The Lifter of My Head

I was standing at the kitchen sink, elbow-deep in suds (and silent complaints) when I heard the message, loud and strong.

Slow down. Look up.

The words rang clear as a bell in my mind. All day and all week (maybe all year?) I had been grousing and venting, feeling overwhelmed and overworked as a new mother. Back then we had two children, a toddler and a baby, and their constant needs wore down my patience and energy every day. I had wanted this life, had prayed and dreamed for marriage and motherhood, but the reality of what these callings demanded from me, body and soul, felt like more than I could give.

Slow down. Look up.

One small boy was tugging at my sleeve and another was crawling over my feet when the words rose up within me. Only two short phrases and four small words. But my head snapped to attention as if I had heard them hollered aloud.

What did God mean? Slow down: that was easy enough to figure out. We all move too fast in this busy, breakneck world. But look up? What was I supposed to see?

I held the words close all summer, and then for the next year. Slow down. Look up. As with any good word, I stumbled and faltered in my attempts to follow its truth. Slowing down was easier. I tried to move more mindfully through my days. I gave my children more space and time, trying not to rush them. I kept my calendar a bit less crowded. I aimed to start my days at a slower pace, turning first to prayer.

But looking up? That still stumped me. Maybe God meant raising my eyes to the cross on the wall, to remember Jesus in the center of my busy life? But that didn’t feel like enough. Maybe I was supposed to look out the window or slip outside to behold the beauty of creation in the wide sky above me? That didn’t feel complete either.

Then one evening, when my husband came home after a long day for both of us, I stretched up to hug him and felt my body relax as my head tipped back to smile at him. Look up. Not only did looking up bring me to the eyes of my beloved, but suddenly my shoulders and neck felt more relaxed than they had in weeks. Looking up felt like coming home, body and soul.

Later I discovered something marvelous in prayer, digging into the Psalms. A new-to-me name for God that gathered together everything I yearned to find in a weary, worn-out season of life.

“But you, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head.”
Psalm 3:3 ESV

The lifter of my head. I had never known God by this name. Never thought about the beauty of God lifting my eyes to the heavens. Never imagined Jesus cupping my chin in His hands with a loving smile. Never made the connection between how good it felt when I lifted my head and lowered my hunched shoulders — and how good it felt to return to prayer and remember God’s promises.

All of this was held in one simple phrase. The lifter of my head.

That kitchen epiphany happened years ago, but I can still hear the quiet, loving words echo in my mind. Slow down. Look up.

Since that day I have carried this name for God like a prayer in my pocket during the hardest moments of my life: grief, loss, and suffering. If this name for God were true, then it had to be true always. Even here, even now, You are still the lifter of my head.

And on beautiful days, too — when warm sun breaks through dark clouds, when a friend’s encouragement gives a boost, when my teenagers spare a rare hug, or when a song on the radio turns my gloomy mood around — I remember:

“You, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head.”

When you are discouraged, God is the lifter of your head.

When you are grieving, God is the lifter of your head.

When you are weary and worn and wandering far from faith, God is still the lifter of your head.

Most importantly, none of us have to lift our heads by our own strength. God alone raises us up: the Creator who made our bodies, the Healer who touches our pain, the Light who directs our paths, and the Wisdom who guides our steps. If Lifter of My Head is part of God’s own name and nature, then we can let our heads gaze upon goodness again, shining full and bright in the face of Love itself.

Slow down. Look up. How might The Lifter of Your Head be calling to your heart today?