Help Is On The Way

Life has a way of presenting us with mountains to climb. Sometimes literal hills that leave us breathless and exhausted. Other times, metaphorical mountains of challenges, setbacks, and uncertainties that test our resolve and drain our energy. In those moments when the path ahead looks steep and potentially dangerous, we face a fundamental question: Where will our help come from?

The Ancient Road Trip Song -

Psalm 121 was part of a collection known as the "Songs of Ascents"—essentially the road trip playlist for ancient Israelites making their pilgrimage to Jerusalem for worship. Picture families and communities traveling together, climbing the literal hills toward the temple mount, singing these words to encourage one another along the way.

The journey was arduous. Hills in ancient times weren't just physically demanding; they were dangerous. Rocky terrain provided perfect hiding spots for thieves. You couldn't always see what waited around the next corner. The road to the Good Samaritan's encounter with robbers? A hilly, treacherous path just like the ones these pilgrims traveled.

Yet they sang: "I lift up my eyes to the hills—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth."

The Struggle with Asking for Help - 

There's something deeply human about our resistance to seeking help. We live in a culture that celebrates the "self-made" person, the individual who supposedly accomplished everything without assistance. We wear our independence like a badge of honor.

Think about the last time you came home from the grocery store with arms overloaded, refusing to make a second trip. Or when you drove in circles rather than asking for directions. Or attempted to assemble furniture without glancing at the instructions. "I've got this," we insist, even when we clearly don't.

Why do we do this? The reasons are complex: fear of being a burden, worry about judgment, pride, past negative experiences when we did ask for help, or simply the desire to maintain control. We convince ourselves that needing help is somehow a weakness rather than recognizing it as part of the human condition.

But there's an African philosophy called Ubuntu that offers a different perspective: "I am because we are." It acknowledges a profound truth—none of us truly make it alone. We all stand on the shoulders of those who came before us, who helped us, who invested in us. The myth of the self-made person crumbles under honest examination.

The God Who Never Sleeps - 

Psalm 121 offers a radical alternative to self-sufficiency. It paints a picture of a God who is constantly watchful, not in the sense of distant observation, but in the sense of active, caring attention—like a parent watching over a sleeping child or keeping an eye on a teenager who's about to leave home.

Six times in eight short verses, the psalmist repeats the theme: God is our keeper. God is our helper. "He will not let your foot slip—he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep."

There's an old Eastern legend about a poor woman who came to the king of Egypt seeking compensation for property stolen while she slept. When the king asked why she had fallen asleep, she replied, "Because I believed you were awake, watching over me." The king was so moved by her trust that he ordered everything restored.

This is the kind of watchfulness Psalm 121 describes—a protective presence that stays alert so we can rest. Like first responders, nurses on the night shift, or emergency room doctors at 2 AM, there are those who stay awake so others can sleep. The psalmist suggests God operates on this principle eternally.

The Tension Between Promise and Reality - 

Here's where it gets complicated. The psalm speaks of God protecting us from all harm, but reality tells a different story. People of faith experience pain. Churchgoers face setbacks. Those who pray still encounter suffering, disappointment, and death.

This creates a tension—a tug-of-war between lament and trust. How do we reconcile the promise of divine protection with the reality of human suffering? The answer isn't to pretend harm doesn't exist or that faith creates an impenetrable shield against life's difficulties.

Instead, the psalm invites us to a deeper understanding. Protection doesn't mean immunity from hardship. It means we don't face those hardships alone. It means that in the midst of struggle, there is a source of strength beyond ourselves. It means that when we lift our eyes to the hills—to God, to community, to those who care—help is available.

Help Comes Through Many Channels - 

The hills we look to might represent different things. Perhaps they symbolize our parents or mentors—the generations who came before us and whose wisdom guides us. Maybe they represent neighbors, coworkers, or friends who stand ready to assist. Certainly they can represent the divine presence that sustains us.

The beautiful truth is that God's help often comes through human hands. When communities organize food drives, when churches pack meals for hungry children, when individuals check in on friends who might be struggling—that's divine help flowing through human channels.

When someone reaches out to verify a suspicious text message asking for gift cards (a common scam), that's help coming from the hills. The assistance we need is often closer than we think, embodied in the people around us who care enough to stay alert on our behalf.

The Invitation to Trust - 

Psalm 121 doesn't promise an easy journey. It acknowledges the reality of hills—the challenges that require extra effort, extra breath, extra strength. But it offers something perhaps more valuable than an easy path: the assurance that we don't climb alone.

The question remains for each of us: When trouble comes—emotional, spiritual, or physical—where do we look for help? Will we insist on self-sufficiency until we collapse under the weight? Or will we lift our eyes to the hills, wherever we find them, and accept the help that's offered?

The journey of faith isn't about pretending we don't need help. It's about acknowledging our need and trusting that help will come—from God, through people, in ways we might not expect. It's about recognizing that being kept, being helped, being watched over doesn't mean avoiding every difficulty. It means having companionship, strength, and hope for the climb ahead.

So lift your eyes. The hills are waiting, and so is the help you need.