It’s easy for me to go to a place where I imagine God being disappointed with me. In those way too many “the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak” moments . . . when I know I’m coming up short . . . when the talk I want to walk doesn’t quite materialize . . . in those times when I know I’ve blown it, I can quickly see the frown of heaven over my head. I see the Father sadly bowing, and slowly shaking His head back and forth, whispering to Himself, “Again? He’s crashed and burned, again?” Or I can envision Him throwing up His arms in exasperation, “Why isn’t he getting it?!? Why doesn’t he do better?!?” But this morning, as I hover over Psalm 103 . . . the psalm of “blessing the Lord, O my soul” . . . the song of “forgetting not all His benefits” . . . as I read it, I don’t see the Father’s disappointment . . . instead, I’m reminded of His patience, compassion, and grace . . . and this, because I’m dust.

As a father shows compassion to his children,
    so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear Him.
       For He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust.                                                                           (Psalm 103:13-14 ESV)

He remembers I’m dust. That’s how he created mankind . . . “then the LORD God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature” (Genesis 2:7). God was the designer of those He desired to have fellowship with . . . and He chose the materials. Nothing wrong with the materials . . . fully adequate for the form created to house the soul and spirit which is in communion with God. But break the communion . . . introduce sin . . . and the dust framework is “structurally compromised.” Though redeemed through the finished work of the cross . . . though infused with the Spirit of the living God . . . remnants of the old man, the flesh, remain . . . and “the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do” (Gal. 5:17).

And when that happens . . . when I fail to do the things I want to do . . . or, when I do that which I don’t want to do . . . He knows my frame, and remembers I am dust.

And so, the Father shows compassion. The LORD who is “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love” (103:8) . . . He who has determined to “not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities” (103:10) . . . chooses, even in our failure, to love us . . . “For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His steadfast love toward those who fear Him” (103:11).

Steadfast love . . . unlimited compassion . . . available for dust. Not for those who perform perfectly . . . not for those who obey always . . . not for those who present themselves spotlessly . . . but for those who fear the Lord. God’s compassion overflowing on jars of clay that seek to carry the treasure of the light of the knowledge of the glory of God (2Cor. 4:6-7) . . . God’s mercy on those who sincerely desire to walk in a manner worthy . . . God’s grace toward those who want to show they love Him by obeying Him . . . God’s compassion to His children . . . even when they come up short . . . even when they’re a bit flakey — like dust.

Not to presume on His grace . . . but not to forget His grace either. Not to become careless . . . but to remember His compassion. Not to grow complacent in fearing the King of Creation with reverent awe . . . but to know anew that He loves us with a steadfast love.

He knows my frame . . . dust. And His grace is abounding . . . and His grace is sufficient . . . and His compassions, they fail not.

Bless the Lord, O my soul!