Category Archives: faith

"see to it"…

“Tell Archippus, ‘See to it that you complete the work you have received in the Lord.’” (Colossians 4:17).

Last evening, I rushed home from our Bible study launch of Priscilla Shirer’s “one in a million” to participate in an on-line conference hosted by A Women Inspired. I missed most of the first session, but was excited to learn that my girl, Kristen from Exemplify, was hosting the second session. Like most of us in blogland, Kristen and I have yet to make a face-to-face connection. Thus, I was all the more eager to at least “hear” her voice; it didn’t matter much to me what she would be talking about. She could have talked fashion for all I cared; I would have listened (despite my careless attitude along those lines). It wasn’t the content I was after. It was the relationship. But my sister had a word to further validate the person she is … the person I’ve grown to love and admire throughout my time in the blogging world.

A simple, tender admonition to “see to it”. See to the work you have received in the Lord. She repeated the phrase throughout her presentation, and at one point, inserted my name into the mix (she knew I was there because participants are on-line “chatting” while the presenter is speaking).

“See to it, Elaine, see to it that you complete the work you have received in the Lord.”

I’ve thought a lot about that “charge” in the past fourteen hours, and I’ve asked the Lord a few questions along these lines. What is the work I have received from you Lord? What are you calling me to complete? What are the unfinished “chapters” that need words and punctuation and thematic flow? What is the work that is mine to conclude, and what is the work better left to someone else’s conclusion? Show me, Father, my place in your kingdom plan.

I went to sleep pondering my thoughts; I awoke with the same and then “happened” upon Mark 8:22-25 in my time of morning devotion.

“They came to Bethsaida, and some people brought a blind man and begged Jesus to touch him. He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man’s eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, ‘Do you see anything?’ He looked up and said, ‘I see people; they look like trees walking around.’ Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly.”

Today, like the blind man, I linger on the outskirts of Bethsaida with my questions regarding my “see to it”. My eyes vision partial; my heart all the more. Where I desire clarity, there are trees walking around. I am not alone in my contemplations; my Savior is here with me. In fact, he led me here by his hand and is administering his own form of clarity in the matter. He reminds me that clear vision takes faith, takes trust, and takes the necessary steps toward having trees turn into people. Dreams turn into realities. Hopes turn into the “surety and certainty” that roots me back to the Author and Perfecter of all “see to it’s”.

Seeing clearly begins with a willingness to walk with the Father to the outskirts of the village where we normally reside. Normal, usual, and daily routine don’t typically birth clarity regarding our “see to it’s”. Taking time to be Jesus in quiet isolation, away from life’s distractions, brings perspective. It is in those moments when we best pay attention to the hands of Christ’s administration over our needs. His “see to it’s” for each one of us are best seen when we can clearly hear the whisper of our names on his lips, offering us his tender admonition:

Elaine, do you see anything? What is coming into focus for you? See to it, child, see to the work you have received in my name.

How about you, friend?

____(your name)___, do you see anything? What is coming into focus for you? See to it, child, see to the work you have received in my name.

Today I have ample time for the contemplation because I am well aware of the human condition—the limits our bodies allow us to travel before putting a “halt” to our intentions, our lists, our “seeing to it’s”. It’s been looming for a few days now (read my last post). I’m fighting its arrival with plenty of prayer and over-the-counter wisdom, but even then, a “halt” has become my necessity.

Rather than seeing this day as a day lost regarding my many “lists”, I’m investing this time with my Father on the outskirts of my normal and asking him for his hands to sharpen my vision along the lines of my “see to it’s”. I believe him for as much, and I am exceedingly grateful for these moments I’ve been given to step aside with him in isolation.

I pray the same for you in the days to come. God has given each one of us some “see to it’s”. There are seasons when it’s hard to clearly determine his intentions along these lines, but as we take time to be alone with Jesus, he takes the time and is more than willing to sharpen our focus and to strengthen our steps for the duration and completion of the ordained works he has placed in our hands.

