Seasons of the Soul - Week 2: Every Season Produces Thoughts, But Not Every Thought Tells the Truth
Seasons of the Soul - Week 2: Every Season Produces Thoughts, But Not Every Thought Tells the Truth
There are moments in life when nothing seems to make sense. We know what God has promised. We know what Scripture says. We know who He has revealed Himself to be. Yet our circumstances seem to tell an entirely different story.
Those moments are often where spiritual battles become most intense.
As Pastor Pat introduced in the first week of this series, God is the author of seasons, not only the natural seasons we experience every year, but the spiritual seasons we all walk through as followers of Christ. Just as winter requires something different from us than spring, every spiritual season calls for a different response. Some seasons are for sowing, others for harvesting. Some require celebration, while others require perseverance. The danger isn't that we experience different seasons. The danger is that we begin to misinterpret them.
Psalm 13 gives us an honest glimpse into one of David's difficult seasons. What's striking about the passage is that we aren't told exactly what was happening. We don't know whether he was fleeing Saul, hiding from enemies, or facing another trial entirely. That ambiguity is actually a gift because it keeps us from dismissing David's experience as unique to him. Instead, we recognize something familiar in his words.
"How long, Lord? Will You forget me forever? How long will You hide Your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts?"
Four times David asks the same question: How long?
This wasn't a passing inconvenience or a difficult afternoon. David had been living in this tension long enough that it felt like a season. And like every difficult season, it had begun shaping the thoughts inside his mind.
That may be one of the most important observations we can make from this passage: every season produces thoughts, but not every thought tells the truth.
Anyone who's ever replayed a difficult conversation understands this. We imagine what we should have said, assume what someone else must be thinking, and rehearse entire conversations that never actually happen. By the time we meet with that person again, we've often created a reality in our minds that doesn't exist.
Spiritually, we do the same thing.
When life becomes painful, thoughts begin appearing that seem completely reasonable in the moment. Maybe God has forgotten me. Maybe He cares about everyone else but not me. Maybe His promises aren't really for my situation. The longer a difficult season lasts, the easier it becomes to mistake those thoughts for truth.
Yet Scripture continually reminds us that thoughts must be tested, not merely believed.
The disciples experienced that very struggle in Mark chapter 4. Jesus had told them, "Let us go over to the other side."That was the promise before they ever stepped into the boat. Then the storm came.
The waves were real. The danger was real. Their fear felt completely justified. But somewhere between Jesus' promise and the middle of the storm, they began interpreting their circumstances instead of remembering His words.
They finally woke Jesus with a heartbreaking question: "Teacher, don't You care that we're perishing?"
It's difficult to criticize the disciples because most of us have prayed some version of that same prayer. We may not have spoken those exact words, but we've wondered why God seemed silent. We've questioned why He didn't intervene sooner. We've wrestled with whether His apparent silence meant He no longer cared.
What is fascinating is that Jesus never answered their accusation.
He didn't explain why He had been sleeping. He didn't justify His actions. Instead, He asked a question that exposed the deeper issue.
"Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?"
Jesus wasn't denying the existence of the storm. He was reminding them that the storm was never the highest reality. Before the wind ever blew, He had already spoken their destination. His Word had established the outcome long before circumstances suggested otherwise.
That's the same tension every believer eventually faces. Will we allow what we see to become more authoritative than what God has said?
Paul gives us practical language for that battle in 2 Corinthians 10 when he writes that we are to take every thought captive and make it obedient to Christ. Notice he doesn't say every thought is from Christ. He says thoughts must be examined and brought under His authority.
That is the real battlefield of difficult seasons.
David eventually reaches that place before Psalm 13 ends. Remarkably, nothing in his circumstances appears to change. There is no recorded breakthrough. His enemies haven't disappeared. The season hasn't ended. Yet his conclusion is completely different from where he began.
"But I trust in Your unfailing love."
Those words mark the turning point of the entire psalm.
David doesn't deny reality. He simply chooses not to let reality become the final authority. Instead, he anchors himself in the unchanging character of God.
For some of us, that confidence comes from years of watching God prove Himself faithful. We've seen Him provide when there was no provision. We've watched Him restore relationships that seemed beyond repair. We've experienced His healing, His guidance, and His faithfulness firsthand.
Others may feel like they don't yet have enough personal history with God to stand on.
That's one of the reasons Scripture repeatedly points us toward the testimony of others. Hebrews tells us to consider those who have gone before us and imitate their faith. Not their personalities. Not their methods. Their faith.
Every testimony reminds us that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.
That's ultimately the invitation every difficult season places before us. We will have thoughts. Some will lead us toward fear, others toward faith. Some will question God's character, while others will remind us of His promises.
The question isn't whether thoughts will come.
The question is which ones we'll choose to believe.