Seeking, Satisfied, and Secure
A Reflection on Psalm 63
There’s a strange kind of loneliness that comes from being surrounded by people. I stand in rooms filled with voices—laughter and conversation swirling around me like wind through trees. It is a beautiful buzz of energy, and I love to watch as people—comfortable in their own skin, and with others—dance in the beautiful assurance of being loved, known, and free. And yet, there are times when I feel like a traveler in a crowded train station—brushing shoulders with strangers, exchanging polite nods, but carrying a solitude that no one else can see. My days are full of meetings, phone calls, and sacred moments with those who trust me with their stories. It’s wonderful, and sometimes lonely.
Perhaps you know this feeling. Maybe it visits you in a full house, at a busy workplace, or in the quiet space after a long day when you finally sit down, only to feel the weight of an unnamed longing settle in.
“O God, you are my God; I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.”1
David knew this longing. Psalm 63 is a song of thirst, of aching for something deeper, written not from a place of comfort but from the wilderness. He was physically weary, spiritually empty, and his longing led him to seek God first.
“O God, you are my God; I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.”
David is in a literal wilderness, his enemies are after him and he is fleeing for his life. I imagine, this psalm isn’t the only prayer he prayed. He probably prayed for things like escape, protection, provision and victory over his enemies. But in this vulnerable moment David longed for God’s presence. At least in this moment, he does not look for a quick fix to his circumstances; he turns his gaze upward, longing for something only God can satisfy.
This psalm isn’t a how-to manual, but it is instructive. It reflects the necessary turn that happens whenever we are finally ready to admit that we are lost… whether that’s because we’ve run out ahead and tried to make our own way apart from God’s guidance, or if we’ve followed someone else’s lead as they do the same. In the wilderness—whether physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual—what do we turn to? Distraction? Numbing? Control? In these raw, powerful few words, David models a different response: he seeks. He turns from whatever else is consuming him and he looks for God.
It’s amazing what happens when we seek God and discover that God wasn’t hiding. God wasn’t lost. God was, is, and always will be present. And that is enough.
Why?
“Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.”
This is a bold statement. David has lost his throne, his comfort, and perhaps even his sense of safety—yet he declares that God’s love is better than life itself. His circumstances haven't changed. He’s still in the wilderness. His enemies are still trying to kill him, but something shifts when David realizes he doesn’t have to let those things lead the way.
This has been a tough few weeks for me. I haven’t slept well, and I’ve felt pretty lost. It hasn’t been anything in particular. I’m not like David. No one is trying to kill me (that I’m aware of anyway). I’ve just felt lost, and I walked deeper and deeper into the wilderness, until it felt like the canopy was so thick above me that light couldn’t break through. Then, I read this poem:
Lessons from a Small Bush - by Rosemerry Wahtolla Trommer2
Because it brings her enormous joy,
this pink-petalled flowering quince
that grows just outside
my mother’s back door,
I long to give her a thousand
such quince bushes,
all of them long-blooming,
voluptuous, thornless,
all of them lining her walk.
Though the other part of me
wants to honor how
it takes only one plant
to bring her such elation.
I am instantly stunned
with the wisdom of enoughness,
astonished again at how praise
needs nothing more than a crumb.
Somehow letting go of a thousand
imaginary quince bushes floods me
with a emptiness so great
I fall more wildly in love
with a single pink flower
and the luck-drunk awe of my mother.
It’s a good poem. But this line broke me open: “I am instantly stunned with the wisdom of enoughness, astonished again at how praise needs nothing more than a crumb.”
Those works let a crack of light in… just enough to see, that what I’ve been seeking has been with me all along.
So, from the wilderness of my lonely, I started to send out messages to people… expressing thanks for who they are and the beauty their existence brings to the world. I wrote cards, emails, and text messages… sharing good news I needed to hear as much, if not more, than they did. And the light broke through a little more. The wilderness I’m in felt a little less lonely, because there is something transforming about proclaiming good news. There’s something healing about acknowledging, YES! This is a difficult and lonely season. I’m in the wilderness. I feel lost and stuck AND… God’s love is better than life. And I’ve found that sometimes the best way that comes into focus is by noticing, naming, and sharing the light I see in others with them. Somehow, proclaiming and sharing the way I see the image of God in a friend with that friend, helps me notice the image of God in me too. And even from the wilderness, I can declare with David,
“Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you. I think of you on my bed and meditate on you in the watches of the night; for you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I sing for joy. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.”
Nighttime has a way of amplifying fear. I spent many nights working third shift alone in the chaplains office at the hospital. It should have been peaceful, but it wasn’t. It was quiet, but my thoughts were loud as I waited for something bad to happen… and it always did. Sometimes it felt like a volcano waiting to erupt. It didn’t matter how quiet any moment was, everything was always on the verge of exploding. In writing these words, David was likely lying awake in the wilderness, wondering if he would live through another day. He meditates on God’s presence and proclaims God’s love. His situation stays the same, but his awareness of the nearness of God changes him and leads him to a place of hope and praise… IN THE WILDERNESS! Right there, amid his struggle, his posture moves from despair to genuine praise. And let’s not confuse this. David isn’t thankful for the hardship he’s facing. This is not, “Thank you God that my life is so hard right now.” No. This is not praise and thanksgiving for the hardship, it is praise and thanksgiving that God is with him, even in this. “In the shadow of your wings, I sing for joy.” This is an image of closeness, of refuge, of a God who does not leave us exposed and alone. To be secure in God is not to be free from struggle, but to know that we are never abandoned within it. Even in exile, even in uncertainty, even in the loneliness of leadership—David is held. So am I.
And isn’t that what I long for? Not a quick escape from my struggles, but the assurance that I am not alone in them. That the presence of God is not something I have to chase down, but something that is already with me, already holding me, already enough.
In this wilderness season—thirsting, longing, weary—like David, I want to seek God in the middle of the waiting. I want to turn to and cling to what is already true—that God is here, that God is faithful, that God’s love is enough.
Because praise doesn’t need more than a crumb. I want to let go of the thousand imaginary quince bushes, and fall wildly in love with what’s already here.
O God, you are my God. In the dry and weary places, I seek you. In my longing, in my loneliness, in my hunger for something deeper—I turn to you. Thank you for being present, for being enough. Teach me to rest in your steadfast love, to be satisfied in your presence, and to trust that even here, even now, I am held. Amen.
For the full context, read Psalm 63:1-8 https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm%2063%3A1-8&version=NRSVUE