Psalm 63 // Longing for God above all else // Ron Dick
David writes this psalm in the barrenness of the wilderness—a dry, exposed, and unforgiving setting we would not choose for spiritual growth. Yet it is there, in a season of trouble, that his longing for God becomes unmistakably clear. Most of us know something of those wilderness places—moments when life feels stripped down and our deepest longings rise to the surface.
These are the moments when desire begins to speak a little louder, when something in us knows we need more than what we have been reaching for. Sometimes this longing shows up as exhaustion or emptiness; other times it rises through hunger—physical, emotional, or spiritual. Psalm 63 meets us right there, not with quick fixes or distractions, but with a gentle picture of what desire can become when it turns toward God.
David does not begin this psalm by recounting his troubles or defending himself against those who seek his life. Instead, he starts with a declaration of longing:
O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you.
He is physically weary, hungry, and thirsty, yet the first hunger he names is spiritual. Even in the wilderness, he directs his desire toward God. His confidence does not rise from any change in circumstance, but from remembering who God is. This is where abiding begins—not with trying harder, but with turning our attention back to the God who is already near in our trouble.
In the midst of these difficult circumstances, David’s longing is strikingly clear. Instead of reaching for comfort or control, he turns his desire toward God: “Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.” When everything else is stripped away, he discovers that the presence of God is not a last resort, but the very thing his soul was made for.
This psalm does not shame us for desiring. It simply redirects desire. It invites us to consider that the ache we carry—the unfulfilled hunger we often try to silence—might actually be pointing us toward the God who meets us in our wilderness places. Our desires, when we allow them to surface honestly, can become signposts leading us back to the One who alone satisfies.
In a culture that trains us to numb discomfort quickly, hunger feels like a problem to solve. But Scripture often treats hunger as a teacher. Hunger reveals where we are dependent. It exposes what we trust. It brings clarity to what truly matters.
We do not shut down our longings during Lent. Instead, we bring them into the presence of God. We let hunger reveal what we trust and rely on. It becomes a doorway leading us deeper into the love of God. Lent is not a season for striving to be “better Christians,” but a season of making room—room for awareness, room for longing, and room for God to meet us where we are. And when we slow down long enough to notice our hunger, we begin to see how often we try to satisfy ourselves with things that cannot ultimately give life.
As a church, we are learning that lasting fruit for God’s Kingdom grows from deep roots. We cannot rush transformation, and we cannot manufacture impact. But we can make room. We can slow down. We can bring our honest hunger before God and trust Him to meet us there.
This is the quiet work of Lent.
And it is never wasted.
Question to Consider
Where do you notice hunger or restlessness in your life right now, and what might it reveal about the desires shaping your heart?
Prompt for Prayer
Take a few quiet moments to bring your honest desires before God—without filtering them, minimizing them, or trying to solve them. Let your hunger become a place of conversation with Him. Ask the Spirit to gently redirect your desire toward the One who knows you, loves you, and meets you in your wilderness as you grow in abiding in Him.
