Psalm 13 opens with a prayer that is almost uncomfortable to hear read out loud:
“How long, O Lord?
Will You forget me forever?
How long will You hide Your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?”
Four times in two verses, David asks the same question: How long?
This is not polished.
This is not composed for public worship.
This is what comes out when the door is closed and no one else is in the room.
David is not wondering if God exists. He is wondering if God remembers. There is a difference.
He does not say, “Are You there?” He says, “Have You forgotten me?”
Then he goes further: “Will You hide Your face from me?”
That is covenant language.
In the Old Testament, when God’s face shines on someone, it means favor.
It means nearness.
It means protection.
“The Lord make His face shine upon you…”
But when God’s face is hidden — it means distance.
Silence.
Withdrawal.
David feels not only unnoticed…
but deliberately avoided.
Here is what makes this so important:
He says it to God.
He does not say it about God.
He does not whisper it to someone else.
He does not bottle it up in spiritual politeness.
He brings the accusation into the presence of the One he feels has gone silent.
That — strangely — is faith.
Because unbelief walks away.
But lament walks toward.
---000---
Waiting Is the Hardest Part
Most of us can survive pain.
People endure surgery.
They endure loss.
They endure diagnosis.
They endure long nights and hard recoveries.
What begins to unravel us is not pain itself —
it is waiting.
Unexplained waiting.
Unresolved waiting.
Unending waiting.
Waiting for test results.
Waiting for a job offer.
Waiting for the phone to ring.
Waiting for a prodigal to come home.
Waiting for a marriage to heal.
Waiting for grief to lift.
Waiting for a prayer to move from heaven’s voicemail into heaven’s action.
Pain hurts.
But delay destabilizes.
Because pain says something is wrong.
Delay says nothing at all.
And silence leaves us alone with our thoughts.
David says:
“How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?”
That phrase — wrestle with my thoughts — literally means:
to take counsel within my own soul.
In other words:
I am stuck in my own head.
Have you ever noticed that when heaven is quiet, your mind gets loud?
You begin to interpret everything:
This must be punishment.
God must be disappointed.
Maybe I didn’t pray correctly.
Maybe I didn’t believe strongly enough.
Maybe I’m being ignored.
Maybe this is permanent.
And with every passing day, sorrow stops being an event…
and starts becoming an atmosphere.
Day after day.
Morning comes — still no answer.
Night falls — still no change.
You wake up hoping something has shifted.
It hasn’t.
---000---
Scripture Is Honest About Waiting
Abraham waited decades for Isaac.
Joseph waited years in prison for a dream he did not understand.
Israel waited four hundred years in Egypt for a promise that felt forgotten.
David himself waited in caves while Saul hunted him like an animal.
Jeremiah waited in a pit for relief that did not come.
And John the Baptist — who once pointed to Jesus and said,
“Behold, the Lamb of God” —
later sent messengers asking:
“Are You the One who is to come…
or should we expect someone else?”
Even Martha waited.
Four days.
And by the time Jesus arrived, she said:
“Lord… if You had been here…”
Which is another way of saying:
Where were You?
---000---
God Often Answers Slowly — On Purpose
And this is the part we do not like to say out loud:
Sometimes God delays — deliberately.
Not because He is indifferent.
Not because He is distracted.
But because time is part of how He forms trust.
We assume faith is built in the answer.
But Scripture suggests faith is built in the interval.
Between prayer
and provision.
Between promise
and fulfillment.
Between “Lord, help”
and “It is finished.”
Anyone can trust when the sea parts.
Faith grows while the waves are still rising.
Anyone can worship when Lazarus walks out of the tomb.
Faith is formed on day three…
when the stone has not yet been moved.
Waiting stretches us into people who trust God not for what He does —
but for who He is.
And that is the shift Psalm 13 is moving toward.
But David is not there yet.
Right now — he is still sighing.
“How long, O Lord?”
---000--- THE SILENCE
After the questions come the requests.
And notice how simple they are.
David does not ask for strategy.
He does not ask for revenge.
He does not ask for explanation.
He asks for attention.
“Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death.”
Three requests:
Consider.
Answer.
Light up my eyes.
That’s it.
Look at me.
Speak to me.
Strengthen me.
Because right now, I am fading.
***** “Consider Me”
The first request is almost childlike:
Consider me.
Or as other translations put it:
Look on me.
Notice me.
Turn toward me.
It’s the longing to be seen.
Not glanced at in passing —
but truly noticed.
You know what that feels like.
To sit across from someone and know they are not really there.
Their eyes are on their phone.
Their thoughts are somewhere else.
They nod — but they are not present.
You can feel the difference between being in someone’s line of sight
and being in someone’s attention.
David is not asking God to become aware of his situation.
God already knows.
He is asking God to turn toward him relationally.
In Scripture, the gaze of God is never neutral.
When God looks — He blesses.
When God looks — He remembers.
When God looks — He acts.
That is why the ancient blessing says:
“The Lord make His face shine upon you…”
Because the face of God turned toward you
means favor.
