Edited by Jim McCrory, Thursday 1 January 2026 at 16:17
“Oh, that I had wings like a dove!”
Ask God for Relief A Devotional for the Forthcoming Year
I woke this morning, and before the day had found its footing, anxiety rushed in. It did not knock; it arrived fully formed, breathless and insistent. Perhaps you know that feeling—the kind that comes not from a single fear, but from the slow accumulation of many unresolved ones.
I was in Glasgow yesterday trying to find a pair of trousers. Then I stopped at Waterstones to look at some books. Later that day, I got speaking to an older woman. She revealed that she was in poor health. I asked, “How are you coping?”
She paused.
She had a story to tell, and I sensed she needed to unload it. Her words came carefully at first, then all at once. She spoke of her son—grown now, distant, ungrateful, and cruel in ways only family can be. I could hear it in her voice: not anger alone, but grief. The kind of grief that does not end, because the person you mourn is still alive. It was ripping her heart apart.
I prayed for her when I woke.
Problems with grown-up children are not unique to servants of God. In fact, you can bet your bottom dollar that influences outside a Christian’s control will ensure that. It is well documented in Christian literature. There is a need for discernment; the devil is in the detail.
Have you ever heard the expression, “Oh, that I had wings like a dove!”? It was expressed by King David over a troublesome son who made every effort to bring evil from within. Psalm 55:12–14 reads:
For it is not an enemy who insults me; that I could endure. It is not a foe who rises against me; from him I could hide. But it is you, a man like myself, my companion and close friend. We shared sweet fellowship together; we walked with the crowd into the house of God.
We often read David’s psalms as songs of triumph or repentance—and they are both. But beneath them runs another current: the voice of a father losing peace, trust, and hope within his own family. David is addressing God, but in his prayer he turns and speaks as if to the betrayer, directly and personally and creating a sense of immediacy. His issues were not merely political; they were personal. He could face giants, but faltered when evil from within emerged. David's Psalm was directed to his son who lost any incline towards spirituality.
Absalom was everything David’s court admired: striking in appearance, charismatic. Scripture almost lingers over his beauty and charm, as though to warn us that outward perfection can conceal inward decay. His charm and beauty were tools. His grievance hardened into entitlement; his hurt fermented into rage. He did not seek reconciliation with his father. He sought replacement.
Rebellion like this rarely announces itself loudly at first. It steals affection before it seizes authority. That is what made the betrayal unbearable. David was not overthrown by a stranger, but by the son who once ran toward him for blessing.
During that flight, David prayed words that still echo for parents today:
“Many are rising against me… but You, O LORD, are a shield around me.” (Psalm 3)
Notice how, with Absalom’s charm, he influenced others—perhaps those who also harboured petty grievances and resentment. Proverbs were not written in David’s day, but surely love of neighbour would have dictated the principle later found in Proverbs 12:15:
Also notice what David does not pray. He does not begin by asking for an explanation. He does not demand immediate justice. He asks for protection—for enough safety to survive the heartbreak without losing his soul.
When Absalom died, the victory brought no comfort. David wept not as a king, but as a broken parent: “O my son, my son.” That cry holds the tension many believers carry—confidence in God’s promises alongside unbearable sorrow. Faith did not erase David’s pain; it gave his pain somewhere to go.
Psalm 55 returns us to that place of honesty:
“My heart is in anguish within me… Fear and trembling have beset me.”
Here is no polished theology, no public composure—only truth. And later comes the turn that makes the psalms liveable:
“Cast your burden on the LORD, and He will sustain you.”
This is where relief begins.
Relief does not always mean resolution. It does not promise that a child will return, repent, or reconcile. It does not guarantee restored relationships. Sometimes relief is quieter. Sometimes it means being held while the wound still aches. Sometimes it is the strength to get up tomorrow without hardening your heart, but to pray for the lost.
David teaches us that God does not turn away from prayers born of exhaustion, grief, or parental heartbreak. God does not shame us for wanting to run, for wishing we had wings, for longing to escape what we cannot fix. He receives those prayers—not as failures of faith, but as acts of trust.
No matter what issues you are facing in all aspects of life. The principles spoken of in the Psalms apply to all walks of life. Prayer is like a valve released on a pressure cooker.
As a new year approaches, many will step forward carrying unresolved family pain. Some will smile in public while quietly bracing themselves for another year of distance, disappointment, or silence. This devotional is not a call to deny that pain. It is an invitation to place it somewhere safe.
Ask God for Relief
“Oh, that I had wings like a dove!”
