I lift my eyes to the hills, the psalmist begins, and in those words you can almost feel the ache of the soul searching for help. The hills might have looked beautiful, but they were also places of danger, full of shadows and uncertainty. And yet the psalm doesn’t linger on the fear, it pivots quickly to truth: my help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. In that shift lies the heart of faith, the quiet courage to trust that the Creator who set the stars in their place is the same one who watches over every step you take. Psalm 121.

This psalm is a song of journey, perhaps sung by pilgrims making their way to Jerusalem, weary and vulnerable on the road. They would remind one another that the God who never slumbers or sleeps is not distracted, not indifferent, but awake to every danger, every stumble, every long night of the soul. He is your shade at your right hand, says the psalmist, the intimate picture of protection so close you can almost feel his presence like a cool shadow on a burning day.

And then comes the promise, repeated with gentle insistence: the Lord will keep you. Not once, not sometimes, but always. He will keep your life. He will keep your coming and your going, both now and for evermore. It’s a promise that stretches across the whole landscape of time, enfolding both the small ordinary steps and the heavy unknowns with the same faithful care.

When you read these words, let them breathe hope into the places where your strength feels thin. Remember that the God who made heaven and earth doesn’t grow weary, and he hasn’t lost sight of you. Whatever road lies ahead, whether steep with challenge or shaded with uncertainty, he is the keeper of your soul, and his watch is constant, tender, and unending.