Although I’ve neglected this blog site the last few months, I have been writing. Words have spilled across the pages like prayer — from a heart stirred by the glaring needs of so many folks I love.
God has pulled me to Himself by tugging my heartstrings toward others, all while sending my fingers flying across the keyboard in private messages and texts or penning handwritten letters and dropping them in the mailbox.
Prayers for miracles.
Pleas for repentance and redemption to overtake wayward children.
Words of sympathy and condolences.
Petitions for healing.
Encouragement to continue pressing into Jesus during times of uncertainty.
Appeals for divine wisdom.
Requests for peace to outweigh the fears.
Entreaties for mercy to be abundant and judgment to be kind.
Whispers for God to show up and make Himself known to every person as they uniquely need Him to appear.
Heartfelt prayers for breaking hearts.
Somewhere along the way, I’ve discovered that writing prayers has become my act of worship during this season. I’ve shared bits and pieces of God and my soul with others. And shed more than a few tears. Because right now, life is hard. For so many people I love.
While I wish I could swoop upon the scene like Cinderella’s fairy godmother and wave my magic wand to bring about a happily ever after, that is not how real life works.
Nor does it seem to be how our heavenly Father works — at least not on this side of eternity. Although He certainly has the power to do so.
For reasons often puzzling to me, God does not simply descend and sweep away the struggles of this life. Instead of rescuing us from the trials, He infiltrates them with His presence, inviting us to notice Him here in the soot and ashes of living. And find a way to thank Him for coming.
Before the rescue happens,
Before the miracles occur,
Or even if they never do.
Jesus steps into our suffering, bringing with Him an unshakeable hope, despite the ferocity of the storm.
When the winds stir, He remains stable and in control. Immovable. Unconquerable. Simply here. Despite the confusion. Despite the questions. Despite the bad reports. Despite the angry words spoken. Despite the abandonment. Even despite death slamming the door, leaving shattered hearts in its wake.
As much as we desire answers to all our questions, the answers themselves are not the source of our hope.
Jesus is.
And when all that we once believed to be secure comes tumbling down around us, He remains.
Enough for this moment.
And enough for every next moment we will face.
Even those we prefer would never come.
When all else fails — Jesus. Never. Will.
Oh, we may feel as though He has let us down. We fear He has somehow overlooked our situation. Or, worse yet, forgotten us.
Perhaps you can relate to Genesis’ account of Joseph, abandoned behind prison doors certain you have been deserted and left for good (as in forever), when the truth is you may have been left for good (as in for the benefit of yourself or others).
It’s difficult to consider that possibility when we are suffering. To ponder that there may be a higher aim or future purpose for this pain that is far too real at present.
When the blackness of night strikes terror into our souls, it’s hard to hear the voice of the Lord singing over us.
When the report we so wanted to be negative comes back with positive results, it’s tough to trust that all will be well.
When the divorce papers are signed, it’s next to impossible to believe we will ever feel loved again.
And when the death certificate is delivered, it’s daunting to trust in new beginnings.
But all the while, God whispers, “It’s okay. I am here.”
And in that simple statement of truth, we are held with eternal hope and promised a love that never dies even if all else does.
No matter where you find yourself at this very moment, whether all is blue skies and sunshine or you are in the midst of a battle of monumental proportions, He is with you, beloved.
And if His presence is the only thing you can find to be grateful for, it is enough.
Because He is enough.
So call out to Jesus. Shout His name with desperation or through the whispers of a soul battered and worn.
He is as near as the very air you breathe.
May you cling to the hope of His presence for this moment and for every moment yet to come. With a heart secured in His salvation and assured of His love. Always.
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FOR REFLECTION
As I write these words like prayer, I offer them to whoever needs to hear them. Perhaps that person is you.
Or perhaps God is asking you to share your prayers with others.
Our world is full of hurting people who need reminders that Immanuel is with us. May you be both a recipient and a catalyst of that truth today.