Psalm 139 | All is Well

Salve and Salvation

August 5, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

In Psalm 139, God, we are reminded that you search us. Know us. You know our thoughts.

You know when we sit. When we arise. When we sleep.

And, when we are roughly awakened and sleep does not return.

And, while it can be a bit disconcerting that nothing is hidden from you, there is also great relief in that as well.

Because nothing is hidden from you, there is no need to hide from you.

No need to hide our fear. Our worry. Our discouragements. Our sins. Our confusion. Our doubts. Our home-longings. No need to hide our pull to run; our pull to old ways of finding salve for the these middle-of-the-night-sleep-robbing things.

No need to hide any of these, because you already know.

So, because you are the very same God as the God of Exodus 2:25; the God who sees and knows–and acts–there is no need to sit here amidst these mosquitoes on the deck getting fresh air, or in the hospital room beside our loved one who will soon see you face-to-face, or at a sick child’s bedside, or in an office pulling an all-nighter, or on the floor at the altar of an empty sanctuary, or wherever our anxious soul finds ourselves–there is no need to sit here and tell you these things, because you know.

But, sometimes God, we voice them to you anyway, because that seems to be a small part of what prayer is.

Or, we mull over these things that keep us up–that unsettle our souls and minds, because our brains can’t seem to not mull over them. Or we relive them in our nightmares. But there are prayer elements in those incidents as well, even if unconsciously. Because you know our thoughts.

And, in those moments–in these moments—we need you; implore you; to prompt us to seek out the familiarity of what we know to be truth. Not platitudes. Not clichés. Not panic. Not the pull to things that temporary numb the sharpness of the night.

No, instead–push us toward the truth of Your word, God. Because the truth of scripture points us to the truth of who You are. And, that is where we find both salve and salvation:

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
    I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
    your rod and your staff,
    they comfort me. (Psalm 23:4)

In peace I will both lie down and sleep;
for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety. (Psalm 4:8)

Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, ⁶⁹and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.” (John 6:68-69)

Make haste to help me,
O Lord, my salvation! (Psalm 38:22)

Amen, and Amen. Even so……come quickly, God…..make haste, our salve and salvation…..

When I’m Claustrophobic

January 12, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

So, um, yeah. I’m a bit claustrophobic.

I don’t like crowds. I don’t like crowded areas. I like wide open spaces, big skies, room to breathe.

When I’m closed in–hemmed in–I get panicky. Shaky. My breath becomes shallower. I’ve got to get out.

I prefer flying to long drives, but the only thing I don’t like about flying is when I make a last-minute reservation and get stuck in the middle seat. When I join the choir to sing on Sunday mornings, I’m perfectly fine on the very back row or the front row–it’s the middle row that gets me. I’m taking my girls to see Phantom of the Opera tonight at Chrysler Hall, and I guarantee you of our three tickets, I’ll insist that the girls let me have the aisle seat.

I have to breathe.

Funny, though. It doesn’t always have to be actual, physical situations that create the symptoms of panic in me. Sometimes it is the non-tangible things that create that claustrophobic sensation:

Nightmares
Fear of much
Weighty Responsibility in parenting and work
Worry

I recently did some new work on Psalm 18 and was re-reminded that David, who wrote this Psalm, knew this feeling well–this panicky, shaky, gotta-run reality that sometimes overcomes us. He knew it in battle, he knew it in leadership, and he knew it in his soul. Just read his words here in verses 4-5 and tell me he didn’t know panic:

The cords of death encompassed me;
the torrents of destruction assailed me;
⁵the cords of Sheol entangled me;
the snares of death confronted me

When I read these words, good grief, I am taken right back to that middle-of-the-night, can’t get untangled from the blankets and get outside to get fresh air fast enough situation. I’m taken right back to hearing words from my kid that I don’t want to hear. I’m taken back to hearing words about my spouse that I can’t stomach. I’m reminded of evil places, dark paneling, crowded cars, hospital rooms…..the list is long.

Ugh.

David gets it, though. You can read his words above and see that he gets it.

More importantly, though, God gets it.

How could He not? He who sent His son to die not just any death, but a death we can not comprehend or understand? He who has been with those who are currently imprisoned for their faith in tiny, claustrophobia-inducing cells? He, who has been with countless scores of people in the very darkest, most suffocating places of their lives?

He who heard David’s cry, heard the Israelites, and Bonhoeffer’s cry, and, O, I have to believe he hears the cries of the abused, addicted, orphans, widows, lonely, ill, destitute and so many more? The ones for whom the cords of death truly encompass. Exodus 2:25, directed toward the Israelites, must be true for us, too. There is too much evidence that points to it as being true for us as well:

God saw the people of Israel—and God knew.

But, it’s not just that God knew. It’s not. It can’t be.

It’s that He also acts. He acts.

