On Psalm 16 and the Dream That Has To Die




Kristyn, am I still good?

The question echoes between my heart and mind.

I know the right cognitive answer: “Of course you’re good.”
But my heart pushes back: “This doesn’t feel good.”
But my mind knows that I’m not supposed to base my theology on how I feel.
But my heart has been begging me to let it feel for far too long.

Maybe it’s not an either-or. Maybe this can ache in raw and weighty ways and God can still be good.

There’s been a constant assumption about my calling throughout my life story thus far. It’s shaped me: shaped my goals, my ambitions, those deep heart desires that drive the waking up every morning. Shaped my pursuits, my relationships, my expectations. Every young-heart hope, every high school ten-year forecast, every college course and resume-builder framed with it in mind. I honestly find it deeply challenging to conceptualize my image of myself without it. It’s familiar. Safe. Good. Expected.

So what happens when obedience looks like walking an entirely unexpected way?

When the trust Jesus calls me to means it’s messy? When the implications of when he asks me to be faithful are agonizing to the point of anxiety-driven physical pain? When the core of who I’ve always believed myself to be is questioned with the simple

Will it always be “Jesus + _____” or will simply “Jesus” be enough?

I wrestle and start to understand in the wrestling that even the good thing doesn’t belong in the place in my heart to which I’ve elevated it.

The realization begins to set in that this dream has to die.

This dream has to die.

And oh, I don’t want to give it up. Nothing about this makes sense. Every stubborn bone in my being fights back and heart-breakingly sincere questions flare to the surface:

Why would you place this desire in my heart if you have no intention of ever letting me experience the fulfillment of it?

How am I supposed to even know who I am without this?

Do you realize what good-hearted, well-intentioned people will say and how much their words will hurt?

Where do I go from here?

What am I supposed to do with all this fear?

Friends, can we be real for a minute and acknowledge that the answers don’t always come in a neatly packaged revelation from heaven, and that sometimes the Spirit lets us be painfully uncomfortable in the questions so that we have to dig a little further, peel back a few more layers, struggle with the tension with a deeper desperation to truly, actually know the heart of God?

Sometimes that looks like a tear-soaked journal at 5am, with me, half-awake, scrawling out the Scripture prompt to start my morning, and only slightly comprehending the words I’m writing through the blur. But one phrase sticks with me as I go about my day. One phrase that keeps making an appearance in my mind, and it sure doesn’t make a lot of sense. It’s not “relevant”. It doesn’t “speak to my situation”. And to be honest, I’m a little annoyed.

“The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places”.

Uh…nope. No, they have not, thanks.

“The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places”.

But, this boundary doesn’t make a whole lot of logical sense. If you adjusted the line just a little bit…

“The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places”.

Ok, but why does everyone else’s boundary line include their dreams coming true, and my dreams have to be murdered? Not fair. Not fair at all.

Kristyn, am I still good?

The question echoes between my heart and mind.

So I dig, I peel back the layers, I struggle, desperately, with the tension.

Psalm 16:6 “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places, surely I have a delightful inheritance.”

“Boundary lines”, in Hebrew, hă·ḇā·lîm from chebel (phonetic spelling: kheh’-bel), translated as any of the following: the lines, territory, sorrows, pangs, pain (as in childbirth), measured portion.

“Pleasant places”, in Hebrew, ban·nə·‘î·mîm, translated as pleasant, sweet, or delightful.

How can it be that the sorrows, the pain, the territorial lines in my story that mark “this far and no further” — in such blatant contrast to an identity held so closely — are sweet? How can this portion that is measured so starkly out of reach of my heart’s most familiar longing be pleasant?  I keep struggling, and back up a verse.

Psalm 16:5 “Lord, you alone are my portion and my cup;  you make my lot secure.”

This portion is different. Manah: food (nourishment), choice portion/best available.

In reference to relationship with God, the portion isn’t measured — it’s abundant. It’s nourishing. It’s an invitation to life. Maybe the boundary lines, not negating all their sorrow and pain, can be sweet because the portion that is the Lord is the only portion that I need.

It doesn’t have to be “Jesus + _____” because simply “Jesus” is more than enough. 

For in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form,  and in Christ you have been brought to fullness” (Colossians 2:9-10).

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10).

And the rest of Psalm 16, in the face of the honest questions and the raw ache and the very real fears, becomes a heart cry that I cling to and linger in:

“I will praise the Lord, who counsels me; even at night, my heart instructs me.
I keep my eyes always on the Lord. With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.
Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; my body also will rest secure, because you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead, nor will you let your faithful one see decay. You make known to me the path of life, you will fill me with joy in your presence,  with eternal pleasures at your right hand” (Psalm 16:7-11).

Maybe obedience looks like letting my heart feel the hurt, but finally whispering aloud through the tension of grief that this dream can die.

You are still faithful.

You. Are. Still. Good. 



4 thoughts on “On Psalm 16 and the Dream That Has To Die

  1. Carol Snoeyink April 14, 2018 / 2:54 pm

    Kristyn, you have know idea how you touch my heart today with this. Thank you for sharing your heart! Carol

    Sent from my iPhone



    • Kristyn Grace April 14, 2018 / 4:36 pm

      Oh Carol, I’m so glad. Sometimes the hardest things to write are the ones I need most to hear. Thankful it spoke to you as well. ❤


  2. Aunt G April 19, 2018 / 5:31 pm

    It’s a paradigm shift, to think of God having more expansive boundaries than anything we could ask or imagine. The territory he has planned for us is different than we planned. It is more. The life he planned for us is different. And it is more.

    More hardship.
    More blessings.
    More Jesus.
    So much more.

    Thank you for sharing your heart with us. Your testimony is encouraging.


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