David’s Song of Praise

Scripture Anchor:

“[David] said:
‘The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation.He is my stronghold, my refuge and my savior—from violent people you save me.’”
— 2 Samuel 22:2–3 NIV

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Soundtrack Echoes:

“I get up, and nothing gets me down” — Van Halen, “Jump”

“I know where I belong, and nothing’s gonna change that” — For Today, “Devastator”

“Nevertheless, my rescue was for certain” — Demon Hunter, “I Am A Stone”

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Field Notes from The Walking Paths:

Where do you run when trouble comes?

Lately, some of my biggest trouble hasn’t been someone outside trying to hurt me—it’s been inside me. Health scares that made my breath catch. Pain that kept showing up in my chest and wouldn’t leave until the medics did.

When it comes to certain types of interpersonal conflict I’ve run—more than once—straight into the arms of rage. Old instincts. Fire. Fury. But with my health? When I fell off that ladder and blacked out in a new-build home while working—I didn’t run to rage. I ran to God. Or maybe I reached for Him. Asked for His presence. His mercy. His healing hand.

I’ve built a lot of false fortresses in my life, friend.

Bars. Bottles. Music. Pleasure-seeking. Beats. Books. Lists. Streams. Screens.

Some of those helped.

Some just numbed.

Some damn near killed me.

Music’s always been like prayer to me, or meditation. Maybe even more like that rope they used in Poltergeist to move from this world into the otherworld and remain tethered to the world they knew. Playing guitar over loops I built in the dark hours helped keep my hands moving when my heart didn’t want to. Genealogy helped anchor me to complex chains of events that led to people I love and care about and even myself, when I felt like I didn’t belong to anything.

But these are temporary shelters. Temporary doesn’t mean evil—it just means fragile.

But the fortress of alcohol? The fortress of chasing after fun times just to escape the weight?

Those weren’t fortresses. They were traps. Sandbags pretending to be stone.

The real stronghold showed up the day I nearly died.

I was unconscious in a home that I was helping to build. A ladder, the floor, a flatline moment.

But the rescue squad came.

And they knew what to do.

The heart wasn’t working right, but they were. And behind their hands—I believe God was working too.

They rushed me to the hospital.

We waited for almost a full day for surgery, feeling nauseous and pukey all day long.

Then came the bigger moment.

The moment I knew I might not make it.

I had to trust that God would do what He was going to do. That whatever came next—life or death—it would be for the good of those who love Him.

And I’m one of those people.

And I had to face it.

In the operating room. They put me under.

My heartbeat slowed way down—too low to sustain anything but sleep, maybe not even that.

A pacemaker got installed. It’s been working well.

And here I am.

Alive.

Not by my strength.

Not by my cleverness.

But by grace.

By a rock I couldn’t build myself.

That’s what trust looks like in the furnace.

Not feeling safe.

Just trusting anyway.

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Reflections + Prompts

• Where do you run when trouble comes?

• What’s been your fortress in the storms of life—was it stable? Was it real?

• Do you believe God is strong enough to shield you now, not just in the next life?

• What’s one moment in your past where you felt delivered or protected—even if you didn’t understand it at the time?

Name the refuge that failed you.

Name the one that held.

Name the one you want to trust moving forward.

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Echoes:

The word refuge shows up twice in this short passage.

Not once.

Twice.

David knew what it meant to hide.

He wasn’t just surviving—he was resting in God.

Let’s try that.

Even when the storm doesn’t pass right away.

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From The Road

The Walking Paths, my first book, is still well underway and coming along.

More to come. More to walk. More to build on the Rock.

Stay grounded,

— Rivers 🌀