Father, You are the Almighty God, Maker of heaven and earth. You are sovereign over all things — Your power is unmatched. Lead us through these frightening days. Help us see Your hand in all things.
There are wars and rumors of war, earthquakes, fires, and floods. The earth is groaning with the spiritual battle that is at hand. The depravity of mankind is clear for all to see.
You see too, Lord. And You know all about it.
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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 holiness to the Lord.
A sacred hush fell as the dark of night held its last breath. Stillness — creation remembering that He is God.
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Father, I am learning that You are truly my refuge and strength … my place of safety. Forever and always. In Your magnificence, You are greater than anything I will ever face.
Your Name is a strong tower — the righteous run into it and are safe. You are Jehovah-Jireh, my Provider; Jehovah-Rapha, my Healer. You are Jehovah-Shammah, the Lord who is there …
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The porch swing rocked in a peaceful rhythm. My spirit stirred as I looked up from my Bible, raising it to my chest and grasping the wonder it held. I read these words, “I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear, but now my eyes see You” (Job 42:5).
I looked toward the ridge where the sun began its evening descent. Magenta began rising above the trees. Lavender and apricot clouds tossed their petals across the wide expanse as the North Star made its appearance.
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Father, many are the afflictions of the righteous, but You promise to deliver us out of them all. You walk with us in the fiery furnace of adversity. You carry us through the storms … all because of Your great love for Your children.
Teach me to keep my eyes on You, for it is in that place of trust that I am strengthened to endure. You uphold me with Your righteous right hand. I can sense Your touch gripping my hand in Yours — when my eyes are fixed on You.
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The young girl dangled from a large tree limb, legs flailing, tongue wailing. She was stuck and terrified of hanging so far above the ground — terrified even more of letting go to slip into her father’s arms flung outstretched beneath her. Her saga on the limb, though dangerous, was a sure thing, even if she didn’t like it — though she dangled, her grasp was strong and the limb sturdy.
But she was stuck and afraid.
Afraid to let go.
The young girl was me.
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Lord, I often think about the morning Your tomb was found empty, Your grave cloths still spread upon the place where Your body was laid. Your disciples’ hope had been anchored in You, but You were placed in that dark tomb. Dead. Confusion had wrung out their hearts. Crushing despair devastated them. But then …
I can only imagine the wonder Mary experienced when You called her name. Tenderly … gently … You called her name.
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