Your Face, Lord, I Will Seek

Exploring Psalm 27 and the beauty of God’s covenant love. Learning to trust His heart, seek His face, and rest in His presence when life doesn’t make sense.

Psalm 27 has been my life psalm for as long as I can remember.

There is something about David that has always captivated me. His honesty. His passion. His willingness to pour out every emotion before God without trying to make himself look particularly spiritual.

David was a man who received extraordinary promises from God and then walked through circumstances that seemed to contradict everything he had been told.

Anointed to be king, yet running for his life.

Chosen, yet hunted.

Loved by God, yet crying out for Him not to hide His face.

And somehow, through all of it, David kept returning to one thing.

“One thing have I desired of the LORD, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the LORD…” — Psalm 27:4

Not the throne.

Not the fulfillment of his calling.

Not even an explanation for everything that had happened.

Him.

David wanted God.

And that has always been the cry of my heart, too.

But lately I’ve been wrestling with something.

How do you hold two seemingly contradictory truths at the same time?

How do you know God is faithful while experiencing circumstances that seem to contradict His promises?

How do you rest in His love when your heart is grieving and disappointed?

How do you let go when everything inside you wants to hold on?

When Faith and Lament Live Together

Something remarkable happens in Psalm 27.

David begins with such confidence.

“The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?”

He declares that even if an army surrounds him, his heart will not fear.

And then, just a few verses later, this same man cries out:

“Hear, O LORD, when I cry with my voice: have mercy also upon me, and answer me.”

“Hide not thy face far from me… leave me not, neither forsake me.”

Wait a minute.

Didn’t David just declare that he wasn’t afraid?

Didn’t he just proclaim his confidence in God?

Yes.

And now he’s pleading with God not to abandon him.

For much of my life, I wouldn’t have known what to do with those two expressions living side by side.

I grew up believing that spiritual maturity meant having the right response. Bringing the good things. Demonstrating faith. Overcoming doubt.

There was always an invisible should hanging over my head.

I should know better.

I should trust more.

I should be beyond this by now.

So when grief or disappointment came, my instinct was to correct it. To reason my way through it. To find the Scripture that would settle the contradiction in my mind.

But David doesn’t do that.

He allows his confidence and his lament to occupy the same relationship.

He knows God is faithful.

And he feels afraid.

He knows God is his help.

And he cries out for help.

His lament doesn’t cancel his faith, and his faith doesn’t silence his lament.

I am beginning to see that perhaps the contradiction doesn’t need to be resolved before I can rest.

Perhaps both can be brought into the presence of God.

The Covenant I Want to Understand

I’ve been wondering whether there is something about David’s understanding of covenant that we have largely lost in our Western way of thinking.

We tend to think in terms of agreements and outcomes.

If this happens, then that will happen.

A promise is made. A promise is fulfilled.

And when the circumstances don’t match our expectations, we begin searching for an explanation.

But covenant in the Hebrew Scriptures is so much richer than a transaction.

It is a relationship of enduring commitment.

One of the Hebrew words that helps us understand this is hesed.

It is often translated as steadfast love, lovingkindness, mercy, or covenant faithfulness.

It speaks of a faithful love that is not merely an emotion but a committed way of relating.

David knew God as the One who had bound Himself to His people in faithfulness.

And because of that, David could appeal to God’s character even when he couldn’t understand God’s actions.

“You have been my help; Do not leave me nor forsake me, O God of my salvation.” — Psalm 27:9

Do you hear his heart?

You have been my help.

I know who You are.

I know how You have loved me.

And I need You now.

David wasn’t approaching God as someone trying to earn His attention.

He was speaking from within a relationship.

I find that incredibly beautiful.

Because I have spent so much of my life trying to understand enough, believe correctly enough, and respond appropriately enough.

And I am discovering that covenant love invites me into something entirely different.

Not a relationship I must continually secure through my performance.

A relationship in which I am invited to receive the love that has already been extended to me.

That doesn’t mean covenant is without response, faithfulness, or responsibility. It means the relationship is far deeper than an exchange of good behavior for good outcomes.

And I want to learn how to live there.

Look at My Face

Some time ago, during a deeply meaningful time of prayer, I found myself holding on tightly to the way I believed things were supposed to unfold.

I had a picture of what the future should look like.

What God had promised.

How it would happen.

What it would mean.

And I sensed a gentle invitation.

Look at My face.

Not an explanation.

Not a detailed plan.

Just an invitation to look at His face.

I sensed that what lay ahead might not make sense to me, and that I needed to remember the love I had experienced in His presence.

I had spent so much time trying to understand His hand.

And I was being invited to look at His face.

That brings me right back to Psalm 27.

“When You said, Seek My face; my heart said to You, Your face, LORD, will I seek.” — Psalm 27:8

The Hebrew word for face, panim, can also carry the sense of presence.

David wasn’t merely seeking information from God.

He wanted God Himself.

His face.

His presence.

His beauty.

And suddenly I see why this psalm has always been so precious to me.

Because that is what I want, too.

Not simply to arrive at the destination.

Not merely to see every promise fulfilled.

I want Him.

Moses understood something of this when he said to God, “If Your Presence does not go with us, do not bring us up from here.”(Exodus 33:15)

What good was the Promised Land without the One who had promised it?

I keep coming back to this realization.

He is my Promised Land.

His presence is the treasure.

His love is the place I long to dwell.

And perhaps the greatest invitation of my life is to stop trying to understand everything long enough to simply receive Him.

