In many of David’s Psalms, he describes both unimaginable anguish and immeasurable grace. The two states sit side by side in the song, but the sovereign Lord has the final say.
The Psalm I read today — No. 6, where David is ailing and fleeing from his enemies — ends like this:
I am worn out from groaning; all night I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears.
My eyes grow weak with sorrow; they fail because of all my foes.
Away from me, all you who do evil, for the Lord has heard my weeping.
The Lord has heard my cry for mercy; the Lord accepts my prayer.
All my enemies will be ashamed and dismayed; they will turn back in sudden disgrace.
The Biblical commentator Matthew Henry explains the turnaround of events as such: “Having made his request known to God, the psalmist is confident that his sorrow will be turned into joy.”
And yet, one must still live in the in-between. Tonight we grieved for our friends and their baby God called home. A tiny coffin should never exist.
We await the day our sorrow is turned into joy, but for now, there is the taster: that baby J has an unblemished body up there, and is praising Him all day.