What Silence Does to the Body

David describes the physical toll of a secret, and any man who has kept one will recognize it. When I kept silent, he writes, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long, for day and night your hand was heavy upon me. He is not being poetic for its own sake. Unconfessed sin has weight, and the body carries it, in the tight chest and the poor sleep and the low, grinding tiredness that no rest seems to touch. David tried to manage his sin by staying quiet about it, and it dried him up from the inside.

Then the psalm turns on a single decision. I acknowledged my sin to you, he says, and I did not cover my iniquity, and you forgave the iniquity of my sin. The relief comes not when he finally feels forgiven but when he finally speaks. If you have been carrying something in silence and wondering why you feel so worn down, this psalm names it for you. The silence itself is part of the sickness.

Tell God tonight what you have been refusing to say, and let the heavy hand lift.