Means belonging.
Means care.
And David feels the opposite.
He feels unseen.
Ignored.
Overlooked.
***** “Answer Me”
Then he says:
Answer me.
Not eventually.
Not someday.
Not in heaven.
Now.
Say something.
Break the silence.
Because unanswered prayer does something to the human heart.
It creates doubt — not always about God’s existence…
…but about God’s willingness.
We start out asking:
Is God able?
But over time we begin asking:
Is God willing?
Can He help?
Becomes:
Will He help?
And that question — left unanswered long enough —
begins to echo.
You pray again.
Nothing changes.
You pray again.
Still nothing.
You open your Bible hoping for a word.
You hear a sermon hoping for clarity.
But the heavens feel like brass.
And your prayers feel like they are hitting the ceiling and falling back into your lap.
---000---
The Silence of God Is Not New
This is not the experience of the modern skeptic.
This is the experience of the faithful.
Job prayed for explanation — and got chapters of silence.
Habakkuk cried:
“How long, O Lord, must I call for help,
but You do not listen?”
Even Jesus, in Gethsemane, prayed:
“If it is possible, let this cup pass from Me.”
Three times.
And heaven did not answer with deliverance.
Instead:
An angel came and strengthened Him.
Strength —
but no escape.
Presence —
but no removal.
And sometimes that is how God answers:
Not by changing the situation —
but by sustaining the soul inside it.
*****“Light Up My Eyes”
David’s final request is the most revealing:
Light up my eyes.
In Hebrew poetry, dim eyes are a sign of life slipping away.
This is not poetic exaggeration.
David is saying:
I am losing heart.
I am tired.
Not physically —
but spiritually.
Emotionally.
Relationally.
He is tired of hoping.
Tired of asking.
Tired of waking up into the same unanswered prayer.
Tired of trying to stay faithful when faith feels like work.
This is not rebellion.
This is exhaustion.
And there is a difference between unbelief
and exhausted belief.
Unbelief walks away from God.
Exhausted belief collapses at His feet.
Sometimes faith looks like praise.
Sometimes faith looks like obedience.
And sometimes faith looks like this:
“Lord… I don’t have anything left.”
---000---
When Hope Gets Heavy
Hope is a beautiful word — until you have to carry it.
At first, hope feels energizing.
We expect things to change.
We expect God to move.
We expect relief to come.
But when hope stretches across months…
or years…
It begins to weigh something.
You keep showing up.
You keep praying.
You keep trusting.
But quietly, in the back of your mind,
a question forms:
How long am I supposed to do this?
How long am I supposed to keep hoping?
Because hope deferred — Scripture says —
makes the heart sick.
And David feels that sickness.
Which is why he says:
“Light up my eyes…”
Restore me.
Before this waiting kills something in me.
---000--- THE TURN
Verse 5 begins with a single word: But.
“But I have trusted in Your steadfast love…”
That word is the fulcrum of the entire psalm.
Everything before it is sigh.
Everything after it is song.
Here’s what you have to notice:
Nothing in David’s circumstances has changed.
His enemies are still there.
God has not yet spoken.
No prayer has been visibly answered.
No rescue has arrived.
There is no breakthrough between verse 4 and verse 5.
No miracle.
No message from heaven.
No sudden reversal.
And yet…
David turns.
Why?
What Changed?
Not the situation.
David changed where he was looking.
Up to this point, David has been looking at:
God’s behavior
God’s timing
God’s silence
His own thoughts
His enemies’ success
Everything visible.
Everything measurable.
Everything circumstantial.
But in verse 5, David shifts from:
What God is doing…
to
Who God is.
“But I have trusted in Your steadfast love…”
That phrase — steadfast love — is the Hebrew word hesed.
It’s one of the richest words in the Old Testament.
It doesn’t just mean affection.
It means covenant loyalty.
Faithful love.
Love that stays when it would be easier to leave.
Love that keeps its promise even when you are too tired to keep yours.
Hesed is not based on mood.
It is based on commitment.
It is not emotional warmth.
It is relational loyalty.
David is saying:
I don’t understand Your timing.
I don’t like this silence.
I don’t see the outcome.
But I know the kind of God You have proven Yourself to be.
---000---
Remembering Rewrites the Present
David doesn’t get new information.
He gets new perspective.
He remembers.
He remembers the pasture where God delivered him from the lion.
He remembers the valley where God delivered him from the bear.
He remembers the battlefield where God delivered him from Goliath.
He remembers caves where God sustained him when Saul hunted him.
He remembers prayers that were answered.
Mercies that were given.
Rescues that arrived.
And suddenly the present is not the only story being told.
Because memory is one of the ways faith survives waiting.
You trust a surgeon not because today hurts less…
…but because of every successful surgery that came before.
You trust a pilot not because of this turbulence…
…but because of every safe landing in the past.
And David trusts God not because today is easier…
…but because God has been faithful before.
Nothing around him has changed.
But something inside him has.
