As I look at these words of old, words that not soon long after being spoken turn from despair into hope, I acknowledge you as the only One who can come and save. I have looked endlessly to other things to save me, concocting schemes, hoping to be spared from the suffering that comes with my many weaknesses and the broken world I am part of. I echo the psalmist, exhausted, weary, left as what feels like being nothing.
But God, your love. Your steadfast love.
When I am empty, when I am transient, when I am weak, you change everything. You are fullness and wholeness, you are eternal and everlasting, you are strength and weightiness, glory.
Father, I am tired.
I speak a lot of these “I am” statements, constant in keeping score of how I feel. This, the story of humanity, as I speak a lot of these to God, a reminder that there is some fixing to do. Still the same, unchanging, He responds the way He always has: I AM.
Show me your glory.