A Lesson from Marlin and Dory

I know it might seem strange to bring a Disney cartoon into a meditation on covenant love, but I keep thinking about Finding Nemo.

Specifically, the scene inside the whale.

Marlin and Dory are hanging on for dear life, desperately trying not to be swallowed.

Marlin is terrified.

Everything he knows tells him that letting go would be disastrous.

But Dory has been listening to the whale.

And she believes he’s telling them to let go.

Marlin cannot imagine how letting go could possibly be the right thing to do.

It doesn’t make sense.

He wants certainty.

He wants a plan.

He wants to know what will happen before he releases his grip.

Dory doesn’t have those answers.

But she’s willing to trust.

And when they finally let go, the whale carries them through and sends them out through his spout.

I laugh every time I think about it.

Because I am so often Marlin.

I want to understand.

I want to know how this is going to work.

I want to reconcile every apparent contradiction before I release my grip.

And I want to be a little more like Dory.

Not because she has everything figured out.

Quite the opposite.

Dory enters life without needing to understand every detail first.

Marlin’s fear is understandable. He’s experienced terrible loss, and his instinct is to protect himself and the one he loves from ever suffering again.

But his attempts to control everything also keep him from experiencing the adventure unfolding around him.

And I recognize something of myself in that.

So much of my grasping has been an attempt to protect myself.

If I can understand enough, anticipate enough, and get everything right, perhaps I can avoid disappointment.

But understanding has never been able to give me the security that love can.

And I don’t want to turn becoming more like Dory into another performance requirement.

Another thing I should be.

Maybe I can be afraid and still let go.

Maybe I can admit that nothing makes sense and still trust the One whose love I have come to know.

Maybe surrender doesn’t require the absence of fear.

The Leaf That Doesn’t Understand Autumn

I’ve also been carrying another picture in my heart.

A leaf.

In the spring, a tiny bud opens, and a beautiful green leaf unfolds.

It drinks in the sunshine, dances in the breeze, and grows strong upon its branch.

This is life as the leaf knows it.

It belongs to the tree.

It has a purpose.

It knows its place.

And then autumn comes.

The days grow shorter.

The green begins to fade.

Gold and crimson spread across its surface.

Its connection to the branch begins to weaken.

And if the leaf could think as we do, perhaps it would panic.

What’s happening to me?

Why am I losing my strength?

I thought I was supposed to remain here.

I was created to be a leaf!

And all the while, the season is changing.

The leaf cannot see the larger rhythms of life.

It cannot understand how its falling will become part of the nourishment of the earth.

All it knows is that everything familiar is changing.

And it is time to let go.

I have felt like that leaf.

Holding tightly to what I believed my life was supposed to look like.

Grieving the loss of expectations.

Trying to understand why things seem to be changing when I thought I knew what was coming.

And hearing that same gentle invitation.

Let go.

Not because the grief isn’t real.

Not because the questions don’t matter.

But because I don’t have to understand every season to remain loved through it.

I cannot claim to know the purpose behind every disappointment. But I can learn to release my demand for an explanation before I allow myself to rest.

Learning to Remain

Jesus said something beautiful in John 15.

“As the Father loved me, I also have loved you; continue in My love.” — John 15:9

The word translated continue is menō.

Remain.

Abide.

Stay.

I love that word.

Because it isn’t a command to figure everything out.

It’s an invitation to remain in love.

And I am realizing that remaining may be one of the hardest things for someone who has learned to measure herself by what she understands and accomplishes.

My mind wants to solve the contradiction.

My heart wants to rest.

And I am learning that I don’t have to wait for my mind to finish its work before my heart can receive love.

I can grieve and trust.

I can be disappointed and remain.

I can have unanswered questions and still seek His face.

Perhaps that’s what David knew.

Not a secret formula for surviving adversity.

Not a way to suppress every uncomfortable emotion.

But a relationship in which he could bring his entire heart before God.

The beautiful parts.

The frightened parts.

The angry parts.

The disappointed parts.

And continue to call upon the One he loved.

One Thing

I return again to Psalm 27.

“One thing have I desired of the LORD, that will I seek after…”

One thing.

Not perfect understanding.

Not control over the future.

Not even the ability to reconcile every contradiction.

Him.

I think of David, pleading with God not to hide His face.

I think of Moses, unwilling to go forward without God’s presence.

I think of Marlin, clinging desperately while Dory invites him to let go.

And I think of that little golden leaf, trembling at the end of its season.

And I recognize myself in all of them.

I am learning to trust a love that doesn’t require me to have everything figured out.

A covenant love that can receive my grief without demanding that I first turn it into praise.

A love that doesn’t disappear because I am disappointed.

And perhaps most importantly, I am learning to stop scolding myself for not being further along.

I don’t have to perform surrender.

I don’t have to manufacture peace.

I don’t have to become fearless.

I can simply keep turning my face toward the One I love.

And when my thoughts begin to race, when I feel the need to understand, when everything inside me wants to grip a little tighter, I can remember the invitation that has followed me through this season.

Look at My face.

Because in the end, I don’t want merely to understand His ways.

I want to know His heart.

And I don’t want to spend my life so consumed with reaching the Promised Land that I miss the One who has been walking with me all along.

He is my Promised Land.

“Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart: wait, I say, on the LORD.” — Psalm 27:14

Perhaps waiting is not wasted time.

Perhaps it is where I am learning to remain.

And perhaps I can let go, not because I know what happens next, but because I am learning to trust the love I see in His face.

In everything you do -eat, play, and love- may it always be seasoned with Joy!