Why, my soul, are you downcast?
Why so disturbed within me
Why, my soul, are you downcast?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
My Savior and my God.
Psalm 42 concludes with a restorative proclamation but what I appreciate the most about psalms of lament like this (lament is the formal classification for the “sad” psalms) is that God allowed them to be included in this divine love story we call the Bible in the first place! Instead of disowning disillusioned people, the fifty-nine sad psalms are effectively God’s engraved invitation for us to be real with Him—to be honest when our hearts are heavy, and not wear fake happy faces.
We got a new dog (our third) last summer because these sweet kids were selling “Golden doodles” in a Buccee’s parking lot and I just couldn’t resist, especially after my daughter Missy held him and declared, “Mom, I already love him, and he already loves me!” Bucky (what else could we have named him?) has grown into the sweetest in our crew of canines but he was definitely Sir Poops A Lot when he was a puppy!
Since he’s technically Missy’s dog, we agreed that the heavy lifting of house training would fall on her shoulders. She was initially enthusiastic about that arrangement but once she started getting up with him at six o’clock every morning, her enthusiasm waned. And after about a month of doggie-doody, one morning she flat refused to get up. Which led to an unwanted deposit on a brand-new rug, which led to an animated mother-daughter discussion, which led to my normally very kind and respectful kid pitching a small fit and mumbling, “Sometimes I wish you weren’t my mom.”
Goodness gracious, I went through heck and back for years to adopt her from Haiti after her first mama died. I’ve given her my whole heart. Frankly, I don’t think it even resides in my chest anymore! She’s my first priority after Jesus every single minute of every single day and yet she has the audacity to whine about trading me in for a newer, more lenient parent just because of a little poo?
Of course, her petulant comment stung a smidge but she’s a hormone addled teenager, so I knew she didn’t really mean it. Which is exactly what she whispered through repentant tears during our long hug mere minutes after the meltdown.
Given the scarcity and trauma of her early years, it would make sense if my daughter was a disingenuous people-pleaser like most abuse survivors. Like I was when I was her age. Instead, by the pure grace of our Creator Redeemer, Missy is gut-level honest. She doesn’t curate her emotions because she’s learned she doesn’t need to present the shiniest version of herself for me to keep her. Her position in our little family is more secure than two pair of Spanx.
Infinitely more so is our position as God’s beloved children. Biblical narrative proves over and over again that His love for us is immutable—it doesn’t change. Which means we can share everything with Him—our joy, our tears, our hopes, our dreams, our insecurities, our anger, and our fears—all in the absolute confidence that He will never leave us, forsake us, or stop loving us.
I know it’s mildly inappropriate and un-Bible-teachery to use “biblically sound theology” and “Spanx” in the same sentence, much less in a title for a well-respected, Christian publication (who also happens to be one of my oh-so-patient publishers!). But I’m sick and tired of biblically sound theology being falsely typecast as a lofty, sterile subject matter pursued only by academics and seminarians. And when I get sick and tired, sassy stories that include things like puppy poo and undergarments are soon to follow!
Which I suppose is kind of the point because theology was meant to be lived, y’all. Our Creator Redeemer is not a proposition to be examined, He’s a triune personhood in whom we get to engage and hopefully emulate! At the end of the day, good theology doesn’t produce smug scholars, it produces grateful and passionately devoted—albeit still flawed—disciples of Jesus Christ.
Can I get an amen, somebody?