"Terrified of forgetting God"

This one opens with an apology and closes with a blessing, and the whole thing in between is fear.

He starts by apologising for posting out of the blue, and in case someone's asked it before. Then he says he loves God, and that God is unendingly good. He describes moments where joy comes over him and he ends up on his knees praising God.

And then what happens after those moments. He says a heavy sinking comes, and a fear of the time in between. He's afraid it was the last time. The last time he'll praise him, the last time he'll feel that.

He says he knows faith is more than a feeling. But he's terrified of forgetting God. He's doubted before. He's had to fight to praise him before. And he's afraid that this time he won't be filled, and that he'll go numb the way he says he so often does in all the time between.

He tells us he reads Scripture every day and has been through the New Testament once and is going again. He says he knows he should trust God, that God is faithful, that Jesus is the Way, the Truth and the Life.

And then this. Knowing that scares him, because he knows what he stands to lose if he forgets.

He says his mind floods with the problems of the day and he's left sitting in bitterness and sadness. He apologises again — for the post being in the wrong place, for being depressing. Then he thanks everyone, and blesses them, and ends with praise the Lord.

"I am terrified of the time in between."

There's a surface question here, though he never quite asks it. How do I keep this. How do I stop the feeling from leaving.

But look at what he's actually afraid of, because he's precise about it. He isn't afraid of the numbness itself. He's afraid of what the numbness means. That going cold is the beginning of forgetting, and forgetting is the beginning of losing him.

So every high moment arrives with a countdown attached. He can't be in the joy, because he's already watching for the end of it. He says the sinking comes after the joy passes, but read it again — it comes because he knows it will pass.

And there's a second thing, quieter. He says knowing that Jesus is the Way scares him, because of what he stands to lose. The truth he holds has been turned into stakes. It's not resting on him. It's what he could lose.

So the real question isn't how to keep the feeling. It's this. When I go numb, is he still holding me — or am I the one holding on.

There's a man in Scripture who went numb in the middle of the night and wrote down what he did about it.

Psalm 77 — and I'm going to take it in two halves, because the halves are the point.

Asaph starts in the dark. My hand was stretched out in the night, and didn't get tired. My soul refused to be comforted. I remember God, and I groan.

Then this, verse five. I have considered the days of old, the years of ancient times.

He's doing what this man does. Looking back at when it was better and measuring today against it. And it makes him worse, not better.

Verse seven, the questions come. Will the Lord reject us forever? Has his loving kindness vanished forever? Has God forgotten to be gracious?

Listen to the last one, because it's this post upside down. This man is terrified of forgetting God. Asaph's fear is that God has forgotten him.

And in verse ten he says something honest. This is my infirmity. My weakness. He doesn't dress it up as insight.

Then the psalm turns, and how it turns is the whole thing.

He doesn't get a feeling back. Nothing descends on him. He makes a decision, in verse eleven — I will remember Yahweh's deeds; for I will remember your wonders of old.

And then he does it, deliberately, out loud. He goes to the exodus. The waters saw you, God. The waters saw you and they were afraid. He talks about the sea and the thunder and the lightning, things that happened long before he was born and had nothing to do with how he felt that night.

And the last line of the psalm is this. You led your people like a flock, by the hand of Moses and Aaron.

That's the ending. Not I feel better. Not the joy came back. A sentence about God leading people who were not steering themselves.

The remembering in that psalm isn't a feeling that arrives. It's a thing he does with his mouth when nothing is arriving.

Which is the opposite of what this man fears. He thinks forgetting God is something that will happen to him while he isn't looking. Asaph shows remembering as something you do on purpose, in the dark, when you feel nothing at all.

And on the fear underneath it, one passage, plainly.

In John 10, Jesus says his sheep hear his voice and he knows them and they follow him. Then: I give eternal life to them. They will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.

Then he says it a second time, differently. No one is able to snatch them out of my Father's hand.

He says it twice, about two hands.

Notice who's doing the holding in that sentence. Not the sheep. Sheep are not famous for their grip. The security in it is entirely on the shepherd's side.

This man is terrified that his own grip will fail — that he'll go numb, and forget, and lose him. But nothing in that passage depends on the sheep holding on. It depends on whose hand they're in.

So here's the one thing to do.

The next time the numbness comes, don't check whether you still feel him. That's the thing making the dread. Do what Asaph did instead — say one thing God has actually done, out loud, to him. Not something you feel. Something that happened.

He led his people like a flock. He raised Jesus from the dead. He came and got me, this year, when I wasn't looking for him.

And say the fear itself to him too, in the same breath. I'm afraid that was the last time. I'm afraid I'll go cold and forget you.

Nothing is promised about how that will feel. Asaph's psalm ends without the joy coming back. It ends with him talking about a shepherd.

"I am terrified of forgetting God."

Asaph ends his psalm in the same night he started it, with nothing changed except what he'd been saying out loud.

You led your people like a flock, by the hand of Moses and Aaron.