One of my favorite hymns is based on Psalm 139:23, “Search me, O God, and know my heart; Try me, and know my thoughts.” While I love the melody, the psalmist’s prayer has always seemed intimidating to me. What might God find hiding in the recesses of my heart and mind? The idea felt similar to asking someone to go through all my drawers and closets, then file a public report on their contents.
Like most private people, I’m horrified if my purse spills out for all to see. Once, when I was very ill and convinced that I was dying, I lay in bed and stared at my bedroom closet wondering who would be assigned the task of cleaning it out, agonizing over the embarrassment of someone else seeing my messy closet. So, you can imagine my mortification one Sunday when I came home to my cabinet doors hanging open and the drawers so jumbled, they would not close.
This event happened during our first pastorate where we lived right next door to the church. One Sunday morning, a few ladies were preparing for an all-church dinner during the morning service. It seems they suddenly realized they needed some more utensils, so one of them had the idea to run next door and look for it in my kitchen. Her intention was not to invade my privacy; there was a spatula emergency.
Isn’t that what would happened if I genuinely prayed Psalm 139:23? God would show up with a search warrant and rummaging through my heart and mind, while I stood by helplessly, feeling invaded.
Then, one day in French class at Olivet Nazarene University (ONU), my professor used this verse as her devotional thought. She only spoke French in class, so she read,
“Sonde-moi, ô Dieu, et connais mon Coeur! Éprouve-moi, et connais mes pensées!”
We had a brief discussion about the meaning and connotations of the French verbs compared to the English verbs used in that verse. The curtain went up for me, and I began viewing this verse in a new and reassuring way. After that day, my understanding of the prayer is something like this:
Sound me out to see how deep I am, just like when a ship sends sound waves into a large body of water to measure the water depth and know my heart in the way my life-long soulmate knows, the way a mother knows her baby’s cry, the way I knew how it felt when my mother brushed my hair. Verify me, help me to know my worth, and be so familiar with my thoughts that none are hidden from you.
The verse was no longer about being invaded; it was about having a relationship.
This process of sounding out, knowing, and verifying reminds me of the first time I wanted to bake a batch of cookies on my own. I had watched and helped my mom bake hundreds of cookies, but I wanted to do it myself this time. My mom thought that was a good idea, but she worked around the kitchen to stay close in case I needed help.
Once the ingredients were all mixed together, I asked her if my cookie dough was right. She didn’t look at the bowl from across the room and nod; she came over to me, took the spoon, and stirred it herself. I watched her face, hoping she would say, “It’s perfect!” However, she said, “Looks good, but you need to add a bit more flour.”
I gladly added more flour, and my feelings were not hurt. I was grateful! She had saved my cookies from being a flop. She was the master baker, and I trusted her; I knew she wanted me to succeed. It was the way our relationship functioned
God doesn’t have spatula emergencies; He just wants to test the dough.