I can “know” all day long that I need to exercise more. But until I put on my blasted shoes and do the exercise, “knowing” is useless. That’s a bit of an inane analogy, but it’s the best I can come up with right now. The same, kind of, is true about God. The analogy breaks down at some point because, well, God is God. But I used to think it would be simply enough if God knew my name. If He knew who I was. And yes, His knowing my name is tremendous. Mind-boggling. But I need Him to do more than know my name. I need Him to move me to the broad places.

The broad places…such as what David describes further into Psalm 18:

He sent from on high, he took me;
    he drew me out of many waters.
¹⁷He rescued me from my strong enemy
    and from those who hated me,
    for they were too mighty for me.
¹⁸They confronted me in the day of my calamity,
    but the Lord was my support.
¹⁹He brought me out into a broad place;
    he rescued me, because he delighted in me.

The ugly pride in me abhors the idea that I need rescuing–even by God. But I do. I do. I hate that, but I do. I can’t escape the claustrophobic cords of death–death by all the things I listed above. I can’t get out of the waters that threaten to drown me. I’m not a good enough swimmer. I am powerless against my strong enemies–no matter what form they take.

And, so are you.

We need Him to bring us out into a broad place—a place with huge sky and plenty of oxygen to breathe. A place where in which He gives a “wide place for my steps under me,” where “my feet did not slip.” (Verse 36).

I can’t find that place. And you can’t find that place.

We have to be led there. Brought there.

And, we will be, because He delights in us.

How can that be?

I don’t know, but I agree with David, when in another Psalm (139) he speaks to God’s knowledge of him and how God hems him in before and behind–the only time I’ve ever, ever found that claustrophobia is bearable:

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is high; I cannot attain it.

When Freaky Things Happen: No Place to Hide

August 31, 2014 By Shelly Durkee

I had the creepiest thing happen to me Thursday night.

Actually, it wasn’t THAT creepy. I’ve definitely had creepier things happen. But for some reason, this freaked me out. Just a little.

It was a little after 8:00 pm, and I was driving home after a Picnic planning meeting. My mind was a thousand miles away, though. It was definitely not on driving. I was in extreme Auto-Pilot mode.

I turned the corner off of Highway 17 onto the road that leads toward my home in Seaford. The car was silent. My thoughts were blaring. But a noise cut through those blaring thoughts. A notification from my phone, which I had carelessly tossed into the passenger seat for my drive home. But this notification sound was unlike the ones I am used to hearing—for incoming email, or calls, or tweets, or from MapMyWalk, as friends post their exercise. Nope, this notification I had never heard before, and–admittedly–I jumped just a bit.

I grabbed by phone to see what created that obnoxious sound (Yeah, I know. No lectures about not looking at my phone while driving, please). I saw that it was from Walgreen’s (the pharmacy) of all things, and I tossed it back into the seat next to me.

When I got home, checked the notification. What in the world did they want? I didn’t have any prescriptions I was waiting for, and besides, I get texts when they are ready for pick-up, not notifications from Walgreen’s directly.

The message I read went something like this (I wish I had somehow saved it, so you could get a sense of its “creepiness”):

We notice that you are near a Walgreen’s Store right now! Why don’t you stop by and see what savings and good value we have to offer you tonight!”

Whoa. No one knew where I was. I don’t even think my kids knew where I was Thursday night, except that I had to go to a meeting. But Walgreen’s knew.

That’s Twilight Zone stuff right there, my friends.

Later that night, when I crawled into bed after an exhausting day of work, parenting, committee meeting, and all the other “stuff” that comprises a day, I got to thinking about that notification. And I got to thinking about my life. And, I got to thinking about my God.

Like I said, there are times in life where nobody knows where I am at.

Where I am at physically:

if I go for a drive
when I’ve hiked alone to deserted beaches in Hawaii
times that I’ve gone for walks at the park alone

Where I am at mentally:

times of fear
times of despair
times of thinking I am a failure

Where I am at Spiritually:

times when I have sinned against God and others
times when I have doubted His goodness
times when I have stubbornly and sinfully held on to unbelief
times of silence from God
….but also times when I have been overcome with gratitude for His grace
times when I’ve been so overwhelmed by His presence, protection and provision that it has wrecked me

All these examples of times when no one else knows where I am. And yet, there is one who knows and sees it all. My God. The God who Sees and Knows.

And, honestly, sometimes that bothers me. It really does. Because sometimes it would just be easier, or it seems safer, or SOMETHING—I can’t quite find the words—but to have the ability to hide from God. To have an Invisibility Cloak, like Harry Potter. Oh, I am self-centered enough to want Him to see and know my pain and to fix it. But what about the times that He doesn’t fix it? In those cases, I wish He didn’t see it, because then I find myself asking “Why?? Why God, if you see the suffering of this world, why don’t you FIX IT??” And what do I do with that??

Or, worse still, what about the times that I openly or secretly sin against Him? When I am ashamed of myself; of my behavior. When I find myself shouting “Yes!” at Paul’s statement in Romans 7:15: For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.

But that’s not who God is.

And, if it was who God was, He wouldn’t be worthy of worship.

