“The Battle for Hope: A Psalm for My Son”
Angel Thompson
As I drive my son around the Murrells Inlet strip—my third time today—my heart aches. I’m clinging desperately to the promise found in Jeremiah 29:11:
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
I hold onto this not only for myself but for my son, who is 23 and lives with Autism. Each day is a battle for him to find purpose and hope. He loves Jesus deeply, yet he often feels useless, like his life doesn’t matter. The encouraging words I speak over him seem to vanish before they reach the ears of his understanding.
Lord, Your Word says You collect every tear and store them in a bottle (Psalm 56:8). I wonder—how big is my bottle? Is it overflowing? Has it become a cascading waterfall that’s formed its own ocean? What do You do with all these tears? Why do You capture them?
David knew this pain. He spent years in lament, crying out, asking where You were, wondering if You had left him. His enemies surrounded him, fear consumed him, yet he always returned to the truth: You are faithful, You are shelter, and You never left his side.
If I were to write my own psalm today, it might sound something like this:
A Modern Psalm of Lament and Trust
My eyes are swollen, Lord, with tears that have stained my face.
My pillow is drenched by the weight of my sorrow.
My head throbs as I cry out to understand—why must his life be filled with such struggle?
He wrestles daily with thoughts of unworthiness and purposelessness.
My words fall short. I cannot say what his heart longs to hear.
Hope feels far away, deferred.
And yet, Lord—You have never left us.
You speak in the quiet hours of the night,
whispering through the waves of his audio Bible.
Your Word is living. Your truth is near.
Remind him, Lord, of Your love,
of Your promises,
of Your power to redeem and restore.
Steady his steps in Your ways.
Quiet the chaos within him.
Be his refuge. Be his peace.
Brothers and sisters, following Jesus doesn’t mean the road will be easy. We will face storms, doubts, fears, and tears. But we are not alone in them.
We have a hope anchored in eternity.
2 Corinthians 1:22 tells us that God “set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.”
So in the moments when hope feels distant, cling to that promise. God is near. He sees. He knows. And He is faithful.