So in the words of the Apostle Paul, and in the words of my good friend Kristen, see to it today. See to Jesus. Be with Jesus. Walking trees are just the beginning of a sharper beholding. As you are faithful to hang on for more, God is faithful to reveal to you his more. As always,

peace for the journey,

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a night Visitor…

“One night Eli, whose eyes were becoming so weak that he could barely see, was lying down in his usual place. The lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the LORD, where the ark of God was. Then the LORD called Samuel.” (1 Samuel 3:2-4).

I’m not a good sleeper, but last night I slept … good. The night colored darker than usual, the sound machine gently lulled my slumber, the overhead ceiling fan operated at full throttle, and there were no boys above me to creak the witness of their presence. I went to bed earlier than usual, tucking myself in with some truth from God’s Word and some audible prayers for the saints.

Sleep was sweet, and then sleep was interrupted. Not by a loud noise or a neighboring dog or even the sound of my husband snoring. No, the culprit behind my “bolt-upright in bed” response was nothing more than the sound of a page turning in my Bible. It lay open by my bed; apparently the breeze created by the ceiling fan forced its movement. In doing so, it forced my notice.

For a few minutes, I became cognizant to the spiritual domain hovering close by. I’m not a mystic, nor do I major on the physical manifestations of the “unseen” dimension that I heartily believe to be at work around us 24/7. But I’ve lived with God long enough and deep enough to realize when he is making a point.

He made one last evening, and before I could forget it, I grabbed the pad of paper and pen that lay bedside and wrote down these words in the dark…

That’s the way our faith is with God. He shows up, pages turn, and the whispers of his grace wake us from our dismal slumber.

As quickly as I was awakened from my slumber, I returned to its embrace. When I awoke this morning, I wondered if my imagination was to blame for my earlier alertness. One quick glance at my notebook told me otherwise. The handwriting was a bit skewed, but the words verified the moment. And this morning, I’m thinking that maybe someone today needs to hear the truth about a “showing up, page turning, whispering grace” kind of God.

Our faith activates his presence. Every time. There is no “maybe” on his part; no “if I feel like it” or “if I’m not busy”. Our God is faithful to arrive upon the scenes of our lives as we are faithful to seek him out. Not just at night (although I think the quiet of evening and the cover of darkness is tailor made for his arrival), but also during the daytime when light is obvious and our senses are most alert to the movement around us.

If God is about anything, he’s about turning the pages of our stories with the idea that a conclusion is fast approaching. We cannot stop his inevitable end to our stories; we can stall the progress toward that end … put up roadblocks and force some heavy editing in the process, but make no mistake. Our books are being written by the very hand of God, and one day soon, ours will shelve alongside the ancients of old where we will spend an eternity, together with them, enraptured by the “read”.

Some of you, today, need for a page to turn in your life. Need the hand of God to reach down from heaven and end the suspense of the preceding paragraphs that have captured your attention for a long season. You desire to move on, to get on with the rest of your story, but you are stuck … mired down in the confusion of some words and with an understanding that refuses to move you on to the next page. Perhaps your strength has waned with the reading, forcing your slumber and your inattentiveness. Perhaps, even your faith has taken a hit.

I understand. I, too, have hosted some seasons of being stuck. I’m afraid I don’t have a ten-step plan or a fifteen-chapter book that will guarantee your success at breaking free from its grip. No, when I walk through times of slumber, times of wishing for the “page to turn” but unable to do so through my own strength, the only thing I know to do is to keep walking … keep refusing the pre-mature end to my story that, apparently, has a chapter or two more to be written.

In those seasons, I simply bring the unfinished product to Jesus, lay it before him, and ask him to move it forward … to move me forward. To reach down from heaven with the whispers of his grace and to blow the pages of my life and the faith of my heart onward.

He’s never disappointed me; he’s always been faithful and deliberate with his showing up. Granted, the progress is sometimes a bit slow for my taste, but even then, I’m willing to concede that my taste and my Father’s are not always equal in their merit. I cannot see the finished product; he can, and so I make a decision to trust him with the pace believing that the end will arrive on time and with the sacred conclusion of my final perfection.

