Psalm 121 was a favorite of my father. Scottish people called it “The Traveler’s Psalm.” Whenever a family member, a guest, or a friend was leaving on a journey, this psalm was read—or more often sung—at family prayers. When my father left the “old country” as a teenager to sail alone to the United States, he was bidden farewell with this psalm.

Over the years, my father enjoyed many hearty days but endured others that were dark and grim. In World War I, he carried this psalm’s words with him into battle, and then out of it as he lay in a hospital for almost a year recovering from shrapnel wounds.

In verse 1, the psalmist looked beyond the hills to the God who made them. My father lived in the toughest section of New York City. Although he seldom saw hills, he held to the assurance that the God of the hills was also the God of the dangerous city streets.

In his 87 years, my father experienced many “goings out” and “comings in.” And when he went out for the last time, I believe he was singing Psalm 121 as he descended into the valley and traveled home to the other side.

How reassuring that the God of the hills and the streets goes with every believer in Christ!