NeuroDivine

There are moments in life when strength runs thin—when the body falters, when the mind grows tired, when the soul feels hemmed in by shadows. Psalm 116 begins in exactly that place:

“I love the Lord, for He heard my voice;

He heard my cry for mercy.”

This Sunday at NeuroDivine, we sit with a psalm born not from triumph, but from rescue. It is the song of someone who knows what it is to be brought low—and to be lifted.

For many of us who live with neurological difference, chronic illness, fatigue, anxiety, or the quiet overwhelm of simply navigating the world, Psalm 116 is not abstract poetry. It is testimony. It speaks of snares, weakness, fear, and the nearness of death—but also of a God who bends close enough to hear.

The hymn below was written as a Celtic meditation on that psalm. It imagines sacred places—holy wells, standing stones, Brigid’s flame in winter—not as relics of the past, but as reminders that God meets us in the landscape of our own vulnerability. In the thin places. In hospital rooms. In sleepless nights. In dialysis units. In overstimulated mornings. In the quiet tears no one else sees.

Psalm 116 asks a question that feels deeply NeuroDivine:

“How shall I repay the Lord for all His goodness to me?”

The psalmist’s answer is not heroic. It is relational.

“I will lift the cup… I will call on His name… I will walk before the Lord…”

Gratitude, here, is not performance. It is presence.

The hymn that follows traces that journey—from exhaustion to peace, from fear to steadiness, from darkness into day. It is a declaration that even when our nervous systems misfire, even when our bodies struggle, even when sorrow clouds our vision, we are held.

As you read or sing these words today, may you hear them as your own prayer.

May you find yourself somewhere within them.

And may you know—deeply—that the One who heard the psalmist’s cry still bends close to hear yours (and mine).

I love the Lord who heard my cry,
Where river mists in silence rise;
He found me when my strength was gone,
And sorrow veiled my weary eyes.
At holy wells and standing stones
His mercy met me where I lay;
He breathed new life into my bones
And turned my darkness into day.

The snares of death enclosed me fast,
My failing heart grew weak within;
But Christ, our High King, drew me close
And spoke His healing fire within.
Like Brigid’s flame in winter’s cold,
His steadfast love would never cease;
He held me with a gentle hand
And led my trembling soul to peace.

How shall I thank Him for His grace,
This God whose kindness has no end?
I’ll walk His paths through field and fen,
Where saints before in prayer would bend.
I’ll lift the cup of saving love
And call His name with grateful breath;
For He has kept my feet from harm
And held me safe from fear and death.

O Lord who guards the lost and weak,
Whose faithful care no storm can break,
You guide us through the hidden veil
Where heaven stirs and hearts awake.
So here I stand, Your servant still,
My life an offering freely given;
For all You’ve done and yet will do,
I walk Your path toward endless heaven.

All glory to the Father’s love,
All praise to Christ, the risen Son,
All honour to the Spirit’s fire,
Who makes in us what God has done.
As was, and is, and yet shall be,
While ages roll and time is driven,
One holy God in Trinity,
Our song on earth and joy in heaven.

Text copyright 2026 Michael McFarland Campbell. All rights reserved.