling down divine consequences on those who have not only mocked him but defied God. These verses may feel jarring, but they express a profound longing for justice in a world that often rewards cruelty and punishes faithfulness. James Boice rightly reminds us, “These are not personal vendettas, but appeals to divine justice.” David isn’t seeking revenge in his own strength; he is entrusting judgment to the only One who is perfectly just.
Eugene Peterson does not tone down the intensity of these lines in The Message: “Let them be struck blind. Let their backs be bent.” These images are harsh, yet they resonate with the experience of righteous indignation—when evil seems to triumph and wrongdoers go unpunished. David’s prayer gives voice to the pain of those who have suffered at the hands of the merciless. It reminds us that God is not indifferent to wickedness. Such prayers are not license for hatred but expressions of trust that ultimate justice belongs to God, not to human retaliation.
In verse 28, David pleads that these unrepentant enemies be “blotted out of the book of life.” This phrase introduces a deeply sobering concept—the idea of God’s record of the righteous. Throughout the Psalms, the “book of life” is associated with those who live faithfully before God, whose lives are marked by integrity, worship, and hope. In the New Testament, the image is carried further: Philippians 4:3 and Revelation 20:15 reveal it as the list of those who will inherit eternal life. To be blotted out from this book is to be cut off from communion with God—a fate far more serious than temporal punishment.
These verses, while heavy, ultimately uphold the holiness of God and the seriousness of rebellion against Him. David’s cries may seem severe, but they arise from a deep desire that evil not prevail unchecked. For the believer, they serve both as a warning and a reassurance: a warning that rebellion has real consequences, and a reassurance that God sees injustice and will act in His time. The imprecatory Psalms teach us not to suppress our hunger for righteousness, but to surrender it to the righteous Judge, trusting that He will one day make all things right.
From Judgment to Trust
Psalm 69:29
“But as for me, afflicted and in pain—may your salvation, God, protect me.”
Psalm 69:29 marks a tender and pivotal shift in the psalm: “But as for me, afflicted and in pain—may your salvation, God, protect me.” After crying out for justice against his enemies, David turns the focus back to his own desperate need. This is not a retreat from the plea for righteousness, but a movement into humility. The tone softens. The sword of imprecation is lowered, and the heart of a suffering servant emerges. Alexander Maclaren observes this beautifully: “He lays down the sword of judgment and takes up the shield of trust.” Rather than dwelling on what others deserve, David now longs for God’s mercy to surround and sustain him.
This verse reminds us that righteous anger and personal dependence can coexist, but must ultimately give way to faith. David is “afflicted and in pain,” yet he turns to God not merely for relief but for salvation—a term that encompasses healing, deliverance, and restoration. It is a cry that comes from the depths, shaped not by bitterness but by hope. In this moment, we see the heart of true prayer: not vindication for our enemies, but redemption for ourselves. Psalm 34:18 resonates here: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” When our suffering brings us to the end of our strength, it is God’s saving presence that becomes our greatest refuge.
The Song of the Suffering
Psalm 69:30–31
“I will praise God’s name in song…”
Psalm 69:30–31 declares a powerful resolve: “I will praise God’s name in song and glorify him with thanksgiving. This will please the Lord more than an ox, more than a bull with its horns and hooves.” What is remarkable here is not just the content of David’s praise, but the context—it rises from a place of pain. Despite affliction and shame, despite mockery and sorrow, David chooses to worship. His praise is not a denial of suffering but an act of defiance against despair. Matthew Henry noted that such praise is “a song sung in the dark,” and Adam Clarke adds, “Praise is the purest incense on the altar of affliction.” This kind of worship, offered through tears and trembling faith, touches the heart of God more deeply than the grandest rituals.
This is the essence of what Hebrews 13:15 describes as a “sacrifice of praise”—an offering not drawn from abundance or ease, but from brokenness. David’s praise becomes a living testimony that God’s worth does not diminish with our circumstances. In fact, worship in pain declares more clearly than any other act that God is worthy in all seasons. By glorifying God through gratitude and song, even in distress, David teaches us that lament and praise are not opposites—they are companions. To sing when it hurts is to proclaim that suffering does not have the final word. God does. And He is still good.