I don’t how this strikes you today; maybe it’s not for you. But for a few of you, those of you whose eyes have grown “weak” and whose perception has grown dim, I want you to know the truth of my late-night encounter with the presence of the living God. When you activate your faith and incline your heart in his direction, he is faithful to reach down from the heavenlies and to turn the pages of your story in perfect keeping with his will.

If you are stuck today, I pray the whispers of God’s grace to be your portion and the witness of his presence to be your comfort. Your story is but one divine breath away from turning its page and moving its words forward into the annals of an everlasting faith. May God grant you the courage and the wisdom to relinquish the pen into his capable hands. As always…

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PS: I didn’t plan on being here today, but then again, I didn’t plan on a night visitor. I don’t know when I’ll be here again; I’m sensing the need to pull away for a few days. Please know that I keep you in my heart throughout the day. You’ve all become a vital and integral part in my faith journey, and I count it a privilege to live in fellowship with you. Enjoy this beautiful day we’ve been given; may the sure and certain presence of our Father find you on the pages of your story this week. Shalom.

a wave of empty

“So keep up your courage, men, for I have faith in God that it will happen just as he told me. Nevertheless, we must run aground on some island.” (Acts 27:25-26).

One of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever received came from a counselor during a time of great personal crisis nearly fourteen years ago. It went something like this…

Elaine, you spend a great deal of your time trying to “out swim” the waves that are chasing you. You expend your valuable energy in trying to reach the shore before they have the opportunity to consume you. Sometimes you make it; sometimes you don’t. How much better would it be if you stopped swimming, anchored your feet into the sand, and turned to face the wave … head on and with the full confidence that your survival has already been written in the history books?

Facing the wave. That’s where I am today. Actually, where I am is in an upstairs bedroom where two beds are stripped of their linens and where closets are mostly bare. The trophies remain … the bookshelf filled with yesteryear’s reads, and the dust all the more; but what I notice most about this room this morning is not the remnants left behind. What I’m most keenly aware of is its emptiness. The silence. The incredible void that fills this place because two young men are no longer making this room the place where they lay their heads at night.

My tears have mostly dried, and the exhaustion has nearly subsided; for the most part, I’m ready to “get on with the gettin’ on.” But before I do, before I have clarity about “what’s next” for me and for those of us left behind, I want to spend some time this week “facing the wave” and allowing the full force of change to hit me squarely in the heart, therefore requiring me to grapple with some questions that are worthy of more than my casual acknowledgment.

Questions that arrive because routine has been stripped away and because there is now ample time and space to formulate some answers, out loud and before God in a way that wouldn’t have been possible a week ago. A week ago, I was still walking through this parental obedience of “letting go” with the objects of that “letting go” still shadowing my every move. Today, the shadows are removed. They are gone, casting their depth on the campuses of two universities that are just out of my reach.

Truly, I’m fine with the distance between us. It is part of their “becoming”; it’s part of mine. All of us are searching for the “next thing”—the next step in this journey called faith. And while their search leads them along different paths than mine, one thread remains constant for us all. Change has arrived, and when change comes, we can do one of two things with it. We can fight it, or we can bend to it … bow to it, turn to it and allow the full force behind its pulse to hit us where we stand and to shape us accordingly.

I choose to turn and face the wave this day, knowing that regardless of the “hit” my survival has already been written in the history books.

Some days … some seasons … our ships, like the Apostle Paul’s, get the “go ahead” from God to run aground. Our safety isn’t in question. We may feel as if it is; after all, the waves are high and the surge is certain. We may have lost all hope of being saved from the storm; but even there, our God comes to us in the dark of the night and reminds us that not one of us will be lost. We live with the assurance that our lives will be spared. But our ships? Our comfortable and our familiar?

Well, sometimes they know the splintering and breakage of an intentional island, placed in our paths on purpose and with the sole intention of stripping us down to the basics. The island is never intended to destroy us but, rather, to save us. Without it, we are at risk of succumbing to the treacherous battering from a sea’s fury whose relentless passion has sent more than a few ships to a watery and forgotten grave.

