The writer of this psalm is desperate. His health is in ruins. He feels the passing of days. He doesn’t want to die even though he considers his life a worn-down ruin and likens it to the ruins of Zion. He’s getting old. Perhaps that’s why I resonate with honesty of this prayer. For two decades, I’ve offered up desperate prayers for my handicapped brothers, addicted sister, alcoholic father and toxic bosses. I’ve waited years for God’s answers. I still wait.