Ask God for Relief
A Devotional for the Forthcoming Year
I woke this morning, and before the day had found its footing, anxiety rushed in. It did not knock; it arrived fully formed, breathless and insistent. Perhaps you know that feeling—the kind that comes not from a single fear, but from the slow accumulation of many unresolved ones.
I was in Glasgow yesterday trying to find a pair of trousers. Then I stopped at Waterstones to look at some books. Later that day, I got speaking to an older woman. She revealed that she was in poor health. I asked, “How are you coping?”
She paused.
She had a story to tell, and I sensed she needed to unload it. Her words came carefully at first, then all at once. She spoke of her son—grown now, distant, ungrateful, and cruel in ways only family can be. I could hear it in her voice: not anger alone, but grief. The kind of grief that does not end, because the person you mourn is still alive. It was ripping her heart apart.
I prayed for her when I woke.
Problems with grown-up children are not unique to servants of God. In fact, you can bet your bottom dollar that influences outside a Christian’s control will ensure that. It is well documented in Christian literature. There is a need for discernment; the devil is in the detail.
Have you ever heard the expression, “Oh, that I had wings like a dove!”? It was expressed by King David over a troublesome son who made every effort to bring evil from within. Psalm 55:12–14 reads:
For it is not an enemy who insults me;
that I could endure.
It is not a foe who rises against me;
from him I could hide.
But it is you, a man like myself,
my companion and close friend.
We shared sweet fellowship together;
we walked with the crowd into the house of God.
We often read David’s psalms as songs of triumph or repentance—and they are both. But beneath them runs another current: the voice of a father losing peace, trust, and hope within his own family. David is addressing God, but in his prayer he turns and speaks as if to the betrayer, directly and personally and creating a sense of immediacy. His issues were not merely political; they were personal. He could face giants, but faltered when evil from within emerged. David's Psalm was directed to his son who lost any incline towards spirituality.
Absalom was everything David’s court admired: striking in appearance, charismatic. Scripture almost lingers over his beauty and charm, as though to warn us that outward perfection can conceal inward decay. His charm and beauty were tools. His grievance hardened into entitlement; his hurt fermented into rage. He did not seek reconciliation with his father. He sought replacement.
Rebellion like this rarely announces itself loudly at first. It steals affection before it seizes authority. That is what made the betrayal unbearable. David was not overthrown by a stranger, but by the son who once ran toward him for blessing.
During that flight, David prayed words that still echo for parents today:
“Many are rising against me… but You, O LORD, are a shield around me.”
(Psalm 3)
Notice how, with Absalom’s charm, he influenced others—perhaps those who also harboured petty grievances and resentment. Proverbs were not written in David’s day, but surely love of neighbour would have dictated the principle later found in Proverbs 12:15:
Also notice what David does not pray. He does not begin by asking for an explanation. He does not demand immediate justice. He asks for protection—for enough safety to survive the heartbreak without losing his soul.
When Absalom died, the victory brought no comfort. David wept not as a king, but as a broken parent: “O my son, my son.” That cry holds the tension many believers carry—confidence in God’s promises alongside unbearable sorrow. Faith did not erase David’s pain; it gave his pain somewhere to go.
Psalm 55 returns us to that place of honesty:
“My heart is in anguish within me… Fear and trembling have beset me.”
Here is no polished theology, no public composure—only truth. And later comes the turn that makes the psalms liveable:
“Cast your burden on the LORD, and He will sustain you.”
This is where relief begins.
Relief does not always mean resolution. It does not promise that a child will return, repent, or reconcile. It does not guarantee restored relationships. Sometimes relief is quieter. Sometimes it means being held while the wound still aches. Sometimes it is the strength to get up tomorrow without hardening your heart, but to pray for the lost.
David teaches us that God does not turn away from prayers born of exhaustion, grief, or parental heartbreak. God does not shame us for wanting to run, for wishing we had wings, for longing to escape what we cannot fix. He receives those prayers—not as failures of faith, but as acts of trust.
No matter what issues you are facing in all aspects of life. The principles spoken of in the Psalms apply to all walks of life. Prayer is like a valve released on a pressure cooker.
As a new year approaches, many will step forward carrying unresolved family pain. Some will smile in public while quietly bracing themselves for another year of distance, disappointment, or silence. This devotional is not a call to deny that pain. It is an invitation to place it somewhere safe.
Ask God for relief.
All verses from Berean Bible: Free Licensing
The Holy Bible, Berean Standard Bible, BSB is produced in cooperation with Bible Hub, Discovery Bible, OpenBible.com, and the Berean Bible Translation Committee. This text of God's Word has been dedicated to the public domain.