With the island, we get reprieve. A fresh start. A place of beginning again; of rebuilding and renewal and re-examination of a life that will continue down a new path, yet one with the same destination in mind.

Home to God.

He will use many routes to get us there, all manner of detours and obstacles to accomplish our arrival. We may not always welcome the change … the “stripping down” and painful emptiness that calls for our contemplation and our maturation. But to deny its reality is to delay its intentional good. And God is after our good; not for goodness’ sake, but for his sake. For his plan. For his perfected end that gloriously welcomes and includes our “becoming” as part of the determined process.

Perhaps this day the waves are fiercely and desperately chasing you from behind. Your ship is hanging by a thread and your efforts at “lightening the load” are doing little to quell the fury. Your “frantic and frenzy” at trying to “out swim” the inevitable embrace of the waves in order to reach the safety of the shore has worn you out and your exhaustion is complete.

Would you be willing to pause, to stop where you are, to dig your heels deeply into the soil beneath your weary feet and then to courageously, turn and face the wave? Sometimes a ship has to be willing to be broken in order for a life to be saved. It maybe your ship … your life. It maybe the life of someone you dearly love. Either way, the willingness to invite the “stripping down” of the waves is the beginning of the “building up” of a new way of doing life with Jesus.

Thus, keep up your courage, friends, and I will keep up mine. I have all the confidence in my God to lead us as we go and to bring us safely home, just as he has said. Our God is ever faithful. He will do it.

Even so, do it today, Lord Jesus. As always…

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a worthy pause … God’s worthy cause

“Pray that God restores a place in me…”

That was her request. It haunts me now, some seven hours down the road. She spoke it from a place of absolute brokenness and ample isolation. She also asked me to pray that the devil would stop doing bad things to her … that God would be stronger than the devil and make him sorry for all the evil things he’s been doing in the world.We didn’t talk theology and where she had it “wrong” as it pertained to the devil’s power in relation to God’s power. We simply held hands and ate some lunch and prayed for a better day, all the while sitting on the curb in front of the local Bed, Bath, & Beyond.

I found her there, slumped on a park bench, completely unaware of her surroundings. I’d just finished up my Tuesday lunch with the “ancients”. While making my way to the van, I spied her out of the corner of my eye. People were pointing, commenting, and stepping quickly past her obvious brokenness.

It’s not a sight we see very often in these parts. Our lives are fairly sanitized and void of the “in your face” kind of moments that call for involvement. Yes, we take our mission trips overseas, and we stock the local food pantry, but when it comes to “hands on” and “in the moment”, well, rarely are we presented with the occasion. Thus, when such profound “need” comes knocking, it always warrants my notice; not always my intervention, but certainly my notice.

I’ve been noticing “need” all of my life. I suppose it began as a young child while watching my father’s intervention on behalf of the needy within our community. He has a special place in his heart for them, an even more special knack for intervention. If hugeness of heart is learned, then any measure I possess began at home. I learned from the best. My daddy is a foot-washer, both with the tangibles and the intangibles.

Today, my heart was called upon to remember. And so, rather than leaving the parking lot with regret, I circled back around, rolled down my window and simply shouted,

“Ma’am, are you hungry?”

By this point, she was stumbling down the sidewalk, after having been rudely interrupted from her slumber by a honking horn (apparently someone less comfortable with her “park bench” status). Her bleary eyes and mumbling response assured me of her appetite. I told her I would be back and that she should wait for me.

After what seemed to be an extensive wait at the local Chick-Fil-A, I returned to find my new friend sitting on the curb where I’d left her, barefoot and with the few items she carried strewn around her. She quickly offered me her thanks for the food, confident of my needing to make a quick escape. But I didn’t need to … escape. She was where I needed to be.

