Psalm 13
The beginning of a new year often carries the promise of fresh starts, but it does not always bring relief. Old burdens frequently follow us into new seasons, and sometimes new ones appear almost immediately. In those moments, it is natural to ask difficult questions: How do we make sense of this? How do we keep moving forward when nothing seems to change?
Psalm 13 speaks directly into that tension. David, the author of this psalm, is often remembered for his victories, his triumph over Goliath, his rise to the throne, and the visible blessing of God on his life. Yet Scripture does not hide the fact that David also endured long seasons of distress. He experienced betrayal, exile, war, family conflict, and extended periods where God seemed silent.
Psalm 13 gives voice to those moments.
A Psalm of Honest Questions
“How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever?
How long wilt thou hide thy face from me?
How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily?
How long shall mine enemy be exalted over me?”
(Psalm 13:1–2, KJV)
These opening verses consist entirely of questions—four of them, each beginning with the same phrase: How long? This repetition reveals the weight David is carrying. His pain has lasted long enough that it has begun to shape how he understands time, God, and himself.
Importantly, Scripture does not rebuke David for asking these questions. Instead, it preserves them. The Bible gives believers permission to lament. A lament is not faithlessness; it is faith expressing grief honestly before God.
When God’s Silence Feels Like Absence
David’s first concern is relational. He feels forgotten. God’s silence has begun to feel like God’s absence. This is not momentary frustration but prolonged suffering. David had prayed. He had worshiped. Yet nothing seemed to change. Eventually, the silence led him to wonder if this would last forever.
That single word exposes how deeply pain distorts perspective. When suffering drags on, it begins to feel permanent.
Yet God’s silence does not mean God has left. Silence is not abandonment. Often, it is an invitation to deeper trust. Just as a child may fear a parent has left the room simply because the house is quiet, believers can mistake divine silence for divine absence. In reality, God remains exactly where He has always been, on the throne.
I have seen this play out in my own home. A few years ago, one of my children wanted her own room. We made it happen, and she loved it, until nighttime came. Her room was on the opposite end of the house. It was quiet. It felt lonely. More than once, from the darkness, she would call out, “Are you still there?” I hadn’t moved. I hadn’t gone anywhere. I was exactly where I had been the whole time.
That is often how we experience God. Silence makes us wonder, but God remains present and attentive.
The Danger of Counseling Ourselves
“How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily?”
David’s struggle does not remain external; it turns inward. Because he feels alone, he begins to counsel himself. This is a familiar pattern. When God seems distant, our internal dialogue grows louder. Fears replay. Regrets resurface. Worst-case scenarios multiply.
Self-counsel apart from God never leads to peace. Instead, sorrow compounds daily. Without God’s voice shaping our thoughts, we spiral inward and lose perspective on what He has already done and continues to sustain.
I have seen this pattern throughout my life. Some people are wired to constantly imagine the worst possible outcome, rehearsing it repeatedly until anxiety becomes a way of life. The more we counsel ourselves apart from God, the more tightly worry grips our hearts.
When the Enemy Appears to Be Winning
David’s final question acknowledges the outward pressure of his circumstances. His enemies appear to be gaining ground. God seems inactive. The situation looks like defeat.
This is where discouragement becomes especially dangerous. When pain lasts long enough, faith can begin to feel pointless. Yet David understands something critical: how he responds matters. Others are watching. His endurance, or his collapse, will reflect what he truly believes about God.
Suffering is never private. It always bears witness.
I was reminded of this recently during something as ordinary as attending one of my son’s ballgames. Everything was going smoothly until I realized I didn’t have cash for admission. Frustration rose quickly. And then it hit me, people were watching how I handled a small inconvenience. Even mundane moments become testimonies.
David understood that his response mattered. He did not want his suffering to become an accusation against the faithfulness of God
From Complaint to Dependence
At this point, the psalm takes a decisive turn.
“Consider and hear me, O Lord my God:
lighten mine eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death.”
David stops questioning and begins praying with renewed dependence. He shifts from complaint to petition. Rather than assuming God is distant, he acknowledges that God alone can restore his strength.
The request to have his eyes “lightened” is a plea for renewed vitality, clarity, and endurance. David recognizes that without God’s intervention, he will collapse under the weight of his burden.
Choosing Trust Before Deliverance
“But I have trusted in thy mercy;
my heart shall rejoice in thy salvation.
I will sing unto the Lord,
because he hath dealt bountifully with me.”
These words mark the heart of Psalm 13. David chooses trust before deliverance. He looks backward at God’s mercy, stands firm in the present, and anticipates future salvation. His circumstances have not yet changed, but his posture has.
David’s declaration of trust in Psalm 13 finds a powerful parallel elsewhere in Scripture, one that helps clarify what genuine faith looks like when deliverance is uncertain. The story of the three Hebrew children in the book of Daniel offers one of the clearest biblical pictures of what it means to trust God without demanding a specific outcome.
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were not standing in a moment of abstract theology. They were facing an immediate, physical threat. The king had constructed an image and demanded worship. Refusal meant death. The furnace was real. The fire was visible. The consequences were unavoidable.
When the king offered them one final chance to bow, their response was remarkable, not because they denied the danger, but because they refused to make their obedience conditional.
They declared that their God was able to deliver them. There was no doubt in their minds about God’s power. They did not question His strength, His sovereignty, or His authority over the fire. But then they added a phrase that reveals the deepest level of faith a believer can reach: “But if not.”
In other words, even if God does not rescue us in the way we desire, even if the outcome is not what we hope for, even if obedience leads us into the fire instead of out of it, we will still trust Him. This is faith that says, even if not.
Like the three Hebrew children who trusted God’s power while surrendering the outcome, or Paul and Silas in Jail, David commits himself to worship regardless of what happens next. He resolves to rejoice and to sing, not because the pain has ended, but because God remains faithful.
Faith That Sings in the Silence
Sometimes trials pass. Sometimes one could pass through trials if God wills that it is what sends us home. Either way, God does not change. Psalm 13 teaches believers that faith does not require understanding; it requires trust. God’s ways remain higher than ours, His perspective broader than our own. There is no corner of creation beyond His authority and no moment outside His control.
When silence lingers and answers delay, the call remains the same: trust, rejoice, and sing. Salvation will come, whether in this life or the life to come. Until then, the song of faith continues, even in the silence.
Sermon preached on January 18, 2026
Jeremy Kamer Ministries 