| Psalm 13:5-6 There is a little word in Psalm 13 that changes everything:But. David has asked how long. He has wondered whether God has forgotten him. He has wrestled with sorrow and watched an enemy who seems certain of victory. And then comes: “But I trust in your unfailing love.” Nothing in the Psalm tells us that David’s circumstances suddenly changed. There is no announcement that the trouble disappeared. No explanation arrived. No voice from heaven told him why the waiting had been necessary. David simply remembered where his trust belonged. That matters for us. We sometimes think faith means reaching a place where questions no longer trouble us. Perhaps faith is something quieter than that. Perhaps faith is being able to ask the question and still say, “But I trust.” Not because we are strong enough. Not because we understand enough. Not because tomorrow has been explained to us. We trust because God’s love has not changed. Feelings do change. Some mornings we awaken confident; others we struggle to find our footing. Circumstances change. People disappoint us. Plans fail. Bodies grow tired. The things upon which we once depended sometimes prove less dependable than we imagined. But God’s love is not tied to the condition of our day. It holds. And when we begin to rest there again, something happens within us. David says, “My heart shall rejoice in your salvation. I will sing the LORD’s praise.” Notice that he sings after asking, “How long?” The same man does both. That is important because there may be someone reading this who believes sorrow has somehow disqualified them from praise. It hasn’t. You may have questioned. You may have wept. You may still be waiting. You can still sing. Perhaps not loudly. Perhaps not with the enthusiasm of someone whose troubles have all passed. Sometimes praise is simply the quiet confession: “Lord, I still trust You.” And that is enough. David looks back and recognizes that the Lord has been good to him. Perhaps that is part of how trust finds its footing again. We remember. There was bread when we needed bread. There was enough light for the next step. There was strength we did not know we had until the day required it. There was grace. And there was God. So if you find yourself somewhere between “How long?” and “I will sing,” do not be ashamed of where you are. Bring God the questions. Sit with Him in the waiting. Remember the goodness that carried you yesterday. Then, when you can, say that little word: But. But I trust. You may discover that praise does not always begin with an answer. Sometimes it begins when we realize His love has never moved. And from there, even a weary heart can find its song again. Be a blessing today. |
But.
One small hinge holds the whole Psalm.
But I trust.
Not because the night lifted.
Not because the answer came with thunder.
The road is still long.
The enemy still says, “I have prevailed.”
But.
I trust in Your unfailing love —
not in my unfailing strength,
not in explanations that never came,
not in the light I asked for,
but in the Love that asked nothing of me.
That love remains the anchor
when feelings shift like sand.
It does not rise and fall with my day.
It holds.
And from that holding,
something returns:
My heart shall rejoice.
Not will, someday.
Shall. It lifts again.
I will sing.
Not because everything changed,
but because trust returned.
And where trust returns,
praise finds its footing again.
He has dealt bountifully with me —
not lavishly, as the world counts bounty,
but enough. Always enough.
Bread for today. Light for these eyes.
A song for this throat.
After the asking,
after the waiting,
trust returns on quiet feet.
No new map,
no thunder.
Only this:
Your love has not moved.
And so I will sing —
not loud,
not triumphant,
but true —
from the place where I was seen,
to the place where I will be a blessing today.
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