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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