Before a word is spoken

This is the last line of a psalm that begins with the heavens declaring the glory of God. David surveys the skies, then the Scriptures — and then, suddenly, himself. The telescope turns inward, and the psalm ends not with wonder but with a request: make my words and my thoughts fit to be heard.

It is a morning prayer if ever there was one, because the day ahead is mostly made of exactly those two things — words and meditations. The emails and the replies. The things said at the table, and the things rehearsed silently behind it. David asks for both to be acceptable, because he knows the mouth eventually publishes whatever the heart has been drafting.

Pray it once, slowly, before the first conversation of the day. It is remarkable what it does to the drafts.