Many years ago when I was living in Dallas attending seminary, I received a phone call that led me to a tiny, dirty garage apartment. I was met at the screen door by a man with a 12-gauge shotgun. He invited me in. We sat for over an hour at a tiny kitchen table with a naked light bulb hanging above it. He poured out a heartbreaking story. He had just been released from the hospital, recovering from back surgery. He was alone, having lost contact with his wife (and their only son) when his marriage failed many years before. As we talked of the man's intense struggles, I noticed that his small apartment was full of pictures—all of them of his son at various stages of growth.

There were photos taken of the boy when he was still in diapers. Others were with his dad when the lad was graduating from kindergarten. Still others showed him in his Little League uniform with a bat over his shoulder . . . on and on, right up through high school. The man's entire focus centered upon a marriage that had failed and a boy he no longer was able to enjoy. Those nostalgic "misty, water-colored memories of the way we were" held him captive in a prison-house of regret and despondency. Unfortunately, my attempts to help him see beyond the walls of his anguish proved futile. In less than a week, he shot himself to death in his car, which he had driven deep into the woods in East Texas. To him, life was no longer worth the fight.

It's normal to grieve after a significant loss. Grief is the painful process of adjusting to a new set of circumstances. As acceptance takes place, grief subsides, giving way to joy again. Sometimes, however, grief can lead to hopelessness instead of acceptance. That's despondency. Perpetual, downward-spiraling hopelessness.

It is not necessary to read Psalm 13 many times to detect some despondency in David. Like my lonely friend in the apartment, the psalmist feels down. Forgotten. It is that age-old "nobody seems to care" syndrome. Despair may not be too strong a description of his emotional temperature. My grandfather would have said "he's under the pile." We understand! I'm convinced it is these mutual feelings that cause us to be drawn to the psalms on our blue days. David feels miserable. No one knows the reason for certain; the background of many of the psalms remains a mystery. Nevertheless, his words resonate with our own painful feelings when we're "under the pile."

It's humbling to think that the Creator of the universe, whose power, knowledge, and goodness know no limits, actually cares about us and loves us individually and personally. Think about how difficult it would be to reach the CEO of a major corporation to discuss your problems with a product. Or imagine trying to get a few moments alone with the President of the United States to talk about your foreign policy concerns. We all know how poorly that would turn out. It's not their fault; with limited time and energy, they have to prioritize. Furthermore, we who have large families sometimes find it difficult to stay current with all our little ones. Keeping up with the daily lives of our ten grandchildren could turn into a full-time job; almost impossible for mere man. So, the fact that the Ruler of the universe takes personal care of me is more than I can fathom. He takes a personal interest in each one who trusts in Him. He adds oil to our grind of feeling overlooked by reminding us of His personal interest.

Perhaps as you read this you feel alone, deserted. What a distressing, barren valley is loneliness! But listen! If you have the Lord Jesus Christ as your personal Savior, you have a constant Companion and Friend. He never leaves you in the lurch. This psalm is proof positive that He does not consider you unimportant or overlook you. He isn't irritated by your coming to Him with your needs. He never looks upon your prayers or requests as interruptions. Even as James reminds us: He gives "generously and without reproach" (James 1:5). He provides good gifts without "variation or shifting shadow" (1:17).

Do you know why? The answer is Grace—sheer, undeserved, unmerited, unearned favor. Therefore, right now, cast your feeling of insignificance and despair on Him. Tell Him that you are claiming this Eighth Psalm as a promise of His personal grace, concern, and love for you.

Remember, this is a psalm "on the Gittith." David composed it perhaps as a victory hymn after defeating the giant, Goliath. I challenge you to take that personal "giant" of feeling overlooked and ask God to give you victory over it today. Who knows? Another Goliath could fall by sundown.

David concludes his song with a benediction, the same words he used in the doxology: "O LORD, our Lord, how majestic is Your name in all the earth" (Psalm 8:9). We add to David's benediction our own affirming response: Amen.