What does this sweet prayer teach me? It will be my evening's petition, but first, let it yield me an instructive meditation.

The first thing I notice? David had his doubts. Why else would he pray, "Say to my soul, I am your salvation," unless he sometimes wrestled with doubts and fears? Take heart, then! You are not the only saint who battles weakness of faith. If David doubted, I need not conclude that I am no Christian because I have doubts.

But notice this: David refused to stay content in his doubts. He ran straight to the mercy-seat to pray for assurance, for he valued it as much as fine gold. I too must labor after an abiding sense of my acceptance in the Beloved. I must have no joy when his love is not shed abroad in my soul. When my Bridegroom is gone from me, my soul must and will fast.

David also knew exactly where to find full assurance. He went to his God in prayer, crying out, "Say to my soul, I am your salvation." I must be much alone with God if I would have a clear sense of Jesus' love. Let my prayers cease, and my eye of faith will grow dim. Much in prayer, much in heaven; slow in prayer, slow in progress.

But here's what strikes me most: David would not be satisfied unless his assurance had a divine source. "Say unto my soul." Lord, do YOU say it! Nothing short of a divine testimony in the soul will ever content the true Christian.

And it had to be personal—vivid and personal. "Say to MY soul, I am YOUR salvation." Lord, if you should say this to all the saints, it would be nothing unless you said it to me. Lord, I have sinned; I deserve not your smile; I scarcely dare to ask it; but oh! say to my soul, even to my soul, "I am your salvation."

Let me have a present, personal, infallible, indisputable sense that I am yours and you are mine.