Insight for Today
A Daily Devotional by Pastor Chuck Swindoll

As David's lament (Psalm 54) over the grind of difficult people draws to a close, he turns from bitter resentment to find rest in God's faithfulness. David has named his enemies and acknowledged their sins.

David could have written a whole book of poems lamenting the host of enemies surrounding him. Enemies in Saul's court. Enemies among the priests. Enemies in the surrounding territories. Enemies everywhere!

Imagine David wilting under a bush or slumped in a cave, pouring out his feelings in Psalm 54, begging the Lord for help. The first three verses are a prayer with emphasis on the enemy.

Let's face it; most problems are people problems. You can have a job that demands long hours and great physical effort, but neither the hours nor the energy drain gives you the problems difficult people do.

If Martin Luther's great hymn, "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God," is any indication, he often turned to Psalm 46 for comfort. When you read his story, you can appreciate why.

The psalmist's inner battle with the grind of personal weakness, recorded in Psalm 46, ended with a truce. He arrived at a critical decision that required every ounce of faith he could muster. He decided to withdraw from battle.

The psalmist's reaction to nature in upheaval was, "I will not fear" (Psalm 46:2–3). His response to feelings of personal weakness continues in Psalm 46 with a change of scene, which prompts another resolution.

The psalmist was most likely a priest. As a man of letters, he would have known the history of Israel better than most. And their path had not been a smooth one. They continually faced dangers from foreign armies.

We deny it. We fake it. We mask it. We try to ignore it. But the truth stubbornly persists: we are weak and inadequate creatures! Being sinful, we fail. Being prone to illness, we get sick. Being feeble, we get hurt.

Psalms 42 and 43 capture for us David's situation of inner despair and disturbance. The source of his turmoil didn't go away after his visit to the headwaters of the Jordan River (42:6).

David's songs of inner turmoil don't offer easy answers; he's too realistic for that. David had seen the lowest of lows several times in his life, so he knew that counting your blessings won't work every time.

God certainly has not forsaken His child, but at low moments all of us could testify that there are times when it feels like He has! What do we do to become reassured? How can we find the hope of God's care when we are feeling low?

This song recounts those days when we feel like curling up in the fetal position and quitting. Fortunately, David doesn't leave us on the ground. He advises how we can conquer those feelings rather than succumb to them.

I have a "churning place." It's in my stomach. On the upper, left side, just below the rib cage. When disturbing things happen, when troubling words are said, . . . my inner churning starts.

No one can tell me that Scripture, though written more than two thousand years ago, is not relevant today. David's poem is both beautiful and practical.

As David's celebration song about God's forgiveness continues, he recognizes that confession is costly. He also acknowledges the fact that we have a window of opportunity that may, one day, close.

David's celebration of God's forgiveness takes a dark turn as he recalls his anguished past. He remembers—perhaps accompanied by a gloomy minor key—the days of misery he spent in the isolation of secret sin.

I once asked my sister, Luci, to name the emotion she considered the most powerful and enjoyable of all. She surprised me with her answer: relief. After thinking for a moment, I had to agree. Relief is everyone's favorite feeling!

Your conscience may be invisible but it is certainly not inactive! Who hasn't been kept awake by its pleadings? With incredible regularity, an unforgiven conscience can rob us of an appetite, steal our sleep, and drive us to distraction.

David's cry for help doesn't end with an account of God's sudden and miraculous provision. Instead, the songwriter committed to doing what comes least naturally to people in fear. He committed to doing nothing.