It never ceases to amaze me how perfect God's timing can be. How if we listen and obey the gentle nudges God places on our hearts, everything seems less bleak. In a moment, utter darkness and solitude can be transformed, leaving hope and gladness in its wake.
Story time:
I had opened my text app at least 20 times over the last few days, and this time I even typed a message out...only to delete it seconds later, without pushing send...I just couldn't do it. I closed the app, and my phone buzzed. It was a text from the very person my text was meant for. I double checked to make sure I hadn't accidentally sent something...no, there was nothing from me in our conversation. I answered her text, and she told me she saw the three little dots...those three little dots betrayed me - she knew I had been typing something. It was in that moment that I came clean, and God's mercy and grace were poured out. The rest of the story is much longer and still doesn't have an ending, but that part isn't really needed to get to the point.
Some may call what happened a coincidence, or luck, or any number of things, but I see only one possibility - it was the hand of God. My friend had felt the need to text me to check on things all weekend, and in that moment, she obeyed. In that moment, her obedience struck to the very core of the problem. It was the light I needed to start to find my way. It was God's reminder that I was never alone. We can't solve our problems, our friends can't, our family can't, but God can use those people to work wonders. God rejoices in an obedient heart.
And no, that moment didn't solve all the issues at hand, but it was a start, a start to something that would have sat idle and festered in the dark.
Never underestimate the influence you have on other people. Never sell yourself short, never believe the lie that you don't or can't make a difference. The smallest of actions - a text perhaps - can generate enough power to move mountains if God's hand is behind it. Encourage others. Love others. Fall at His feet in obedience.
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything."
James 1:2-4
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Now I lay me down to sleep
I love to watch my daughter sleep.
It's a moment of pure innocence, absolute tranquility, the pinnacle of peacefulness.
Seeing her snuggled in her bed, safe and sound, is such a privilege that I all too often take for granted. Watching her, I think about every hope, every wonder, every moment of happiness that will come into her life. They are beautiful thoughts of family vacations and simple play times, along with every milestone that still awaits. They are the dreams that float to the surface.
But with those dreams come nightmares.
Already, there are signs - evidence of the darkness. It's the dark edges of reality that seem to grasp hold of so many - pulling them out of the light.
They are the fears every parent faces - the heartache you know will be unavoidable, the loneliness that lies in wait like a constant companion, the trials and choices that feel impossible to overcome during the fray.
We face these things as a parent, looking into our slumbering child's face, knowing they are unavoidable; wanting to protect them from every hurt, every fear, every defeat, but we can't, we mustn't. For without those things, we are not human. Without those things, we have no comprehension of reliance. No comprehension of triumph. No comprehension of grace.
Without darkness, there is no appreciation for light.
So I wonder, 'What can I do?' because I need to do something. I can't just sit idly by and do nothing. That may very well be an impossible task for me - to just sit back and watch everything unfold. So I do the seemingly simplest task that actually takes the most effort. I let go, and I pray. And though I let go, I only do so for a moment, because I'm just not that strong. Not strong enough or brave enough to truly trust God enough.
I want to desperately, but it's hard - it's my baby. It doesn't make any sense. I can't even be rational about it, but it's there, out in the open, mocking me. But even with my failures, I know that God is greater than my faults and celebrates the smallest of victories. For in my millisecond of release, He does miraculous works. And in those miracles, there is light. Light is more powerful than any darkness.
It's a moment of pure innocence, absolute tranquility, the pinnacle of peacefulness.
Seeing her snuggled in her bed, safe and sound, is such a privilege that I all too often take for granted. Watching her, I think about every hope, every wonder, every moment of happiness that will come into her life. They are beautiful thoughts of family vacations and simple play times, along with every milestone that still awaits. They are the dreams that float to the surface.
But with those dreams come nightmares.
Already, there are signs - evidence of the darkness. It's the dark edges of reality that seem to grasp hold of so many - pulling them out of the light.
They are the fears every parent faces - the heartache you know will be unavoidable, the loneliness that lies in wait like a constant companion, the trials and choices that feel impossible to overcome during the fray.
We face these things as a parent, looking into our slumbering child's face, knowing they are unavoidable; wanting to protect them from every hurt, every fear, every defeat, but we can't, we mustn't. For without those things, we are not human. Without those things, we have no comprehension of reliance. No comprehension of triumph. No comprehension of grace.
Without darkness, there is no appreciation for light.
So I wonder, 'What can I do?' because I need to do something. I can't just sit idly by and do nothing. That may very well be an impossible task for me - to just sit back and watch everything unfold. So I do the seemingly simplest task that actually takes the most effort. I let go, and I pray. And though I let go, I only do so for a moment, because I'm just not that strong. Not strong enough or brave enough to truly trust God enough.
I want to desperately, but it's hard - it's my baby. It doesn't make any sense. I can't even be rational about it, but it's there, out in the open, mocking me. But even with my failures, I know that God is greater than my faults and celebrates the smallest of victories. For in my millisecond of release, He does miraculous works. And in those miracles, there is light. Light is more powerful than any darkness.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)