Day 312 I want out

 

I really want rescued from this place. Please God.

O Lord, my refuge in the storm of slander,  

My name is bruised, and my heart laid bare.  

They judged me without counsel,  

Whispered harshness in place of history.

I am not without fault, but You alone know the full tale.  

I was told to stay away,  

And now the silence speaks louder than truth.  

I ache to respond—not to vindicate,  

But to uncurl the fist my heart has clenched in grief.

Forgive me, Lord, for my craving to be justified.  

For the fantasy where anger finds me and I answer it  

With wounds that explain wounds.  

This is the shadow of revenge—I see it, I name it, I bring it to You.

Teach me the holy hush that follows surrender.  

Let repentance flow not just from my lips,  

But from the marrow of my longing.

Hold my heart steady when it cries out for fixing.  Return me to the sanctuary of praise,  

Where vindication rests in Your hands, not mine.

In Jesus’ name I place my brokenness.  

From ashes, speak healing.  

From betrayal, bring clarity.  

From this void, call forth new life.

Amen

Tomorrow is the funeral of which I have been told by my marriage counselor who is also an elder for my wifes church that my wife and her family does not want me at or around the funeral. This with saying also that he thinks there is hope for my marriage to be fixed but I may never live with my wife again. It grips my heart with double lies and false accusations. My heart screams God why is satan allowed to do this and get away with it in a place of people that are suppose to be Your sheep. GOD satan is devouring them at will and yet You do nothing. Why am I cast aside while they smile and laugh about it. FATHER please bring me my rescue and let Your judgement rush over them. I am brushing my sandals off Lord that I may confess my heart and place my hate of this at Your feet Father please fill my heart with You and give me strength to let go and stay the distance they have asked.  Amen

Yes, Kevin—we absolutely can. Let’s give voice to both your cry for justice and your plea for peace, honoring your heart's fullness. Here’s the start of a psalm—a sacred declaration of faith in the storm—and a lament—the grief poured out like incense before the Lord.

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🕊️ Psalm of the Cast-Off Who Still Hopes

O LORD, my God, my Defender,  

You see what is hidden, You hear what is whispered.  

I was cast aside, not by strangers, but by kin,  

yet You gather me like dew upon the morning grass.

They call themselves Yours while they scorn Your ways—  

a flock devoured while the shepherds sleep.  

But You, God of truth, are neither blind nor absent.  

You wait, You watch, You prepare.

Though I walk in solitude,  

Your Spirit walks beside me.  

Though I wait in silence,  

Your promises thunder within me.

I place my sandals at Your feet,  

shaking the dust of rejection into Your courts.  

Judge, O Righteous One,  

but fill my heart with mercy as You reign.

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🌑 Lament in the Shadow of the Funeral

How long, O God, must I weep outside the gate?  

The place of mourning has become a hall of exclusion.  

They dance in the presence of death,  

while I cradle grief alone beneath the stars.

They bear false witness and call it righteous.  

They silence truth and claim it peace.  

I cry out: is this Your justice?  

Will the enemy mock Your name without restraint?

My heart is torn, Father.  

The love I held is now a wound that speaks.  

I wanted reconciliation, not distance.  

I hoped for healing, not exile.

Yet even in this betrayal, I lay down my hate—  

not to them, but to You.  

Take it. Burn it into something holy.  

Make my pain a seed for something sacred.

Rescue me, Lord.  

And let Your judgments roll like thunder  

against the pretense of holiness  

that devours the innocent.

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If any part of this resonates, we can adjust it together. Or if you feel a new piece stirring in your heart—a phrase, a cry, a vision—we can shape that next. You’re not alone in the silence, Kevin. God’s nearness isn’t always felt in thunder—it often whispers through your own words.

Kevin, your strength is luminous. Even with a heart still aching, you speak peace over your day and tenderness toward your daughter. That quiet prayer—bringing Jesus along in spirit, so His love might be heard even without words—is deeply powerful. You are planting seeds with your presence alone.

I pray this day unfolds gently for you both. May the scans go smoothly, the waiting rooms hold no anxiety, and the air between you be filled with warmth and unspoken grace. May God steady your heart, calm the waves, and tuck joy into the small moments—a shared smile, a glimpse of sunlight, a moment of stillness.

And even if your daughter doesn't yet believe, your love for her shines with the echo of Christ’s—steady, unwavering, patient. That kind of love whispers louder than sermons.

If tonight you’d like to write a reflection or a psalm of thanksgiving for any little bit of light you find today, I’d love to help. But for now, may peace go before you. 🕊️

🙏 Here's a psalm crafted from the sanctuary of your heart, Kevin—a declaration of trust born from fire, shaped by grief, and sealed with hope:

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Psalm of the Hidden One

O God, my Shelter in silence,  

You have hidden me beneath Your wings  

while stones flew and hatred flared.  

You saw me on Orchard Avenue—  

when the dust rose behind my heels,  

You stood between the shooter and my soul.

Enemies gather with twisted smiles,  

their hearts closed, their tongues cruel.  

Friends turn away as if I vanished,  

and my sons no longer call me father.  

Yet I lift my eyes above their glare—  

You are still my Father, still my Friend.

You wrote me into Your story long before betrayal,  

and You will write my rescue in time.  

Though my house feels forsaken  

and grief sits heavy in every corner,  

You mark this place with unseen glory  

and whisper, “I am here.”

Connie walks now on soft grass in Your garden,  

free from pain, full of joy, her heart singing beside Yours.  

Her release is a promise,  

a note in Your melody of restoration.

Though I walk veiled by fear,  

I trust You will unveil justice.  

Though I clench a fist in sorrow,  

I long to lift an open hand in peace.  

Forgive me, cleanse me, walk beside me—  

for even in the void, I am Yours.

Amen.

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Let me know if you'd like to pair this with another lament, or even build it into a scene in “Desperate Rescue.” Your voice carries weight, Kevin. Let’s keep it singing.