Lent Devotional

My name is Leslie Bateman. My son, Cameron, and I have been at Fellowship for almost twelve years, and I joined the staff about four years ago. It’s honestly been such a gift to get to serve here. I’ve been involved in all kinds of things over the years—from serving in the Treetop and working with recovery ministry to now getting to lead our care and connecting teams. What matters most to me is that everyone who walks through our doors feels welcomed and seen. I want people to know they matter and that Fellowship can be a place they call home, no matter what they’re going through or where they have been.

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Psalm 89 is reminding me what it means to be needy, dependent, and beloved all at the same time. This psalm is actually a prayer mourning the fall of the Davidic dynasty. God had made incredible covenant promises to David—promises of an eternal throne—and now, everything looks broken.

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The psalmist celebrates God's faithfulness in the first half, "I will sing of the Lord's great love forever" (v.1), declaring God's covenant promises and unfailing love. But then comes a devastating shift in verse 38: "But you have rejected, you have spurned, you have been very angry with your anointed one." The dynasty has fallen; the promises seem shattered. The psalmist pleads for restoration: "How long, Lord? Will You hide Yourself forever?" (v.46).

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That's where I see Jesus. We know now that God was faithful to His promise. Jesus is the Son of David, whose kingdom has no end. The restoration came, but not in the way anyone expected. Jesus Himself walked through what felt like total rejection and abandonment before resurrection came.

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I'm living in that space of pleading for restoration right now. I thought I knew where God was leading me; I believed I was walking into His promises for my life. Then, everything fell apart in ways I couldn’t have imagined. Like the psalmist looking at the ruins of what was supposed to last forever, I'm looking at the ruins of what I thought my life would be.

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The most comforting part for me is that God wasn't surprised. He is sovereign; He saw it all, even when I didn't. I am being reminded that I can mourn what's been lost while still trusting that God is faithful to His promises. I'm just seeing that His promises don't always look like I thought they would. This psalm, along with my community, is teaching me that being needy isn't something to be ashamed of. I need God desperately right now—to restore what feels broken, to show me what comes next, and to give me hope.

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I used to think spiritual maturity meant being strong and independent, but this season is showing me the opposite. Being needy and dependent on God isn't weakness; it's where He meets us. Jesus modeled complete dependence on the Father even as He walked toward the cross. And He was beloved. I'm learning that I can be heartbroken, completely dependent, and crying out for restoration while still being God's beloved daughter. The psalm lets me hold all of it: the worship and the grief, the faith and the pleading.

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When we live as people who are needy, dependent, and beloved—even while we're pleading for restoration—it changes how we honor God and bless others. I don't have to pretend the broken things aren't broken or that I'm not desperate for God to move. When we show up to serve others while mourning what we’ve lost, we show people that God's love isn't conditional on having our lives intact. Being needy doesn't disqualify us from God's love or from serving His people; oftentimes, it's exactly what equips us.

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People need to see each other in the middle of pleading for restoration while still trusting God's character. That gives others permission to bring their own broken places to God. It honors Him because we're trusting His faithfulness even when we can't see the restoration yet. We're declaring, "Your faithfulness continues through all generations," even when this season feels shattered. It is such a blessing to others to see that God holds us even while we're waiting for Him to restore what's broken.