Welcome to Psalm's Reflections on Scattered Moments. Today, Psalm thirteen. How long, O Lord? Today let us pause. Let the noise around us settle. Let the unfinished tasks wait. And let us meditate on a psalm of David we know as Psalm 13. It begins with a question. A universal question. And yet an intensely personal one. How long, O Lord? We learn these words early. As children we ask, How long is the journey? How long until we get there? How long until recess? How long until I can go home? And somehow, as we grow older, the questions grow older with us. How long will this illness last? How long until my work feels secure? How long will I carry this grief? How long will I struggle with this darkness? How long until this prayer is answered? How long until the person I love comes home? How long until Christ returns and makes all things new? How long, O Lord? David asks it again and again. Four times in two verses. How long, Lord, will you forget me? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my own thoughts? How long will my enemy triumph over me? There is almost a mournful music in the repetition. How long? How long? How long? How long? David doesn't clean up his anguish before bringing it to God. He does not pretend. He doesn't hide his fear beneath religious language. He brings the ache itself into the presence of God. And perhaps that is one of the first invitations of Psalm 13. Bring God the question. David feels forgotten. He feels that God's face is hidden. His thoughts are wrestling within him. Sorrow visits him every day. Day after day. Seem stronger than he is. And yet David is still relentlessly praying. That matters. Because even the words, how long, O Lord, are words of faith. David is not shouting into an empty universe. He is speaking to someone. Even when God seems hidden, David still calls him Lord my God. Listen to his prayer. Look on me and answer, Lord my God. Give light to my eyes. There is a desperation here. David knows anxiety. He knows loneliness. He knows the sound of enemies outside him and troubling thoughts within him. He knows what it is to live with unanswered questions. And so do we. There are seasons when faith does not feel like soaring, it feels like waiting. It feels like waking up another morning with the same unanswered questions. Faith feels like whispering. How long? And then something happens in this little psalm. Not necessarily around David, but within David. There is no report that the enemy has disappeared, no announcement that the problem has been solved. No explanation of Heaven telling David how much longer he must wait. Instead, David says, But I trust in your unveiling love. But such a small word and such a holy turning. I do not understand, but I trust. I cannot see what God is doing, but I trust. I do not know how long this season will last, but I trust in your unfailing love. David reaches backward into what he knows about God when he cannot understand what God is doing now. My heart rejoices in your salvation, and I will sing the Lord's praise. And then comes the final remembrance for he has been good to me. The question has not been answered, but the question is no longer alone. Now it stands beside a memory. Beside salvation. Beside steadfast love. Beside the goodness of God. Perhaps that is where we can rest today. We do not have to silence our questions. We do not have to pretend the waiting is easy. We can ask how long, O Lord. And then we can speak to our own hearts. But I will trust in your unfailing love. We can remember the grace that has already carried us the prayers, already answered the mercies we did not deserve. The mornings when strength arrived just when we needed it. The salvation that is already ours in Christ. And even in adversity, even when others reject us, even when loneliness settles over us, even when God seems distant, we can still sing. Not because every question has been answered. Not because every enemy has disappeared. Not because the waiting is over. But because his steadfast love has not changed. Our days are but a breath. And we do not know the length of them. We do not know how long the night will last. But we know the one who holds the night. And so today. Perhaps our prayer can be very simple. How long, O Lord? And our confession can be just as simple. However long, I will trust you. I will trust in your unveiling love. My heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing the Lord's praise. For he has been good to me.

Amen. I wake again. The room is still. And my hands are warm from mask. How long, O Lord, I bring you the same prayer morning after morning, and I am tired of the silence. Yet here I am still calling on your name here in the dark. I know you have nothing.