Emotional Meditation—By Micah Siemens
Sometimes I forget to look up.
The busyness of life—screens, deadlines, noise—pulls my eyes downward until I realize I haven’t really seen the sky all day.
Psalm 19 opens with an invitation to look up again:
“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands.”
It’s not quiet up there. Every sunrise, every constellation, every streak of color across the horizon is preaching a sermon without words. David says, “Day after day they pour forth speech.” I love that image—creation just keeps talking, like a song that never ends, like a praise that refuses to fade.
There’s no microphone. No translation needed. “Their voice goes out into all the earth.” You don’t have to speak Hebrew or Greek to understand it. You just have to listen with awe.
When I read these verses, I can almost feel David lying on his back in the grass outside Bethlehem, maybe with his harp resting beside him, watching the sun fade into gold. There’s no palace here, no crown. Just a shepherd and his Creator.
“In the heavens God has pitched a tent for the sun.”
That’s such a homey image—God making a dwelling for the sun, as if it’s His honored guest. Then the metaphor shifts: “It is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, like a champion rejoicing to run his course.”
There’s joy in that description. The sun doesn’t rise because it has to—it rises because it gets to. Its light touches everything. “Nothing is deprived of its warmth.”
And maybe that’s the hidden message. The same God who floods the sky with light also floods our hidden places. Even when we don’t notice, His presence runs its course through every day, every breath, every corner of our ordinary lives.
Psalm 19 begins by asking us to stop explaining everything and start experiencing it again. To feel small in the best way possible. To be reminded that the universe isn’t silent—it’s worshipping.
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