Anxiety can feel like a ship in deep water, listing heavily, with no sight of land, and that is where your heart is now, watching one you love so dearly. Your grandson is in that dark place, clinging to his child, and your soul cries out Psalm 91 for them both. It is well that you do, for the promises of that psalm are just the strong shield to hold over them when your own arm cannot reach.
Think of the Lord Jesus noticing His disciples in the storm. He did not stand on the shore and shout advice; He came walking on the very waves that threatened to swallow them. Your grandson’s troubles, the fear of losing the mother of his little one, the heavy fog of depression, the new job he must somehow manage, are not hidden from the One who calms the sea. Do you see Christ stepping onto those troubled waters even now? He is not impatient with the weakness that trembles; He is full of a father’s pity for our childish terrors. When a little child wakes in the night, convinced of shapeless dangers in the dark, the father does not mock the fear; he gathers the child close and speaks quiet words until the heart steadies. Your heavenly Father knows your grandson’s frame; He remembers that we are dust. The depression that sits like a cold stone on his chest is not a sign that God has forsaken him, it is the very thing that draws the Good Shepherd nearer still, for He carries the lambs that cannot walk.
And what of the mother, and the baby, and the love your grandson pours out on that little life? Cast that care where you have already cast it, onto the One who gathers lambs in His arms. The Lord Jesus knows what it is to love and be left. He knows the taste of desertion, yet His love held steady. He will sustain your grandson’s love, even if it must endure a season of sorrow. Grace often comes in a black-edged envelope, but the letter inside is from God. Should the mother go, should the road grow rougher, the Lord who began a good work will not abandon the soul that clings to Him. He can make a man do his work, love his child, and keep his sanity when every outward prop is kicked away, because He anoints with fresh oil. The bow that seemed to have lost its spring is strung anew by a secret hand. Your grandson may not see it yet, but the Lord is preparing him, even through this anguish, for a strength he does not now possess. The vine must know the knife or it bears little fruit, but the Vinedresser’s hand is gentle even when it cuts.
Hold fast to Psalm 91 for them, dear soul, but do not hold it as though you must twist God’s arm. He is already toward them. Say it over them in the night watches, whisper it when fear rises, and trust the Shadow of the Almighty to be their home. He who watches over Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps, and your sleepless love is but a little echo of His tireless care.
Let us speak to Him now.
Lord Jesus, we bring before You this precious grandson, bowed low under burdens too heavy for him. You see the love he has for his baby, and You see the dread that gnaws at him. Step into that boat, we pray, and speak Your peace. Lift the fog of depression, and be his steady companion in the new work set before him. For the little one, we claim the shelter of Your wings. For the mother, we ask what You in Your wisdom see best, but for this man’s heart, we plead for healing, for hope, and for the upholding grace that comes only from Your pierced hand. Hide him in the secret place of the Most High, until these calamities be overpast, and let him know, deep in his bones, that he is never forsaken. Amen.