The wicked lie in wait to destroy me, but I consider all your testimonies. Psalm 119:95
This world offers us no real stability. Sooner or later, everything we lean on begins to shift beneath our feet. If our security is in a job, we live with the quiet fear of losing it. If it’s in money, we feel the tremor of every wobble in the economy. If it’s in a person, uneasiness rises the moment their humanity shows through—selfishness, fragility, inconsistency. All of these crack the illusion of safety. And when wickedness enters the picture, our sense of well-being can feel threatened to its core.
A person who has “set their sights” on God’s child—especially when their heart is open to Satan’s influence—does not simply forget and move on. There is a dark, persistent mission at work. When the believer is blessed, they secretly long for calamity. When God’s servant stumbles or suffers, they feel a twisted satisfaction. They rejoice over the bad news of someone God loves.
One of the hardest parts of today’s scripture is this: David eventually called some of his former companions “enemies.” Elsewhere in the Psalms, he writes with raw honesty about betrayal from those he once trusted. That kind of wound cuts far deeper than the opposition of a stranger.
And the sobering reality is this: not all wickedness is far from the things of God. It can live under the same roof. It can sit in church pews. It can share our last name. The people closest to us can quietly “have it in” for us. We sense it—even if it never erupts into open hatred. We feel their discomfort with our good news, their private relief when we fail, their subtle delight in our humanness and weakness, and their envy of our gifts. It is the kind of hurt that is hard to forgive because it taunts us in the dark. The enemy loves to run those scenes on repeat in our minds.
Into all of this, God offers Himself as refuge. “Hide me,” becomes our prayer. We hide ourselves in the Word—ultimately, in the living Word, Jesus—and discover that His comfort is enough for every trembling moment.
He understands betrayal from the inside. He received the kiss of Judas and all that came with it. He felt the fickle devotion of the crowd—celebrated with palm branches one day, shouted down with “Crucify Him!” the next. When the ground beneath His feet shook, He slipped away to pray. He went “home” to His Father for stability, strength, and reassurance.
He has already walked the path we are on. And in His footsteps, we find our own way forward: not by denying the pain, not by pretending people cannot wound us, but by anchoring our hearts in the only One who will never change, never betray, never rejoice in our hurt.
When everything else shifts, He remains.
Every word I need, You are. Amen
Daughters of promise 