A Psalm of This David

O Lord, my God,

The years have settled upon my shoulders,

and I feel them in the morning before my feet touch the floor.

My bones speak of battles my tongue no longer remembers.

My hands bear the marks of labor,

and my heart bears the weight of sorrows

that only You have fully seen.

There are wounds that age does not erase.

I remember the ache of being left behind,

the quiet questions of a child

who searched the horizon for a mother’s embrace.

I remember wondering if I was worth staying for,

if I was worth choosing,

if I was worth keeping.

The years moved on,

but some tears leave their taste upon the soul.

I remember the voices of religious men and women

who spoke much of law but little of mercy,

who guarded gates You never asked them to guard,

who measured my scars but never touched my wounds.

They judged what they could see,

while You were tending what they could not.

Their words became stones,

and I carried them longer than I should have.

I remember the ridicule of those

who could not understand Your kindness.

They called weakness what You called humility.

They called compromise what You called grace.

They mocked mercy because they had never tasted it.

They laughed at forgiveness because they had never needed it.

Yet through it all,

You remained.

When others departed,

You remained.

When explanations failed,

You remained.

When prayers echoed against silent walls,

You remained.

You were nearer than my breath

and steadier than the ground beneath my feet.

You collected every tear.

You counted every lonely night.

You heard every prayer

that never found the courage to become words.

And now, O Lord,

I look back upon the road behind me,

and I see Your footprints beside my own.

There were valleys I thought would bury me,

yet You carried me through them.

There were losses I thought would define me,

yet Your love proved greater.

There were enemies I thought would destroy me,

yet they became the very soil

where faith learned to grow.

If You had only found me in my loneliness,

it would have been enough.

If You had only sheltered me from despair,

it would have been enough.

If You had only forgiven my sins,

it would have been enough.

If You had only called me Your son,

it would have been enough.

If You had only given me one glimpse of Your mercy,

it would have been enough.

If You had only carried me through one dark valley,

it would have been enough.

If You had only given me breath for one more day,

it would have been enough.

But You did more.

You healed what others wounded.

You restored what others abandoned.

You opened doors that others closed.

You surrounded me with blessings

I never knew to ask for.

You gave me purpose in my later years,

wisdom in my struggles,

companions for the journey,

and a testimony born from both pain and grace.

You have been better to me than my fears predicted,

better to me than my failures deserved,

and better to me than my prayers could imagine.

Therefore I will praise You.

I will praise You for the wounds that taught me compassion.

I will praise You for the waiting that taught me trust.

I will praise You for the losses that taught me dependence.

I will praise You for the years themselves,

for every sunrise,

for every breath,

for every undeserved mercy.

The body may grow weaker,

but Your faithfulness does not age.

My hair may gray,

but Your promises do not fade.

My steps may slow,

but Your hand does not loosen its grip.

And when the final evening comes,

and I stand at the edge of the river I cannot cross alone,

I will not fear.

For the God who carried me through abandonment,

through rejection,

through ridicule,

through grief,

through failure,

through doubt,

and through age itself,

will also carry me home.

Bless the Lord, O my soul.

Bless the Lord for His kindness.

Bless the Lord for His mercy.

Bless the Lord, who has been my shelter from childhood,

my companion through every wilderness,

and my hope forevermore.

Amen.