I couldn’t put my finger on it. I felt sad, but didn’t really know why. 

That particular day hadn’t come with a crisis or catastrophe. No illness, intense struggle, or unresolved conflict. Even so, my heart felt tender, worn. Sometimes the cumulative impact of simply living takes a toll — on the heart, mind, body, and soul. You can’t mark it on your calendar or prepare ahead of time. Instead, it sneaks up and blindsides you with inexplicable waves of emotion. 

So I opened my Bible and attempted to read, fully assured that the Lord is “my hiding place” (Psalm 32:7). I started in the Gospel of Mark, reading one chapter and then another, waiting for it to assuage my sadness like taking a couple of Tylenol dulls a headache.

I wanted it to numb the ache and make me feel better. Sometimes God’s Word does exactly that. But that day, despite the riches on each page, I remained uninspired. 

That’s when I made a decision to do something I didn’t feel like doing. I got up from my office chair, put on my tennis shoes, grabbed a sweatshirt, and headed outside. Although it was cold and I had little energy, I started walking, carving circles around the perimeter of my house. And as I walked, I sang the first song that came to mind — The Goodness of God. It didn’t sound pretty, and I forgot some of the words. A couple of times, my dog looked at me as if I’d lost my ever-loving mind. Entirely possible. But I kept walking. And singing.

I didn’t feel it, but I sang what I knew to be true. And although the heaviness didn’t disappear entirely, it lifted a little. And it was enough. 

In Psalm 13, David feels a similar melancholy. He’s discouraged by the taunts of enemies, weary of life, and trying to survive. To make matters worse, God seemed distant: “How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?” (v. 2)

His lament sounds like mine. How long, Lord? I need two spiritual Tylenol STAT.   

“Look on me and answer, LORD my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,” he warns (v. 3)

No matter how desperate and determined his prayers, his melancholy remained. That’s when he made a decision to do something he didn’t feel like doing. He told himself the truth, the truth he knew to be true, even if his feelings tempted him to doubt.

“But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing the Lord’s praise,
for he has been good to me.”
Psalm 13:5-6 (NIV)

You see, some moments, days, and seasons will be marked by sadness. It’s just the way it works. At times, you’ll know the reason why; other times, you won’t. The cumulative impact of the human experience often hits when we least expect it. And, yes, sometimes God will seem distant. Your prayers will sound hollow, the verses you read uninspired.

When this happens — note, I said when, not if — our best response isn’t to follow the path of our feelings, but to lace up our shoes and walk out the TRUTH: 

1. TRUTH #1: We are wonderfully made, including our feelings. But feelings don’t always tell us the truth. Pay attention to feelings, but don’t be a slave to them.
2. TRUTH #2: Just because God feels distant, doesn’t mean He is. Go back to His character and His promises. If God says He will never leave you (He says it!), believe Him.
3. TRUTH #3: Joy isn’t a response to feelings, but a generator of them. Sometimes we need to do the thing before we feel the thing. Regardless, He is worth the worship.
4. TRUTH #4: Reminding yourself of God’s goodness is a spiritual practice just as valuable as prayer and Scripture. Every day, rain or shine, God is GOOD.

I don’t know your story or what your life looks like right now. But there is a good chance that, before the year comes to a close, you’ll have a day or two (or twelve) that come with more melancholy than joy. I get it, sister. Some days are just plain hard. But God’s goodness remains the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. He is the One thing we can count on.

And when my soul forgets its song, I’ll sing anyway. Until Truth trumps the grief with a new and better melody.

 

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