The Preserving Prayer Book of The Neurodiverse
You may have read the last couple of posts in The Prayer Book of the Neurodiverseand thought, you know, I’ve tried this and it doesn’t work. I’ve prayed, I’ve told God how I feel, I’ve poured it all out, raw and honest. I’ve even recalled His goodness and His glory, I’ve returned to the Psalms to remember who He is and the promises He makes. But I don’t feel held together. I don’t feel any peace coming in alongside me to take hands with my grief, and there certainly isn’t any hope in my heart. Just tears in my eyes. This is where I come back to Psalm 88. Remember that confusing Psalm right in the middle of the Psalter? The one that ends not with recollections of God’s steadfast love, but with a statement about God’s apparent cruelty? “You have caused my beloved and my friend to shun me; my companions have become darkness” (vs. 18). While at first glance it may seem like a Psalm of defeat, a closer reading will prove it to be the oil for your lamp, burning in the long night, preserving your soul when all else is lost.
Psalm 88 teaches us that the pivotal journey found in the Psalter is neither linear, nor fast. In a typical lament, we see the progression from pain to praise in a mere 15 verses. In the two to three minutes it takes us to read said verses, we witness the pivotal moment when despair turns to hope. Maybe if you are prone to pushing away negative emotions, you are relieved that the early, depressing part of the Psalm didn’t last for too long. But, the troubles of taking care of a loved one with developmental or psychiatric disabilities do not resolve over night. Furthermore, the emotional, mental, and spiritual toll it takes to both witness and manage their unique suffering is severe and chronic1. So if you’re like me, you might feel discouraged because your journey from pain to praise isn’t progressing quite as quickly as it may appear to in the Psalms.
Psalm 88 reminds us that the lived experience of the lament Psalms isn’t always quick and tidy. In fact, despite their quick progression on paper, a close reading of the lament Psalms reveals that the suffering described has been long. Take, for example, the Psalmist’s complaint that he is as dry as a dessert. To make this comparison, we must assume that he has gone without water for a long time. To compare his heart to grass that has withered, he has been in the scorching heat with no reprieve for more than an afternoon. To cry that his flesh clings to his bones, whether we take this literally or metaphorically, it implies that he has missed more than just a meal. The oft repeated question “How long, O Lord?” indicates that the silence has endured for much longer than expected. The Psalms do take us on an upward trajectory towards hope and praise, but let’s not heap despair on top of despair by making the assumption that the journey happens in one quiet time, in one church service, or even in one year. Let’s be careful not to judge ourselves, others, or even God too quickly when we are living in what I like to call “Day 2” suffering.
We tend to focus on Day 1 and Day 3, Good Friday and Resurrection Day. Personally, I think “Day 2” was likely the most tortuous of all, and perhaps the most relatable to those of us here in this broken world who are waiting for ultimate restoration when Jesus returns. What do you think the disciples were doing and feeling on “Day 2”? Jesus’ mother? How do you think they woke up feeling that Saturday? Opening their eyes, feeling intuitively that something wasn’t right, that tragedy had come, and then remembering. Getting out of bed and into the new reality of Jesus’ death. Stepping into the day ahead of them, trying to cope with His overwhelming absence. I imagine them looking out at their lives ahead of them, wondering how to go on after their hopes and dreams were shamefully demolished. What now? Why go on?
Are you in a “Day 2” of your own? I find that I am. The blow of diagnosis days have passed and now I am living in the ruins. We are crawling along, trying to figure out how to adjust to our new reality. Trying to figure out how to live a life in which every day is grueling, but our struggle no longer qualifies as a crisis. I am standing at the beginning of a long, long road, knowing that without a miracle or some serious medical advances, our situation will not improve at best, but may deteriorate at worst. After getting my hopes up time and again at the prospect of a new medication, new strategies, new therapy, a new product, only to have those hopes put to shame, I am tired. I am calling out to God, but I am discouraged from day after day of seemingly unanswered prayer. I am recalling the steadfast love of Jesus, but I feel so alone when that love does nothing to resolve the meltdown, make the phone call, or halt the chaos. I am holding onto the promises made to me in scripture, that God is working all things together for the good of those who love Him (theoretically, me!), but I feel hopeless in the overwhelming evidence to the contrary. I am in “Day 2”.
Psalm 88 is a “Day 2” Psalm. It may seem like a hopeless Psalm, but it is oil for your lamp when the night is dark, and preservation for your soul when it is long. It is full of instruction, and even hope if you pay close attention. It instructs us to keeptalking, to keep turning to God with our provocative, personal, polar emotions. That very act is a hopeful act, because it conveys faith in the fact that the pivot will come, no matter how long the night lasts. The Psalmist still has hope. If he didn’t, he would have ended the conversation. As we, too, continue our conversations with God without resolution, Psalm 88 reassures us that despite the persistent darkness, we aren’t doing it wrong, and neither is God. God graciously put this prayer in the Bible because He understands the wrestle of faith this side of eternity, He wants you to know that He understands it, and that you don’t need to be afraid that something unexpected is happening to you. We have not missed out on the promise. It is still there waiting for us. God has not failed to keep His promises, we have simply failed to understand them. The quick and tidy peace and joy we think we should have has not been promised to us at all. What has been promised is preservation. You may experience affliction, maddening perplexity, and be struck down again and again, but the promise is that you will not be destroyed (2 Corinthians 4:7-12). Incredible suffering, but with divine companionship.
In Isaiah 42:1-3 God promises that “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.”
I began this series describing what it means to live as a watchman. To be living in the darkest of nights, waiting for the morning light. My hope is that through this series, you have been inspired to keep your lamp burning, and have come to realize that the Psalms are a gracious gift, the oil that keeps your lamp burning. Morning is coming and the Psalms are glorious fuel for the fire that will get us through the darkest hours, but we cannot forget that the night is long. We cannot speed through the process and think that the lamp hastens the night to become day. We cannot speed through “Day 2”.
As I have studied the Psalms, I have come to realize that I am beat up, laying on the ground, weak as can be— but, man, I am still His. My soul still belongs to Him. He is still the God of my life. I am still destined for heaven. And I still know that joy comes in the morning. It’s no small thing to be able to say “I am still here“. As long as you keep your face up to the light, you will not be destroyed. Don’t end the conversation with God because it doesn’t seem like anything is changing. Keep your eyes turned up. Keep talking. Keep your lamp burning with the help of the Psalms. The morning will come, and your face will not be ashamed (Psalm 34:5).
Please don’t misunderstand. My loved ones are not a burden I wish to shed, and I don’t mean to imply that yours are either. But two things can be true at the same time: you can love, appreciate, and cherish your loved one, while also being exhausted by the way the fall has brought brokenness and difficulty into your, and their, life. ↩︎