Tehillah
Tehillah. It’s a Hebrew word that means praise: a song of praise, adoration, glory. Not the rehearsed kind, but something spontaneous, genuine, raw. It's a cry from the depths of the soul. You’ll find it throughout Psalms and Isaiah, often where praise is described not just as an action, but as a lifeline.
It was also the very first word of my prayer language. I had been begging God, pleading with Him, for a word. Just one. Anything to know He heard me, that He was close. And one quiet evening, during what felt like ordinary quiet time, I received it: Tehillah. I didn’t know how to spell it. I didn’t even know it was an actual word. But I knew it was mine. I scribbled it on a little shred of paper the way it sounded and tucked it deep into my Bible, holding it close to my heart like a treasure.
But life, as it often does, got hard. Frustrations piled up. Prayers felt unanswered. And slowly, almost without realizing it, I began blaming God. I stopped sitting with Him, stopped listening. Stopped nurturing the very prayer language I once begged for. I went through the motions—attending church, raising my hands during worship, saying the right things—but my heart was miles away.
I was pretending. Pretending for the people at church. Pretending I was still "one of them." It mattered more that they thought I was okay than whether I actually was. And so, for years, I carried an empty version of my faith, performing instead of praising.
Eventually, I reached out to a Christian counselor. She helped untangle the knots in my mind and slowly, piece by piece, God began softening my heart again. I started opening my Bible again. Started sitting with Him, honestly, even if awkwardly.
One night, while flipping through worn pages, I found it, that little shred of paper holding the word I had once clung to with such childlike wonder. Tehillah. I whispered it aloud, and it buzzed on my lips. It was so familiar, yet newly powerful. I searched it online, and when I saw that it was real, my heart nearly stopped. Not just real—but holy. Praise. That was the word God gave me before I even understood what I’d need it for.
In that moment, the Holy Spirit spoke something undeniable: Praise is the path out of the pit.
Praise doesn’t deny pain. It refocuses it. It lifts my eyes off myself and back onto the goodness of a God who never moved, even when I did. Praise reminds me of what He's done, and Who He is. Even if He never does another thing for me, He’s already done more than enough.
Reflection:
Have you ever found yourself going through the motions spiritually, doing all the “right” things but feeling completely disconnected from God? What’s your tehillah, that one word or moment God gave you to carry you through a dark season, even if you didn’t recognize its weight at the time? Are you willing to praise Him right where you are, even if you don’t feel like it yet?
Prayer:
Lord, thank You for never leaving, even when we’ve pulled away. Thank You for the quiet whispers, the small reminders that You are near. Today, we choose praise, not because life is easy, but because You are good. Help us remember that praise isn’t about pretending; it’s about trusting. Even when it’s hard, even when we don’t feel it, let our tehillah rise. Real, honest, and full of faith. Amen.
It was also the very first word of my prayer language. I had been begging God, pleading with Him, for a word. Just one. Anything to know He heard me, that He was close. And one quiet evening, during what felt like ordinary quiet time, I received it: Tehillah. I didn’t know how to spell it. I didn’t even know it was an actual word. But I knew it was mine. I scribbled it on a little shred of paper the way it sounded and tucked it deep into my Bible, holding it close to my heart like a treasure.
But life, as it often does, got hard. Frustrations piled up. Prayers felt unanswered. And slowly, almost without realizing it, I began blaming God. I stopped sitting with Him, stopped listening. Stopped nurturing the very prayer language I once begged for. I went through the motions—attending church, raising my hands during worship, saying the right things—but my heart was miles away.
I was pretending. Pretending for the people at church. Pretending I was still "one of them." It mattered more that they thought I was okay than whether I actually was. And so, for years, I carried an empty version of my faith, performing instead of praising.
Eventually, I reached out to a Christian counselor. She helped untangle the knots in my mind and slowly, piece by piece, God began softening my heart again. I started opening my Bible again. Started sitting with Him, honestly, even if awkwardly.
One night, while flipping through worn pages, I found it, that little shred of paper holding the word I had once clung to with such childlike wonder. Tehillah. I whispered it aloud, and it buzzed on my lips. It was so familiar, yet newly powerful. I searched it online, and when I saw that it was real, my heart nearly stopped. Not just real—but holy. Praise. That was the word God gave me before I even understood what I’d need it for.
In that moment, the Holy Spirit spoke something undeniable: Praise is the path out of the pit.
Praise doesn’t deny pain. It refocuses it. It lifts my eyes off myself and back onto the goodness of a God who never moved, even when I did. Praise reminds me of what He's done, and Who He is. Even if He never does another thing for me, He’s already done more than enough.
Reflection:
Have you ever found yourself going through the motions spiritually, doing all the “right” things but feeling completely disconnected from God? What’s your tehillah, that one word or moment God gave you to carry you through a dark season, even if you didn’t recognize its weight at the time? Are you willing to praise Him right where you are, even if you don’t feel like it yet?
Prayer:
Lord, thank You for never leaving, even when we’ve pulled away. Thank You for the quiet whispers, the small reminders that You are near. Today, we choose praise, not because life is easy, but because You are good. Help us remember that praise isn’t about pretending; it’s about trusting. Even when it’s hard, even when we don’t feel it, let our tehillah rise. Real, honest, and full of faith. Amen.
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