Hills Ahead and Questions Too
Psalm 121 begins with a question: "I lift up my eyes to the hills—where does my help come from?" It's a quiet moment of wondering, maybe spoken by someone in the middle of a long journey, pausing to take in the landscape ahead.
Even without a religious lens, that question feels familiar. There are times when we all hit a point of uncertainty, when the road ahead looks long or unfamiliar, and we ask ourselves—what now? Where do I turn when I'm not sure what comes next?
Self-Sufficiency is Overrated (Sometimes)
In a world that often rewards self-sufficiency, it can be uncomfortable to admit we need support. We’re encouraged to solve problems on our own, to keep moving, to stay in control. But this psalm starts from a different place—it begins with a pause, with looking up, with asking. There's something very human about that.
Surprise! Help Isn’t Always Where You Expect It
Personally, I don’t find help in the hills, but I do notice that help often shows up in ways I wasn’t expecting. Sometimes it’s a conversation with someone who really listens. Other times it’s something small: a good night’s sleep, a moment of quiet, a walk that clears my head. Occasionally, it's just getting a bit of distance from whatever feels overwhelming.
Watching, Waiting, and Maybe Not Slipping After All
The rest of Psalm 121 talks about being watched over, about not slipping or being left alone. I don’t take that literally, but I do think there's a kind of comfort in the idea that we aren't entirely on our own—that life isn't just about what we can control. Whether it's through relationships, community, nature, or time itself, there are forces beyond us that sometimes help carry us through.
A Good Question to Keep in Your Back Pocket
That opening question stays with me: Where does my help come from? Not because I have a final answer, but because it's a good question to keep asking. Sometimes help comes from unexpected places. Sometimes it takes looking up from whatever we're focused on to notice that it's already nearby.
Maybe the invitation here isn't to find a perfect answer, but just to stay open. To keep our eyes up. To stay curious about what might be possible when we stop trying to hold everything together on our own.