Can I trust God to do the impossible for me?

I sat on the knoll just above the creek. The grass had been warmed by the sun, encouraging its slender blades to thrust themselves into the mountain’s unexpected early spring. I pondered the things of God — can I trust Him to do the impossible … for me?

Can I Trust God to Do the Impossible For Me?

I held a smooth stone — a river rock — rubbing and rolling it over and over in my fingertips. The stone mimicked the thoughts that rolled repeatedly through my mind.

Just that morning I had read a remarkable passage from Frances J. Roberts, Come Away My Beloved:

Through the barren wasteland, He has filled my cup from living streams. He has sustained, He has delivered, He has revealed Himself in the cloud, in the fire, and in the Shekinah Glory.

Lo, as if this had not been enough, He brought me to the banks of Jordan. There He did precede me: For as the priests went first, bearing the ark, so He did pass ahead in full possession of all His promises, and thus He opened my way and brought me into the land that flows with milk and honey.

Through the barren wasteland, He has filled my cup from living streams …

can I trust God to do the impossible for me?

Sustained. Delivered.

He has remained faithful.

I rubbed my thumb across the silky feel of the stone, smoothed by years of flowing river, and I remembered what the Lord has brought me through, and how He continues to lift my head to gaze upon His loveliness whenever I begin to stumble. I remembered His comfort. His provision. His steady hand as He carries me through the storm.

It’s important to remember, isn’t it?

Remembering the faithfulness of the Lord helps us know we can trust Him to do the impossible.

Are There Examples of God Doing the Impossible?

The Lord led the Israelites through the wilderness to the edge of the Jordan River. Crossing this river would put them in Canaan — their Promised Land. As commanded by the Lord, the priests who carried the ark of the covenant, dipped their feet into the Jordan. The waters coming from upstream stood still, and rose in a heap, so the people could cross over on dry land.

God had gone before them making the impossible, possible.

The Lord then instructed Joshua to have one man from each tribe of Israel   take a stone from the river, and with those twelve stones Joshua set a memorial for future generations to remember what God had done.

I can imagine the men bending, searching for a perfect stone from the riverbed on which they stood. As they held it, was it still wet from the river which now stood as a wall of water? Did they rub it with their thumbs, considering the power of Almighty God, pondering the miracle in which they stood?

can I trust God to do the impossible for me?

God has carried me through my wilderness places and now, in many ways, I stand on the edge of my Jordan — of my impossible.

In my spirit I can see Him letting me down from His shoulders to stand in the rocky soil where the river laps.

He’s not saying anything aloud, but His eyes — His eyes gaze into mine, searching, questioning, asking me if I will trust Him … trust Him here on the river’s edge.

Can I? Can I trust God to do the impossible for me?

I rolled the stone in my fingers some more. Thinking. Remembering.

In my mind’s eye the Lord stepped into the water and it immediately stood still upstream and formed a wall. He looked back at me, my toes gripping the river’s edge, and raised His brows as if to say, “Are you coming? I’m making the impossible, possible.”

Will You Say Yes to the Impossible?

I caressed the river rock in my trembling hand. I looked at it — almost through it — and remembered God’s faithfulness. How beautiful it is to know I can trust Him to do the impossible for me.

I lifted my head toward heaven and with strong voice I proclaimed, “I’m coming, Lord. I’m coming.”

Selah

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Thank you so much for stopping by. I would love for you to share what’s on your heart in the comments below. Scroll a little farther down and you’ll see where you can leave your comments. Together, we can find the nearness of God in our darkest moments.

Sweet blessings to you,

NAN