Lord, I’m so thankful that Your mercies are new every morning … Your grace is more than enough to enter the new day. But I must sit at Your feet and taste of Your goodness to replenish the grace needed to journey through this fallen world. Call to me, Jesus, and I will come.
Through Your mercies, I am not consumed, because Your compassion does not fail.
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Sitting in the quiet of the morning, I grew still. Birdsong outside my window held my restless thoughts. One soloist stood out among the rest — her song strong and crisp against the cool of the morning.
I could barely see the pop of cheerful yellow among the new spring leaves of our apple tree. But there she was, singing praise from the treetop — her melodious song filling the somber morning as she joined the chorus of birdsong.
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In the beginning, Lord, Your Spirit hovered over the waters. The earth was formless and empty, and darkness covered the deep. And then You spoke and brought order to the chaos. Thank You for this imagery — I can see it clearly, and it reassures me in my own season of difficulty. You are WITH me, Lord, and You DWELL WITHIN me — I am not alone, for You are my Helper.
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The blush of dawn unfurled like a delicate rose. Layer upon layer of darkness rolled away, yielding — bowing — to the morning light. Lavender and teal, tangerine and coral swirled together on the canvas of the sky — a palette of exquisite colors proclaiming glory to the Lord as a holy hush fell onto the last breath of the night. Stillness — creation remembering that He is God.
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The cardinal threw his head back and sang. Bathed in a ray of sunlight breaking through the young foliage of spring, his song lifted to the heavens, its melody surely praising his Creator. I gazed at his brilliance in the soft morning light, lost in the wonder of his beauty. My heart, bittersweet and heavy-laden with burdens, yearned to be free like this beautiful, crimson creature in the apple tree.
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Abba Father, hold me close. Your presence is so sweet to my longing soul. Soothing. Reassuring. I find my rest in You. With the cords of Your faithfulness, You have bound me to Yourself — You have covered me with Your wing and kept me safe from the enemy.
Thank You, Lord.
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I stopped at the rustic fencepost where pavement meets gravel, and meadow yields to pasture. Wind blew against my face as I tilted my gaze upward, heavenward … searching, longing for a touch from the Lord.
Billowing clouds bumped into one another as they moved across the mountain ridge. Some shone brightly, illuminated by the sun. Others had a dark cast to them. Heavy. Daunting. Resisting the light.
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Lord, my soul longs for Your touch, for Your presence — Your light in my shadows of heartache. Some days I am overwhelmed by the sorrow that comes with difficulties — the anguish and feelings of hopelessness.
I know You are well acquainted with suffering, and for that I am thankful. I’m thankful because You understand my heart.
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The old wooden door creaked on its hinges as I gently pushed it open. Inside, beneath the musty shadows of the barn, lay hidden evidence of a life — someone’s story. Some items held value, but many were unwanted, many were simply forgotten, and all were gathering dust from neglect.
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Lord, I desire to be a vessel of honor for the glory of Your Name. Fill me with Your fire, Your grace … Your love so that others might see Your face in the life I live. I want to be more and more like You in every way, but I fail miserably at times. Please forgive me, Lord. I must decrease so that You may increase in my life.
My soul longs for You. To sit in Your presence is such a beautiful privilege — a gift beyond words. In Your presence is where You fill me, comfort me, and quiet me with Your love.
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Lord, I feel safe with You. When the world is spinning out of control, when flames of trial are lapping at my legs, I know I can run to You. You hear my cry, and You call to me, for You are my hiding place — this I know very well.
But I keep peeking out at the enemy’s ambush.
And when I do, I feel afraid.
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I walked along the river’s edge. Moss-laden boulders jutted out from the rich, fertile soil. Patches of snow still refused to melt beneath their shadows, sheltered from the winter sun. Just ahead, a large tree was thriving along the river’s edge. It clung to the soil of the bank, but as I got closer, I realized many of its massive roots extended into the river itself. Soil had washed away over the years, but it still clung to its source of life — the river.
Evidence of past storms spoke of the tree’s life — a few broken branches, a hollowed-out, empty space on its north-facing side, and a slight lean to the left toward the river.
And yet the tree lived. Thriving against all odds.
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