The psalm ends with praise of God's majesty. I don't want to hear some of this. It grates on my tender notions of what a loving God should be. But I find a transforming invitation here. In all the many-sidedness, I meet a God for my whole life, not just a bit of it.
Life is more lament than joy, more rage than love.
One major difference between the devotional life of these ancient poets and mine is their humility before God. Somehow they trust God will transform even their rage into something holy. Their example of utter surrender of self before the Lord is one of the Psalms' greatest gifts. I've suspected it all along but seldom pray as though it were true. Hard thoughts at Christmastime.