Finally, after a soaking rain, the sun shone through the crisp blue of the warm spring sky. The rain had ushered in cooler air – perfect for an afternoon walk. I rounded the curve near the meadow. My spirit stirred and I began to sing The Old Rugged Cross – a hymn that has carried me through many storms.
On a hill far away, stood an old rugged cross
The emblem of suffering and shame …
Lord, I need Your Balm of Gilead. The arrows have been swift and hot lately. The battle between good and evil, righteousness and ungodliness is raging and I feel like I’m caught in the middle.
But You, Lord, are a shield about me. When I stay in Your presence, I am protected. But when my stubbornness leads me astray, I step away from Your shelter.
And the flaming arrow hits its mark.
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I cradled my infant daughter close to my breast, her silken fingers wrapped around mine. I felt each breath as her tiny chest rose and fell, filling me with wonder at the boundless love of God.
Our eyes locked. I studied her baby blues, looking deep into her soul. As my gaze steadied, I noticed my reflection staring back at me.
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Lord, You are my portion, therefore I hope in You — You are all that I need, the giver of all things. You are the God of hope. Will You fill me anew?
Many are the afflictions of the righteous as evil seems to be unleashed in this world. Anger, violence, corruption, poverty, and disease are today’s norm. Decency and morality have been shoved to the side. Kindness is growing dim.
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The oyster-gray veil of fog clung to the earth outside my window. The forest beyond the knoll was hidden, the creek babbling along its edge invisible but for its gentle melody of liquid notes stumbling over stones.
But I knew they were there.
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Lord, You are perfect in power, tender in love. You are my God, my Savior, and my Lord. How great Thou art! Oh, how I love to think about Your greatness — may I never forget who You are.
When I consider the heavens and the works of Your hands, I am humbled and overcome with awe. You are magnificent … and yet You call me daughter.
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A ridge of ominous clouds the color of charcoal hung low on the horizon. Heavy with rain. Laden with warm, humid air. Forecasters warned of ferocious winds that would surely howl across our beloved mountains, hurling flooding rains, and toppling trees and power lines in their wake. I sought comfort in the knowledge that God is my refuge.
As I peered out the window toward the setting sun, the wall of clouds darkened, shadowed by the twilight.
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Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference
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