Faith Before the Finish Line
Listen carefully to what David says next:
“My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation.”
Shall.
Future tense.
He is not rejoicing yet.
He is choosing in advance.
To rejoice in a salvation that has not yet arrived.
That’s faith.
Faith is not pretending the storm is gone.
Faith is trusting the Captain while the waves are still hitting the deck.
Faith is not denying the darkness.
Faith is believing the dawn is already on its way.
David moves from:
“How long will my enemy triumph over me?”
to
“My heart shall rejoice…”
Before anything improves.
That is the turn.
Trusting God’s character
when you cannot trace His hand.
---000---
Singing Ahead of Time
And then he says:
“I will sing to the Lord,
because He has dealt bountifully with me.”
Notice the tense.
Has dealt.
Past.
David looks back and says:
You have been good to me.
Even here.
Even now.
Even before this prayer is answered.
He sings — not because the crisis is over…
…but because the covenant is secure.
Because hesed has not changed.
Because God’s loyalty is not up for renegotiation.
And when David anchors himself there…
the sigh begins to lift.
---000--- CHRIST IN THE SILENCE
Psalm 13 does not end the story.
It prepares us for Someone who would one day pray it
from the deepest silence imaginable.
On the cross, Jesus cried:
“My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”
Those are the opening words of Psalm 22.
But the experience behind them…
is Psalm 13.
“How long?”
How long would the silence last?
How long would heaven remain closed?
How long would the Father’s face remain hidden?
On the cross, Jesus experienced what David feared.
Not the feeling of abandonment…
but abandonment itself.
The One who had always known the Father’s presence
now faced the Father’s silence.
No voice from heaven saying,
“This is My beloved Son.”
No angel strengthening Him in the garden now.
No rescue.
No interruption.
Just darkness.
Just nails.
Just silence.
---000---
The Hidden Face
David asked:
“How long will You hide Your face from me?”
At the cross…
God did.
The face that had shone upon Israel for generations
was turned away from His own Son.
The communion that had existed from eternity
was interrupted.
The fellowship that had never been broken
was now eclipsed.
Jesus entered the deepest possible:
“How long?”
Not wondering if God remembered Him —
but knowing exactly what it meant
to stand where remembrance had been withdrawn.
So that you would never have to stand there.
---000---
Silence — So You Won’t Be Alone
Jesus waited in the silence
so your silence would never be abandonment.
He experienced the unanswered cry
so that your unanswered prayers
would never mean you are forsaken.
He entered the God-forsaken place
so that even when God feels hidden to you…
He is never gone from you.
Psalm 13 asks:
“How long, O Lord?”
The cross answers:
Not forever.
Never forever.
Whatever silence you walk through now —
you walk through it with a Savior
who has already walked through worse.
And came out the other side.
---000---
The Song on the Other Side
David said:
“My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation.”
Jesus secured it.
David said:
“I will sing to the Lord…”
And because of the resurrection…
you will.
Because the silence of Saturday
gave way to the song of Sunday.
The sigh was not the end of the story.
The cross was not the end of the story.
And whatever waiting you are living in now…
is not the end of yours.
---000--- CONCLUSION
Psalm 13 begins with a sigh:
“How long, O Lord?”
It ends with a song:
“I will sing to the Lord,
because He has dealt bountifully with me.”
That is the journey of faith.
From: Why?
To: Help.
To: Trust.
To: Praise.
Sometimes that journey takes time. Sometimes you live in verses 1 through 4 longer than you ever expected to. But verse 5 is still there.
Even when nothing has changed around you… something can change within you.
You can remember:
God’s steadfast love has not moved.
God’s covenant loyalty has not weakened.
God’s salvation has not failed.
And because of Jesus…
your sigh will not be your final sound.
If you can’t sing yet —
whisper.
If you can’t whisper —
cling.
Because somewhere between the sigh
and the song…
faith is learning to trust.
And the One who began that work in you will not leave it unfinished.
---000--- Appeal
If you are in a season of waiting…
if you are carrying hope that has grown heavy…
if you have been whispering “How long?” more than “Hallelujah”…
I want to invite you to do what David did.
Not pretend.
Not suppress.
Not perform.
But bring it to God.
Bring the question.
Bring the ache.
Bring the exhaustion.
And then — before anything changes — anchor yourself in who He has proven Himself to be.
Trust His hesed.
Trust His covenant love.
Trust the Savior who walked through silence so you would never walk alone.
---000--- Prayer
Father,
Some of us are sighing tonight.
We have prayed.
We have waited.
We have hoped.
And the answer has not yet come.
You are not offended by our questions.
You are not threatened by our tears.
So we bring them to You.
Look on us.
Answer us.
Light up our eyes.
And where nothing has changed around us,
change something within us.
Teach us to trust Your character
when we cannot trace Your hand.
Anchor us in Your steadfast love.
And when the time comes —
turn our sigh into song.
In the name of Jesus,
who entered the silence
and came out singing,
Amen.
