On my bed I remember you—
I think of you through the watches of the night.
I have a medical test coming up, and last night I lay awake spinning out possibilities. I’m not God, I’m not a doctor, and I don’t possess the facts. Even so, I want to believe I can figure it out.
So on my bed I remembered me—
I thought of me through the watches of the night.
It didn’t feel good, though. Each fantastical, self-absorbed thought was delicious, but made my heart sicker.
It reminded me of a time when I ate my way through several boxes of Screaming Yellow Zonkers.
← Not helpful.
But as I was crunching away on my anxious thoughts, I remembered Psalm 63:6, and it sounded like healthy food. Antipanic medicine for my soul.
I made an effort to do what the psalmist had done, to remember God. The line three verses earlier came into my mind:
Your constant love is better than life itself—
and so I will praise you. Ps. 63:3
What is this constant love that surrounds and holds my body, inside and out? It’s bigger, and certainly more interesting, than my obsessive thoughts about myself.
God knows the secrets that are in the darkness of my body, the secrets that doctors can only see (and even then, imperfectly) by doing tests.
Here’s what I fell asleep thinking: God knows the whole of me, and is not panicking. I have much to do in my life. Many things call me forward. So I’d better get on with it, and do what’s mine to do.