Deliver Me

Note from the Author

Written approximately one week before my scheduled trial.
I am writing without the benefit of hindsight, resolution, or certainty about the outcome. I am writing while I wait—while the future remains unknown, and the weight of possible consequences is very real.

What follows is not an explanation of events, nor an attempt to read Scripture as a promise of escape. It is a prayerful wrestling with Psalm 25, written from within fear, hope, faith, and unresolved tension. These words reflect what I am bringing before God now, before I know what will happen next.

Deliver Me

Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
According to Your lovingkindness remember me,
For Your goodness’ sake, O LORD. — Psalms 25:7

My eyes are continually toward the LORD,
For He will pluck my feet out of the net. — Psalms 25:15

Look upon my affliction and my trouble,
And forgive all my sins. — Psalms 25:18

Guard my soul and deliver me;
Do not let me be ashamed, for I take refuge in You. — Psalms 25:20

These verses are a source of both comfort and internal conflict.
While I take great comfort in God’s mercy and grace, I find it difficult to embrace the promise of deliverance from shame. I find that what I need is a deeper understanding of what deliverance looks like.

David is not timid here. He asks God to forgive all his sins—not only the obvious failures of the present, but the sins of his youth. He entrusts even their memory to God: “According to Your lovingkindness remember me.” Not, remember what I did, but remember who You are.

David refuses to separate forgiveness from rescue.

“My eyes are continually toward the LORD,
For He will pluck my feet out of the net.”

The net is not only sin—it is the trap of self-contempt, the quiet belief that we deserve to remain bound. David dares to believe that God’s goodness does not merely cancel debt but actively intervenes to free the ashamed.

Still, the conflict remains. David asks again and again to not be put to shame, which suggests he feels it deeply.
That may be the hardest part of faith—not believing that God forgives but believing that He does not hold our forgiven selves at arm’s length.

But there is another tension here—one that runs underneath these verses like a second current.

These prayers are easy to hear as promises of escape.

“Guard my soul and deliver me.”
“Look upon my affliction and my trouble, and forgive all my sins.”
“Do not let me be ashamed, for I take refuge in You.”
“He will pluck my feet out of the net.”

In moments of fear, it is natural—even instinctive—to read that as protection from consequence. As though faithfulness might mean exemption. As though mercy might rewrite the outcome. As though deliverance must look like acquittal, or relief.

And there is comfort there. Real comfort.

But I also know that is not what these verses necessarily mean.

I could still go to prison.
The charges may still stand.
The earthly outcome may not change.

That is the conflict.

It’s not only the struggle to accept forgiveness; it’s the struggle to accept that forgiveness does not guarantee the kind of deliverance I most want

David himself is praying from inside that kind of uncertainty. He is surrounded by enemies. His prayers are not polished theological statements; they are survival prayers.
He asks God to remember him according to lovingkindness.
He asks for forgiveness.
He asks for deliverance.
He asks not to be put to shame.
He takes refuge.

Refuge is not the same as escape. Refuge is what you run to when the storm does not stop. Refuge is safety that exists even while danger remains. Refuge is the hidden place where your soul can survive what your circumstances may not spare you from.

Sometimes deliverance is external. Sometimes God plucks a person out of a trap in ways you can point to and name. But Scripture also reveals a deliverance that is deeper than outcome: deliverance from being undone. Deliverance from despair.

Shame does not only say, “You did wrong,” it says, “You are wrong.” And when consequences come—especially public ones—shame tries to convince you that: This is who you are. This is what you deserve. This is what God thinks of you.

That is the net.

David does not pray like someone who has secured the outcome. He prays like someone who has recognized a refuge. He does not sound like a man demanding certainty; he sounds like a man clinging to God while uncertainty presses on him from every side.

There is a kind of intimacy with God that does not come from understanding, but from being led—step by step—through fear, through uncertainty, through real affliction, without being abandoned.

So David waits.
He looks.
He takes refuge.

Not because shame is gone, but because God is faithful.

Because the deepest deliverance is not always escape. Sometimes it is the presence of God in a place you never would have chosen.

And that is the hardest part of faith—not believing that God forgives, but believing that He does not hold our forgiven selves at arm’s length… even when the path ahead is dark, even when consequences remain, even when we cannot see the next step.

A Closing Prayer

God of mercy,
I ask You for deliverance, and I ask You for honesty.
If You do not change the outcome I fear,
do not let shame interpret my story for me.
Guard my soul.
Be my refuge.
Remain near—whatever lies ahead.
Amen.