David isn't saying God knows everything in general. He's saying God knows him — when he sits down, what he's about to say before he says it. Then he tries to think of somewhere God isn't, and can't. Not heaven, not the depths, not the dark. What's striking is where he lands: search me. He's been describing being completely known and he asks for more of it.

Today's line to finish: God, the part of me I'd rather You didn't look at is…

Say your own version to Him. Whatever's actually true.

Psalm 92 is written for the Sabbath — but it isn't restful in the way you'd expect. It's a man looking at people who are doing well by doing wrong, and deciding out loud that God sees further than he does.

Today's line to finish: It looks like they're winning, and I…

Say your own version to God. Whatever's actually true.

David talking to himself, telling his own soul not to forget. He lists what God has done — forgives, heals, redeems, crowns — and then does the arithmetic on how far our sins have been taken from us, which turns out to be as far as east is from west, a distance that doesn't have a number. And at the end he says why God is gentle with us. He knows how we're made. He remembers we are dust.

Today's line to finish: God, what I've forgotten that You did for me is…

Say your own version to Him. Whatever's actually true.

It opens with an accusation. Not a complaint about circumstances — a question put straight to God about God. Why have you left me. He says he cries out and gets no answer, day and night. He doesn't take it back later, and the psalm doesn't resolve quickly. Jesus said the first line of this from the cross, which means it is not a prayer you have to be ashamed of praying.

Today's line to finish: God, where I can't find You right now is…

Say your own version to Him. Whatever's actually true.

David wrote this after he'd slept with another man's wife and had the man killed to cover it. He doesn't explain himself. He doesn't spread the blame. He says it plainly to God and asks to be made clean — and he's still asking God for joy at the end of it, which is the part most people wouldn't dare.

Today's line to finish: God, You know exactly what I did, and I…

Say your own version to Him. Whatever's actually true.

This one is a pile of fragments — a procession, a battle, a rainstorm, and it doesn't argue itself into order. The pieces only fit if you're paying attention. What holds it together is who God is to the people at the bottom: a father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, the one who sets the lonely in families and walks prisoners out singing. And a line that assumes today is not exceptional. Day after day he bears our burdens.

Today's line to finish: God, what I'm carrying today that I'd like You to carry is…

Say your own version to Him. Whatever's actually true.

David wrote this after years of being hunted — Saul chasing him from cave to cave, and then it was over. He starts by piling up names for God because one won't do: rock, fortress, deliverer, shield, stronghold. And in the middle of the rescue he gives a reason for it that has nothing to do with his own merit. He rescued me because he delighted in me.

Today's line to finish: God, the thing You got me out of that I've stopped mentioning is…

Say your own version to Him. Whatever's actually true.

David isn't saying God knows everything in general. He's saying God knows him — when he sits down, what he's about to say before he says it. Then he tries to think of somewhere God isn't, and can't. Not heaven, not the depths, not the dark. What's striking is where he lands: search me. He's been describing being completely known and he asks for more of it.

Today's line to finish: God, the part of me I'd rather You didn't look at is…

Say your own version to Him. Whatever's actually true.

Psalm 92 is written for the Sabbath — but it isn't restful in the way you'd expect. It's a man looking at people who are doing well by doing wrong, and deciding out loud that God sees further than he does.

Today's line to finish: It looks like they're winning, and I…

Say your own version to God. Whatever's actually true.

David talking to himself, telling his own soul not to forget. He lists what God has done — forgives, heals, redeems, crowns — and then does the arithmetic on how far our sins have been taken from us, which turns out to be as far as east is from west, a distance that doesn't have a number. And at the end he says why God is gentle with us. He knows how we're made. He remembers we are dust.

Today's line to finish: God, what I've forgotten that You did for me is…

Say your own version to Him. Whatever's actually true.