The longest my husband and I have ever been apart is eleven days. He went on a mission trip to Malaysia many years ago, and my young son and I spent most of our time counting down the days until we were all together again. I struggled to sleep at night while William was on the other side of the world. The distance between us couldn’t have been any further, geographically speaking. I felt his absence at night when there were no layers of defense against potential and imagined home invasions that only seem threatening when my husband is out of town. To feel safe, I stacked a wall of pillows in our bed and slept with my back pressed against them. Ever the side-sleeper, I curled my arms and legs around another body-length pillow so that I was truly surrounded by pillows. Pressed in by cotton. As silly as it sounds, I felt hedged in, even if every bit of the whole thing was an illusion of both danger and safety.
There is comfort in being pressed in, of feeling the presence of the one who makes you feel safe on every side.
This morning, I woke up with the phrase from Psalm 139:5 on my mind. I poured some coffee, stretched in the darkness of 5:30 a.m., and sat down on the couch with my Bible. I worked through the passage of Acts I’m studying with my small group, but once finished, I turned the page to the words that wouldn’t stop interrupting my train of thought. “You hem in me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.”
Like an itch that must be scratched, I had to read the words over and over. In their greater context, the psalmist extols the nearness of God. It’s impossible to escape the presence of the one who created the universe. Wherever you go, he is there. Whatever you think, he already knows. Whenever you sleep, he is awake. Whenever you wake, he is still there with you. There’s no hiding from the one who knit your body and soul together. And while the inability to hide from God might strike fear in the hearts of some, I believe the psalmist paints a picture of being delightfully pressed in by God.
Translations vary in their approach to the word David uses in verse 5 to describe this pressing in. Some lean toward a military analogy, others a tightknit closeness. Encircled, hemmed, enclosed, hedged, beset, and (a personal favorite) squeezed in. Whatever the original intent, I see reassurance in every synonym. This enclosure is meant to be a comfort, a presence felt and recognized. On the heels of a description of God’s intimate acquaintance with our thoughts, habits, actions, sleep patterns, and words comes the phrase that makes his knowledge not fearful but comforting: You hem me in, you encircle me, you enclose me, you beset me, you squeeze me in. The definition for the Hebrew word here includes the word “cramped.” Delightful, I thought, smiling at my Bible in the early morning light. Cramped. The Lord is cramped in around me on all sides. And lest you worry that that is again a fearful thing, David follows it with the phrase, “you lay your hand upon me.”
I remember many nights curled up in my children’s beds waiting out a stomach bug or other ailments. My kids always want me close when they’re sick, so when they were small enough for me to wrap myself around them, I would. And like my mother did for me, I always laid my hand on their cheeks for assurance that mom wouldn’t leave. It’s a gentle gesture David is depicting here. You lay your hand upon me. You’ve surrounded me with your presence, and you lay your hand upon me. This is what it means to feel safe on all sides.
We have so many pictures of God in Scripture depicting his might, his power, his holiness, his wrath, his justice, his otherness. He is all of those things. But he is also gentle. And near. And fully invested in the individual lives of the people he has called to be his own. He is a Father who loves his children, who surrounds them with himself, a hand on their cheek, so they know he will never leave or forsake them. He presses in, hems us in behind and before. Encloses the space around us so there is no gap. Delightfully, blessedly, kindly—there is no escape. No matter where I go or stay, whether I sleep or rise, whether I feel him or not, he is there. On all sides. Squeezed in close.
We don’t always feel that the Lord is near. When life is hard, when grief is deep, when loss is the biggest thing in the room, we quickly wonder where God is. Surely he has left me in the darkness of my pain. Surely he isn’t present when I hurt this much. But Scripture can tell our hearts how to feel when we fear we are alone. Scripture tells us what is real in the depths of sadness and pain. Paul explains in Romans 8 that if we are in Christ, there is nothing in heaven or on earth that can separate us from God’s love. Nothing in creation, no circumstances, not even death. Nothing at all. We are hemmed in by his love. It surrounds us on all sides. We saw his love at the cross, and we’ll see it until we see him—when we’ll never again doubt its depth, breadth, and height.
As someone who struggles regularly with physical pain, I’m often asked how I get through it. I don’t have any other answer than this: God loves his people by being with them. He never leaves. He is in the shadowed valley, the raging sea, the Philippian prison, the dark night of the soul, the hospital room, the sleepless night, the lonely bedroom, the nightly walking of the floor with a body on fire. His love, his present, faithful love squeezes in around us. We’re positively cramped by his love. That’s how you get through it.
Wherever he calls you, Christian, he also goes. His gentle hand is on you.
We saw his love at the cross, and we’ll see it until we see him—when we’ll never again doubt its depth, breadth, and height. Share on X
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.