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From How Long to Lead Me Home

Psalms 13; 43:3

Life in faith is a roller coaster ride.

Abuse.
Addiction.
Arrest.
Jail.
Estrangement from my children.
Homelessness.
Doors closed by background checks—for housing, for work, for stability.

Over and over, I have faced the depths of despair.

Psalm 13 gives language to those moments when prayer feels repetitive and unanswered—How long, O Lord? How long will You forget me? How long will You hide Your face? How long must I carry sorrow in my heart all day long?

This is not polished faith.
It is exhausted faith.
Faith that keeps asking because it has nowhere else to go.

The psalmist does not rush past the anguish. He names it. He lingers there. He allows the ache to speak honestly before God. And yet—almost without warning—the psalm turns.

“But I have trusted in Your lovingkindness.”

Not because circumstances changed.
Not because the enemy stopped boasting.
But because God had not stopped being God.

That turn amazes me every time.

My spirit can be crushed one moment and, the next, quietly anchored again in what is still true: I am not abandoned. I am not forgotten. My salvation does not depend on my situation. God has dealt bountifully with me—if not always in comfort, then always in mercy.

I am continually surprised by how quickly my spirit turns—not because life improves, but because God meets me again in the dark and reminds me who He is.

And somehow, once more, I find myself able to sing.

But singing does not mean confusion has vanished.
Trust does not mean the path is suddenly clear.

That is where Psalm 43 gives me my next prayer.

“O send out Your light and Your truth, let them lead me;
Let them bring me to Your holy hill
And to Your dwelling places.” —Psalm 43:3

It is tempting to read this as a prayer for resolution—for a house, a job, restored relationships, or a return to something that once felt stable.

But the psalmist names a different destination.

The light and truth of God are not asked to lead him out of suffering so much as to lead him to God Himself. The holy hill is not a metaphor for success. The dwelling place is not ordinary security. It is the nearness of God—His presence, His reality, His faithfulness.

I have prayed for many outcomes.
Relief.
Restoration.
Vindication.
A way back to what was lost.

Those prayers are not wrong.

But Psalm 43 gently reorients my longing.

The destination is not a house.
Not a job.
Not even reconciliation with my family—precious as that would be.

The destination is God Himself.

If His light leads me, I am not wandering.
If His truth guides me, I am not lost.
And if I arrive in His presence—even with unanswered prayers still in my hands—I have not failed to reach home.

From How long, O Lord?
to Lead me.

This is the quiet journey of faith—
not a straight line upward,
but a repeated turning back toward the One
who has never stopped being there.

Prayer

O Lord, when my prayers are reduced to How long?, teach me not to stop praying.
When my eyes grow dim, enlighten them again with Your light and truth.
Lead me—not merely out of trouble, but into Your presence.
When outcomes remain uncertain and restoration feels distant,
steady my heart in the knowledge that You Yourself are my home.
Amen.