I sat down on the curb beside her and shared a half-hour of my day with a woman whose fifty-seven years on this earth have left her with some scars and certain hopelessness. She talked about her three children, especially about the one she aborted long ago and how he/she would have been 38 years old this year. When she discovered that my husband was a pastor, she asked if we could come and be the pastors at a church unfamiliar to me. She assured me they needed a good pastor. I assured her I was married to one and that I would like her to meet him someday.

We talked about other things; some strange “others” and some that made more sense. And then, my new friend, Gail, was ready to leave. I asked her if I could pray for her, and without hesitation, she grabbed for my hands and uttered a small request for some restoration within her own heart. Her words; not mine.

For all of the things she could have asked for, for all of the ways her conversation seemed to wander and weave in confusion, when it came to prayer, she asked from a place of understanding. She knew she was in need of God’s restorative power in her life. And so for a few moments, I prayed. Others milled past our make-shift altar with quiet conversation and knowing glances.

And then, as quickly as our sacred intersection had arrived, it passed. I hugged Gail, returned to my van, and she returned to her wandering. Even now, I can’t type these words without some painful tears of remembrance and a few questions alongside.

Does compassion have a limit? If so, what’s mine? Where does it end? Is thirty minutes enough? Should I have done more, been more, given more, loved more? Where do my needs end so that hers can have ample time and room enough to know a deeper sustenance beyond a chicken sandwich and a few moments of conversation? Should I have said more about Jesus, been more declarative about the truth I hold in my heart?

I couldn’t look at her feet, Heidi, and not think about washing them … literally. Not just her feet, but her entire body that signaled it had been a long time since her last shower. But I didn’t offer her a basin. Instead, I came home and immediately washed my own hands and thought about taking a shower to further separate me from the unpleasant smell.

I’m conflicted about it all, and quite honestly, I don’t know what to do with these feelings that wrap themselves around such “open-ended” moments of ministry. Chicken sandwiches aren’t cutting it for me; most assuredly, they’re not cutting it for her. Not really. Seems a pitiful offering when the need is so great.

Still and yet, I suppose it’s something. A beginning, perhaps. The seeding of a further wrestling that seems to be growing in me now more than ever before.

There’s got to be more to my mission on this planet than my words and my feeble attempts at pacifying a temporary ache. I know I can’t be all things to all people; who needs that kind of guilt? But, maybe, I can offer a good thing to the few people who God so graciously scripts into my every day and my along the way. Wasn’t that the lifeblood of his ministry here on earth?

The everyday and along the way? The one over the many? Jesus never rushed his earthly encounters with his created. Instead, he offered people his time and his undivided attention. He even offered a basin and a towel and the humbled posture to cleanse the needs of a very dirty people in order to make them ready for very difficult walk to the cross.

He’s still doing it, and he’s using the likes of you and me as his conduits of reconciliation. He’s entrusted us with a great deal; seems a bit risky to me, for I am well-aware of all the times I could’ve, should’ve offered grace at a deeper level. I’m not there yet, but I’m growing closer in my need to do so. Christ’s love compels me along these lines.

I want to walk like Jesus and touch like Jesus and give the “Gail’s” of this world the peace and restoration that their hearts are hungering for so that, indeed, the devil will get his due and my God will get his glory. I don’t always believe God for the restoration of lives that seem so lost … so far gone and so deeply broken. Tonight I confess my unbelief and ask God for Gail’s complete restoration, for the tiny spark that was lit this afternoon to flame into a full-blown fire of holy cleansing within her heart.

I don’t know what that might look like for her in days to come, but I believe God knows the best way to get there. I only wish I might have done more.

Next time.

By the grace of God, next time, thus I pray…

Grow my heart to a Jesus-sized heart, Father. One that doesn’t put boundaries on love; one that is willing to bend and to wash and to pray until restoration finds its home within the brokenhearted. Forgive me for my complacency and move my will to action on behalf of the kingdom. Guard my friend, Gail, this night with your careful watch and tender care. For all of the demons that assail her flesh and invade her mind, speak your peace and freedom over them all. Let this be the day of her new birth and understanding in you, Lord, and remind her of your love and mine with every step she takes. Thank you for intersecting my life with hers, and should our paths never cross again on this side of eternity, I pray for her salvation that will land her in my path when I get home to you. Break my heart for your people, again and again and again until I no longer have an agenda of my own but only one that lives and breathes for you. Amen.