You see, it is precisely because He is a God who Sees and Knows, that I know He loves me. That He loves me so much, that He gave His son for me. That He gave His Son for the forgiveness of my sins–both those that are blatant and those that are done in the depths of my heart and mind.

Exodus 2:25 says this: God saw the people of Israel—and God knew.

This very same God who Saw the people of Israel in their suffering and Knew, sees me in my suffering and Knows. He Knows.

My deepest fears.
My deepest sins.
My deepest dreams.
My deepest longings.
My deepest needs.

A key moment, among many key moments, in my journey toward trust and faith in God, was the realization that He Knows my name. He knows who I am! That fact, alone, wrecked me. For so long I had thought that if—IF there was a God, He certainly did not know who I was. But He does. He knows my name. He knows me thoroughly. As in Psalm 139 thoroughly. He has searched me and knows me. And He knows you, too. And loves you.

That, my friends, is a God who sees and Knows—and loves.

I turned off the location finder thingy on my phone. I don’t want Walgreen’s knowing where I am. But I will continue to fight the urge to hide from my God. That’s a futile attempt, anyway. A waste of energy. Instead, I will rejoice that I am Seen, Known, and Loved. And Forgiven.

The Realities of the Soul: Lessons Learned from Les Miserables (the book)

January 17, 2013 By Shelly Durkee

Maybe you are a thinker. I’m a thinker.

Anyone who knows me well, knows that about me. Some even tease me about it. I examine everything from every angle. For lack of a better way to describe it, I find this both a blessing and a cursing. A blessing, because I know that this is how God has made me. A blessing because I enjoy digging and probing deeply, whether it be in my own soul or my work with another person. A blessing because it leads me to wanting to learn about God, about others, about Scripture, about this world, about…….well, everything.

But it is also a hard thing at times. It means that my mind is rarely, rarely still. I find it incredibly hard to turn off my thinking, to turn off my mind. Times of peace, stillness, quietness of my soul and mind are few and far between. When they occur, I know they are a gift straight from God, because such things are not of my nature. There are many times that I wish I had a switch to turn this mind of mine off for awhile to rest. There are many times that I implore God to grant me quietness, to say “Shh” to my whirling mind and soul.

There is a reason I share all of this. It’s related to the book “Les Miserables”. I ordered a copy of the book (a recent, fantastic translation by Julie Rose, I highly recommend her translation) after surprisingly being so moved by the movie and the stories of grace contained therein. This book is quickly become one of my favorite books of all-time, behind certain books written by my favorite author, C.S. Lewis. For me to place Les Miserables toward the top of my “Books Read” list, especially as a work of fiction, is not nothing–I have a lot of books that I love. But Victor Hugo’s writing has bored itself into my soul. Not many writings do that to me, other than Scripture. (C.S. Lewis’ “Surprised by Joy” is one example of a book that has had a profound impact on my life.)

Reading far into the night Monday, I came upon a passage that I want to share with you. Let me first set the scene.

Jean ValJean, the major character of the book, is faced with an agonizing decision. I’ll not share that decision with you, in hopes that you will read the book. But this man, who had been shown much grace and mercy and had been changed deeply by that grace, must make a difficult decision. He stays up practically all night, debating this decision between his mind and his conscious. In this book, Hugo likens the conscious to God several times. This debate carries on for 16 pages!!! You may wonder, how could anyone read 16 pages of a person debating with himself–I tell you that it is easy to read because it is fascinatingly written. From this section, I share with you this paragraph that I came across the other night:

It is incontestable that we talk to ourselves, there is no thinking being who does not do so. We could even say that talk is never more of a magnificent mystery than when it travels, within a person’s inner life, from mind to conscience–and back again. It’s only in this sense that we should understand the words often used in this chapter: he said, he cried out. We say to ourselves, we talk to ourselves, we cry out inside of ourselves, without the outer silence being broken. There is a great tumult, everything in us speaks, except our mouths. The realities of the soul are no less real for not being visible and tangible.

Whew. I know this to be very true in my own life. And I think, if you consider it a moment, you will probably agree and find it to be truth in your life as well. If we look at the word “conscience” and replace it with “God”, we get an accurate picture of the wrestling that goes on within our souls. We may be thinking a thousand things, fighting tough battles, within our souls that are never uttered verbally–“without the outer silence being broken”. “Everything in us speaks, except our mouths.”

But what I want to add here, is that God knows. Sometimes, repeating that phrase “God knows” in my mind over and over again is the only thing that will still the tumult inside. He knows our thoughts, He sees the battles we fight within our mind. We have scriptural proof of this in Psalm 139:

2 You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar.

4 Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.

So when, like Jean Valjean, we find ourselves in a tumult, with a mind that will not settle, with thoughts that will not still–when we find ourselves stirred up in our soul, crying out within us–we can rest assured that, even though we may never utter a word, our God hears, sees, and knows better than we know ourselves.

“The realities of the soul are no less real for not being visible and tangible.”

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