There is a moment in Psalm 57 that feels almost like a held breath—a pause between fear and trust, between the storm and the shelter. The psalmist cries out, “Have mercy on me, God, have mercy,” and then, almost in the same breath, rests in the shadow of God’s wings. It is a movement so small you could miss it, yet it holds the whole shape of repentance.
Repentance is not dramatic. It is not a grand gesture or a flawless plan for spiritual improvement. It is a turning—sometimes barely perceptible—away from what harms us and toward the God who heals. Wisdom reminds us that God “overlooks the sins of men that they may repent,” not because sin is trivial, but because mercy is stronger. God waits for the smallest turn of the heart.
Jesus begins his public ministry with this same invitation. Before miracles, before teaching, before calling disciples, he echoes John the Baptist’s cry: Turn back. Come home. Begin again. Repentance is the first step because it opens the door to every other grace.
Psalm 57 shows us what that step looks like in real time.
A cry for mercy.
A seeking of refuge.
A trust that God will send help from heaven.
A quiet confidence that the storm will pass.
To notice this moment is to recognize how often it happens in us. The shift from self‑reliance to surrender. The instinct to hide under God’s wings when life becomes too sharp. The whisper of hope that God has always been our help and will be again.
Maybe today’s invitation is simply to pay attention to that turning—to catch ourselves in the moment when our hearts lean toward God, and to stay there a little longer. Mercy meets us not at the end of our striving, but right in the middle of it, in the very moment we turn our face toward the One who saves.
Smitten With Goodness 