Psalm 25
He asked me to read this Psalm out loud this morning.
On my second cup of coffee and my third scroll through Facebook, I began to feel a desperation in my spirit. It started as a dull ache and grew into a silent cry for God to speak. Over the past couple of weeks, my soul-sickness has been compounded by everything unfolding in the body of Christ. My own struggles in the valley have felt amplified by the Church’s struggles in that same place.
In Rick Joyner’s book series The Path and The Valley, he writes about a large church—once united and thriving—that becomes disconnected from the heart of the Father while in the valley. Deceived by the enemy, who creeps in slowly and under the radar, the people grow sick with poison and begin infecting anyone who comes close. Those whose hearts have not yet been touched by the poison must remain on guard at all times, while also maintaining grace and love as they learn how to help heal others without becoming infected themselves.
Walking this path through the valley has left me with wounds of my own that I have had to confront. I have battled confusion that led to bitterness and a season of questioning my place in this story. I had to step back and allow my spirit time to process and heal—not because of people this time, but because I stepped onto this path full of faith, believing I knew what the Lord was leading me into, only to discover that I had walked straight into the valley.
I lost my sight.
I lost my hearing.
I felt as though my spirit were drying up.
I have been in a battle for my faith because I thought this time would be different. I believed I had finally figured out what God was calling me into, and I was so ready to settle into my new life and ministry.
With all of this still weighing on me, and as I watch what continues to unfold in the Church, I feel my hope slipping further away and my spirit becoming grieved beyond words. My heart aches for the Bride of Christ. We were meant to operate in humility, grace, and love, as well as in power, might, and unity—but that is not what I see right now.
What I see is a wounded bride whose instinct has become self-protection through self-attack, which we all know leads to death.
As someone who feels isolated and hungry, this is deeply troubling. I have felt as though I am simply going through the motions. Worship has become monotonous, and the preaching of the Word feels dry and lifeless.
All of this came to a head this morning as I desperately sought a word, any word, from the Lord.
Then came a whisper.
A simple answer:
“Psalm 25. Read it out loud.”
Not knowing what it said, I hesitantly opened my Bible. These are the words of Psalm 25, taken from The Passion Translation:
Don’t Fail Me, God!
King David’s poetic praise to God
1Always I will lift up my soul into your presence, Yahweh.
2Be there for me, my God, for I keep trusting in you. Don’t allow my foes to gloat over me or the shame of defeat to overtake me.
3Could anyone be disgraced when he has entwined his heart with yours? But my foes will all be defeated and ashamed when they harm the innocent.
4Direct me, Yahweh, throughout my journey so I can experience your plans for my life. Reveal the life-paths that are pleasing to you.
5Escort me into your truth; take me by the hand and teach me. For you are the God of my salvation; I have wrapped my heart into yours all day long!
6-7Forgive my failures as a young man, and overlook the sins of my immaturity. Give me grace, Yahweh! Always look at me through your eyes of love— your forgiving eyes of mercy and compassion. When you think of me, see me as one you love and care for.
8How good you are to me! When people turn to you, Yahweh, they discover how easy you are to please—so faithful and true! Joyfully you teach them the proper path, even when they go astray.
9Keep showing the humble your path, and lead them into the best decision. Bring revelation-light that trains them in the truth.
10Loving are all the ways of Yahweh, loving and faithful for those who keep his covenant.
11For the honor of your name, Yahweh, never count my many sins, and forgive them all—lift their burden off of my life!
12Who are they that live in the holy fear of Yahweh? You will show them the right path to take.
13Then prosperity and favor will be their portion, and their descendants will inherit the earth.
14There’s a private place reserved for the devoted lovers of Yahweh, where they sit near him and receive the revelation-secrets of his promises.
15Rescue me, Yahweh, for you free my feet from every trap.
16Sorrows fill my heart as I feel helpless, mistreated—I’m all alone and in misery! Come closer to me now, for I need your mercy.
17Turn to me, for my problems seem to be going from bad to worse. Only you can free me from all these troubles!
