Years earlier I’d memorized Psalm 139, and there in the black darkness of my bedroom, my mind whirring with doubt and fear, I’d whisper these words: Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol [the grave], you are there! If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.1 I was banking on these words being true, specifically the ones where David, the author of this psalm, said that, try though we
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