The God Who Never Turns Away
Psalm 69:33
“The Lord hears the needy and does not despise his captive people.”
Psalm 69:33 offers a profound reassurance at the heart of sorrow: “The Lord hears the needy and does not despise his captive people.” In a psalm marked by rejection, mockery, and anguish, this verse pulses with hope. David has cried out from the depths, and now he affirms what faith clings to—that God is not distant or indifferent. He listens. He sees. He cares for the afflicted and the imprisoned. This is not a generic optimism but a theological certainty rooted in the character of God. Eugene Peterson captures it poignantly: “God listens to the poor. He doesn’t walk out on the wretched.” When everyone else turns their back, God leans in.
This verse reframes the entire lament. The suffering described throughout the psalm is not wasted or unheard—it has an audience in heaven. The God who rules over creation bends low to hear the cries of the overlooked and the oppressed. For those who feel forgotten, rejected, or bound by circumstance, this truth is life-giving: God does not despise you. On the contrary, He draws near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18). David’s words assure us that divine compassion is not abstract; it is active. The Lord not only hears—He answers, delivers, and redeems. In a world that prizes strength and success, Psalm 69:33 reminds us that God’s heart is with the needy, and that is where His power works most profoundly.
From Suffering to Sanctuary
Psalm 69:35–36
“For God will save Zion… The descendants of those who love his name will dwell there.”
Psalm 69:35–36 brings the psalm to a triumphant close: “For God will save Zion… The descendants of those who love his name will dwell there.” After a long journey through lament, rejection, and sorrow, David lifts his eyes to a future filled with restoration and joy. The tone shifts from personal affliction to communal hope. The God who hears the needy will not only redeem individuals but will also restore His people and establish His presence among them. James Boice affirms, “The suffering of the righteous is never wasted—it becomes the seed of future joy.” David’s anguish, far from being meaningless, is woven into God’s redemptive purposes for Zion and for all who love His name.
This prophetic promise finds its fullest expression in Revelation 21:3—“God’s dwelling is now among the people, and he will dwell with them.” The vision of Zion saved and inhabited by the faithful becomes the vision of the New Jerusalem, where every tear is wiped away and all sorrow is redeemed. The psalm, which began in despair and deep waters, ends in hope and holy dwelling. It reminds us that God’s story doesn’t end in the pit or the wilderness—it ends in communion, in homecoming, in glory. For those who endure suffering with hearts fixed on God, Psalm 69 assures that there is a future secured not by our strength but by His faithfulness. And in that future, the afflicted become the blessed, and the place of pain becomes the place of His presence.
Conclusion
Psalm 69 begins in the suffocating mire but ends in the wide space of God’s salvation. It is a psalm for the betrayed, the mocked, the weary intercessor, and the suffering servant. It is a prayer Jesus Himself embodied. David’s cries—misunderstood by family, consumed by zeal, scorned for faithfulness—are Christ’s cries. And because they are Christ’s, they can be ours too.
This psalm reminds us that God does not turn away from our brokenness. He hears the needy. He redeems the captive. He remembers the righteous. And through Christ, the bitter cup of gall becomes the overflowing cup of salvation. The suffering of the righteous is not wasted—it becomes the soil in which God plants eternal hope. We begin in the floodwaters but end in the sanctuary. What a God. What a Savior.
Prayer
(Psalm 69–Inspired)
O God, I am drowning—
not in water, but in shame, in silence,
in the scorn of those I loved.
I can’t find a foothold, my prayers are hoarse,
and my eyes are dry from waiting.
You see. You know. You hear.
Strike down what is false, within me and around me.
Tear off the masks of the mockers. Expose the lies.
But Lord—don’t let my suffering make others stumble.
Don’t let my weakness bring shame to those who hope in You.
I cling to You, not because I am strong, but because I am desperate.
I sing, not because I am whole, but because You are worthy.
Let my wounds worship. Let my pain praise.
Raise me. Rescue Zion.
Write my name—our names—in Your Book of Life.
And when I reach the end of this dark psalm,
let me find You already there,
singing over me.
Amen.