18Until you lift this burden, the burden of all my sins, my troubles and trials will be more than I can handle. Can’t you feel my pain?
19Vicious, violent enemies hate me. There are so many, Lord. Can’t you see?
20Will you protect me from their power against me? I have taken shelter in you. Let it never be said that when I trusted you, you didn’t come to my rescue.
21Your perfection and faithfulness are my bodyguards, for you are my hope and I trust in you as my only protection.
22Zealously, God, we ask you to come save Israel from all her troubles, for you provide the ransom price for your people!”
I wish I could find the right words to explain what it felt like to read these verses out loud after what seemed like an endless battle. Tears filled my eyes as I struggled to speak. It felt like fresh oil being poured over the dry terrain of my heart.
The Lord led me into a prayer I did not know how to pray—but desperately needed to speak aloud.
In wilderness moments like these, it is difficult to see what lies ahead. When the door you thought you were meant to walk through closes, it pushes you into a hallway—an in-between space that feels unsafe and lonely. I have not had the words. I have not been able to write. I have felt like a failure, trapped in a cycle of doubt.
I wish I could say it eased my soul when people told me, “When one door shuts, another will open.” As helpful as that may sound, it didn’t help. I was frustrated. I was broken. I had a direction—and then suddenly, I didn’t.
I believed that door would fulfill both my calling to ministry and my financial provision. I invested all of my expectations in a single outcome, convinced it was the Lord’s will. When that door closed, my faith felt like it closed with it, and I have been trying to pry it back open ever since.
These past few months have been among the most challenging and formative experiences of my life. Sitting here in the quiet on a Sunday afternoon, trying to make sense of it all, I realize this may have been the point all along.
I couldn’t admit the door had closed because I couldn’t face what people back home might say. I couldn’t face the questions because I didn’t have answers. But now—here—I sense that I am on the other side of this season with one clear conclusion: God is building my faith.
I have been stretched beyond my previous limits. My faith has been tested. I have learned to rely on Him in ways I never had before. As I grieve what I expected, I find myself beginning to dream again—this time without the confines of a system I never truly fit into.
On the other side of the struggle, I do have direction. Small steps to take while I wait on the Lord for the bigger things.
I have requested a referral to be assessed for autism—a significant hurdle I have been grappling with for nearly a year. It may take a long time to secure an appointment, but the process has begun, and there is relief in that.
Over the past year, I have spent many hours learning about autism and ADHD, and I have developed a deep passion for helping others like me—those left on the margins of society or the education system because they learn or function differently from neurotypical individuals.
This has led me to pursue a career as a teaching assistant, with the long-term goal of becoming a neurodiversity coach. I will begin a teaching assistant course this week, which will run for a month before allowing me to interview for positions in my area. This path will give me the opportunity to connect with the neurodiverse community and gain firsthand insight into how the education system can better support those who don’t quite fit the mold.
This transition does mean I will not be working for at least another month, possibly longer, and my financial situation is becoming uncomfortable. I have received some government assistance and have been blessed by generous supporters, but I will need additional provision to bridge the gap until I find employment. Prayer in this area is deeply appreciated.
This is one of the ways God is stretching my faith. I have not been able to rely on myself to provide, and that is terrifying—which I suspect is intentional. Trusting the Lord to meet every need is something many of us struggle with, especially in this society.
I have declared myself a missionary, and I still believe this is my core purpose. With the previous ministry door closed, I have begun developing new ideas. I cannot share them yet, but if you are praying for me, this is a crucial request.
As the Psalm says:
“Lord, direct me throughout my journey so I can experience your plans for my life. Reveal the life-paths that are pleasing to you. Escort me along the way; take me by the hand and teach me.”
Though my faith has been tested and my mental health shaken, I refuse to let go of the Lord. He is my rock and my redeemer, even when I struggle to see it.
I will continue to worship.
I will continue to praise Him.
Because even when I have been emptied and have nothing left, He is still worthy of my praise.
Leave a Reply