Back in July Dianne attended the annual reunion for her dad’s side of the family. While there, one of her 537,000 cousins, Linda, invited her to go with her to Nova Scotia to visit two of her grandkids. So, last month, Dianne and Linda flew to Halifax for several days. Both report a fine time was had by all.

Meanwhile, since Dianne is not fond of the mountains and I was tired of triple-digit heat in Texas, I retreated to Central Colorado. I had several reasons for hitting the road, but chief among them was to explore a new venue for my annual week of solitude that I wrote about in my book, Rigorous Grace: Practicing the Life of Jesus. While this trip was not as dedicated to solitude as what I describe in the book’s chapter on this practice, I still had plenty of time to discuss things in depth with Father God.

The house I rented has a desk situated in front of a picture window looking across an expanse of meadows and trees to the Wet Mountains, part of the Sangre de Christo range in the Rockies. Each morning, and most evenings, I sat at this desk and contemplated a short passage from Psalm 37 that reads…

“Trust in the Lord, and do good; / Dwell in the land and cultivate faithfulness. / Delight yourself in the Lord; / And He will give you the desires of your heart. / Commit your way to the Lord, / Trust also in Him, and He will do it” (3-5).

I studied this passage while sitting at my desk. I pondered it on the patio and while fishing Grape Creek. I thought while I walked the trails and drove the dirt roads. Most nights after crawling into bed I recited each line, considering carefully until sleep stole me away. Driving home across the volcanic geography of Northeastern New Mexico, the fertile Panhandle of Texas, and dropping off the Llano Estacado into the prairies of North Texas, I contemplated Psalm 37:3-5 phrase-by-phrase, verse-by-verse, and word-by-word.

I want to spend the next several articles taking you with me back into these three verses. The reason why is inspired by the last two words of verse 3: cultivate faithfulness. As I roamed the mountains discussing everything on my mind with Father, He consistently returned me to this: “Son, cultivate faithfulness—in yourself as well as those who read and hear your words.”

I landed in the Psalms, and upon Psalm 37:3-5 in particular, from reviewing Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s book, Life Together. Here, he recounts the church’s historical use of the Psalms as a book of prayers. Since all Scripture is God-breathed, in one sense, the Psalms are David’s prayers, as well as the others who penned prayer-poems, but in another sense, the Psalms are the prayers of Jesus. Bonhoeffer writes, “A psalm that we cannot utter as a prayer, that makes us falter and horrifies us, is a hint to us that here Someone else is praying, not we; that the One who is here protesting his innocence, who is invoking God’s judgment, who has come to such infinite depths of suffering, is none other than Jesus Christ himself. He it is who is praying here, and not only here but in the whole Psalter. The Psalter is the prayer book of Jesus Christ in the truest sense of the word.”

An unutterable, faltering, horrifying prayer? That started me thinking: As you know, for the most part I’m managing my growing technical isolation pretty well—for the most part. There are other times when I complain about the unjust, unethical—and illegal—compromise cloaking my voice. In addition to the Psalms, I’m reading—rereading—Alexandr Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago. I’m reading both for guidance on how to manage myself in an irregular environment while contending with my enemies.

Maybe the constrictions of the cancel snakes have me entangled worse than I realized.

Lately, I’ve not done a good job of keeping bitterness at bay. Bitterness is a dastardly foe that must be combated aggressively. If it takes root, it is hard to extract. So, I’ve been fighting against it—and losing. Thus, the drive to the mountains.

This concern and complaint occupied a fair bit of my outbound drive from Fort Worth to Colorado. As I discussed my concerns with God, my enemy consistently interjected, Since my writing no longer matters, why not stop? Do something more productive—and easier for that matter? About the time this thought came to me, I inevitably was passing a John Deere dealership. Disguising himself again as me, I could sell tractors. I’d like that—and I’d be good at it. I understand tractors. Farther down the road, No. I don’t want to work in a feed lot. Close to my destination, I stopped at a magnificent Ace Hardware to purchase a fishing license. The thoughts assaulting my head were so loud I looked around: I could work here. I bet they’re looking for employees [like me]. I could be a real contributor, instead of a silenced author. On and on. Blah, blah, blah. The voice of sin relentlessly interrupted my reverie. Driving through the TO Ranch, I heard, If they outfitted me with a four wheeler, I could check and mend fence. I could help. Sleep outside each night and look at the stars. Driving past the entrance gate, I could just turn in and ask. Couldn’t hurt. It would just be the antelope, cows, and me. That sounds wonderful. Dianne would be happy in a little house close to the ranch. I bet I could find something.

All of this mental-emotional wrangling was predicated on the false assumption that the work I do in response to God’s call in my life—writing—doesn’t matter because my voice is significantly curtailed.

Swinging back into focus, I hear the Holy Spirit’s thoughts in my head, Stay the course, son. Be faithful to what I’ve asked of you. You write and speak words of faithfulness to those who read your words. I’ll take care of distribution.

Out loud in the cab of the truck, in an effort to regain momentum, “Got it, Father. That’s my heart’s desire. I’m trusting you, best I know how. I believe you—and ask that you help my unbelief, please. Speak to me while I’m away, Papa. I’m stumbling in life way more than I’m walking. I’m really frustrated, but I’m trusting you.”

Fast forward a few hours and I find myself at the front of my week in Colorado with Psalm 37:3: “Trust me, son. Cultivate faithfulness.” Maybe the constrictions of the cancel snakes have me entangled worse than I realized, but slowly my breath and sanity returned as I hiked, and fished, and read, and stared out the window, and discussed matters with Father.

Now, I’m home again in Fort Worth. It is my intention to trust Father to express to you what He expressed to me as I labored to get my head above water while He nurtured and healed the deficit in my soul. I titled this article, Semper Fidelis. It means, always faithful. That’s what I want to be.

Faithful. There’s a mental component to this. There’s a practical component. There’s a spiritual component. But significantly, faithfulness is driven by the will as it is informed through your spiritual, mental, and circumstantial experience and determination. Then, once you decide on faithfulness, the Holy Spirit comes alongside to encourage, empower, enlighten, and implement.

One interesting story before I close…

I mentioned that I fished Grape Creek, a lovely river that’s about ten or fifteen yards wide with deep pools formed against house-size rocks at the end of long, shallow runs. The creek was an hour drive, all dirt roads, with the last thirty minutes a fairly demanding four-wheel drive excursion.

The first day I fished Grape Creek, I fished downstream and caught all Rainbow trout. The next time I fished the creek, I started at the same place: the end of the four-wheel drive road. Since I left my rod rigged, I used the same flies as before, but this day I fished upstream… and caught all Brown trout.

Of course, when you only catch one fish each day…. Ha! I didn’t count, but I caught less than a hundred each day… probably closer to seven or eight. Each was between eight and ten inches long, which is not bad for a high mountain fish in a small creek.

Each was beautiful. All still occupy the waters of Grape Creek.