There is something glorious about the tender watch-care of the Lord our God. He is ever watchful, vigilant, and personal as He oversees His struggling child. He draws near and speaks life into our troubled hearts.
A heart consumed with fear.
A heart overwhelmed by hopelessness.
A heart broken through betrayal and rejection.
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Father, this world has gone absolutely crazy. There seems to be no filter on the mouths (or fingertips) of so many people. Immorality is the norm. Decency and respect are apparently old-fashioned. And yet … You have called Your children to be light-bearers — CHRIST-bearers in this world darkened by sin. It’s hard, Lord. Strengthen me to live and walk worthy of Your love.
I’m reminded that it’s not by my might, nor by my power, but by Your Spirit that I can live a life that is blameless and acceptable to You.
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God’s message stood stoic before me resting against the hands of time, its grace shadowing the meadow grass with outstretched arms reaching toward heaven. The rhythm of life … a grand old maple. Winter is coming. Barren landscapes. Cold, harsh winds. Brittle, dead leaves. But before the winter blast, the maple tree bursts with glory, a declaration that life goes on.
Fiery reds rub against the orange of apricots. Sprinkled in the kaleidoscope mix, bright yellow glistens in the sun. It seems the grand old maple recognizes the rhythm of life: spring, summer, fall, winter … and then spring returns again. Each season carries its own beauty, its own expression of God’s glory … if we’ll recognize it and celebrate.
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Father, You are high and lifted up, seated on the throne. You rule heaven and earth in power and majesty, and You tell me, “Be not afraid.” In many ways, I’m struggling with this. My spirit is strong and typically fearless. But my flesh … oy! My flesh tends to get caught up in the matters of this world and forget there is a heavenly perspective.
Would you lift my chin and tilt my head back so I might look up and behold Your glory? When my eyes are on You, I am strong and courageous.
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Trees waved their branches frantically in the ferocious wind. Bending. Breaking. Swirling, as it were, as the wind constantly changed directions. My forsythia bushes had clawed at my window while in Helene’s clutches. Scraping. Grinding. This image is stamped on my mind.
Each time I look out of my window — the one placed by my morning sanctuary where I sip my coffee and ponder the love of Jesus — that window … I look and remember that terrifying day when Helene stormed through our precious mountains and the enemy stole peace from my heart.
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Father, You are my firm foundation, the Rock on which I stand. When everything around me is sinking sand, You are my sure place. You remain. Great is Your faithfulness to me, O Lord … yes, great is Your faithfulness.
Over the years, You have proven Yourself to me. Time and time again You have made Yourself known to my seeking heart. You incine Your ear to me and hear my cries. I picture You bending Your knee to press in close so my whispered overwhelm can be heard.
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The long, slender branches of our forsythia bushes whipped against the windowpane as torrents of rain battered our home. The horrifying sound of trees crashing throughout our forest startled me into whimpers of screams. Power lines snapped like toothpicks as our home grew dark and fear began to seep in. Hurricane Helene had arrived.
She was a beast. She was terrifying.
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