Daily Devotional Series: Anxious Time and Nursery Rhymes

“Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchman stays awake in vain. It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for he gives to his beloved sleep.

Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one’s youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.” —Psalm 127

Grit. Willpower. Determination. These are the engines beneath any mission, project, or calling. Picture a young boy watching a daring rescue unfold on screen, or reading about a knight sent on a quest. He’s transfixed—because he imagines himself in the story. There’s something inherently compelling about a mission, especially for men. We are drawn to that which demands more of us. That which offers purpose.

And we do find purpose—in many things. Work tends to be chief among them, but hobbies, routines, and countless roles can also bear that load. The causes we assign meaning to are often noble and unique to each man.

But even our best earthly purposes have an expiration date. They stop at eternity’s doorstep. As finite men, our ambitions, no matter how admirable, fall short of God’s glory. And that leaves us with a gnawing ache—a vague sense that even in our striving, something essential is still missing.

The spiritual man knows where to turn. He looks beyond the temporal to the eternal—to the things of God. These are the things that last: gospel-centered living, service to the Church and the community, marriage, fatherhood. These things echo into eternity and are worth our deepest investment.

But even here—especially here—there’s a subtle danger. We may begin to pursue these eternal callings with the same self-reliant drive we once brought to our earthly ones. We labor for legacy while quietly leaning on ourselves. We chase holiness with human strength.

That’s where Psalm 127 has long steadied me. It reminds me that all our best efforts are only as fruitful as the God who upholds them. The labor that honors Him is the labor that depends on Him.

For years, I would return to verses 1 and 2 when I felt overwhelmed by the weight of calling or the magnitude of a task. But I often stopped there—until recently, when I found out I would become a father this September. Suddenly, verses 3–5 came alive with new resonance.

I’d always known those verses. I’d referenced them in both jest and seriousness, often with a nod to the blessing of children. But what I hadn’t seen clearly was the seamless connection between the two halves of the psalm. God doesn't switch subjects halfway through—he ties them together.

And thank God He does.

When my wife, Alexis, told me she was pregnant, it felt like a switch flipped in my soul. If you’ve ever seen an ant pile get stepped on, you know the chaos that follows. That was me—internally scrambling. “I need to find a new job” (I already had one). “We have to move.” “I must figure out how to be a good, intentional father.” My thoughts raced toward the buffet line of anxious toil—overconsuming fear and self-dependence in the name of responsibility.

Psalm 127, which had so often anchored me in the storms of calling and vocation, was forgotten in that moment. That is, until the Lord brought it back to me in my Bible reading plan. This time, I read it with new eyes.

“Unless the Lord builds the house…unless the Lord watches over the city…” And then: “Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord.”

The connection was undeniable. These aren’t two disconnected truths—they’re cause and effect. The toil I was tempted to embrace—rising early, staying up late—was needless. Why? Because in my frantic effort to become the perfect father, I had forgotten that my child already has one.

The task of parenting is weighty. It demands time, energy, and sacrifice. But our children’s lives are not ultimately upheld by our strength. If they were, we’d all let go eventually—succumbing to the fatigue of our humanity. No, our children are held in the hands of a perfect Father, who has already proven His love by giving His own Son.

That kind of love rewrites Psalm 127 in the language of the nursery and the night shift:

“Unless the Lord raises the child, those who raise him labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the baby at midnight, the sleepless parent stays awake in vain.”

God is not only the one who builds the house; He is the one who fills it. He is not only the architect of purpose; He is the Father who upholds every act of love with his sovereign care.

So, rest. Not in your readiness or resolve—but in the goodness of your Father. The one who gives sleep to his beloved. The one who holds both the builder and the baby in his hands.