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Walking Our Assignment…

“See to it that no one misses the grace of God…” (Hebrews 12:15).

 

This morning, Spurgeon has me thinking about the Israelites’ tribal progression through the wilderness and how this relates to my own progression through mine.

I’m pretty sure I have some “Judahite” blood running through my veins. They were the leaders in the journey; in charge and in front … those given the privilege of a “first glimpse” of the road ahead without the worry of what’s been left behind. Visionary walking suits me. I like being the one trusted with the unfolding of a promise.

I think, perhaps, I have some “Levite” blood coursing through my veins. They found their place throughout the progression. Some in front, carrying the Ark of the Covenant, some in the middle of the pack, charged with the task of carrying the tabernacle and its furnishings. Regardless of their position, their responsibility was all things “worship-related”. “Set-apart” and consecrated walking is also a good fit for me. I like being the one trusted with the sacred things of God.

But the Danites? Those at the rear and trusted with the responsibility of clean up … a final look-over for the “left-behinds”? The last to set up camp and the last to see God’s “up ahead”? Well, I don’t think I’d choose it, but then again, I don’t imagine the choosing is up for grabs.

Some days we lead; some days we clean-up. There is merit and purpose in both positions. We don’t always see it this way. What we see is our position in relation to those around us. We are tempted to measure our “holy” worth by what our brothers and sisters are doing, forgetting all the while that the role we’ve been given is vital and necessary as it pertains to us corporately walking through to God’s land of promise.

God doesn’t intend for our journey of grace to walk in isolation. He means for us to step it in unison as his holy tribe, set apart for his consecration and en route to a completed end. To get there, we must be willing to walk our assigned positions with the understanding that God has ordered our steps and that he is faithful to make each one of them count for kingdom gain.

The trouble comes when we begin to think that we could “order” better … that somehow our wisdom exceeds God’s. Instead of seeing the worth in the place we’ve been assigned, we jockey ourselves for a front position, giving little credence and credibility to our seasons of “in the middle” or “at the back”.

Do you ever wonder if God grows weary with our assessment regarding his assignment for our lives? I’m certain I’ve nearly exasperated his patience along the way … times when I’ve frantically pushed my way “from the back” to try and make a place for myself “at the front”. Some days, I nearly exhaust myself from the spiritual gymnastics of trying to land myself in the place of my choosing.

What a waste of time.

I think we diminish God’s kingdom purpose when we allow ourselves the freedom to roam between camps, squandering time and expending energy on things that aren’t intended for our consideration. In doing so, we delay the process of our holy progression. How much better would it be to pitch our tents in the place of God’s intention and get busy with the assignments lying within our borders rather than reaching for a task never intended for our hands?

For the Danites, that assignment measured out differently than that of the Judahites and the Levites, yet all were equal in worth as it pertained to their moving on with God. All assignments were given with the end result in mind—getting to the Promised Land in tact and with the consecrated faith that comes from walking in corporate trust with God and his people rather than stepping in selfish isolation.

This is our wilderness pilgrimage, friends. Right here; right now. The life we live between two points—our birth and our burial—is the march of faith entrusted to our wandering hearts. This is our desert assignment. Life on earth is but our bridge to the life we will live in the full promise and truth of God’s forever.

Getting there isn’t an easy walk. It means pitching our tents in the place of God’s choosing and making it home until he loosens the pegs and pushes us onward. It means taking our rightful place within his ordered understanding and relinquishing our thoughts about how we could do it better. It means viewing our progression from different vantage points and being incredibly thankful with the fact we’ve been given the eyes to vision God’s promise in any measure, regardless of our positions.

It means keeping to the truth of kingdom perspective and making sure that no one, no single person placed within our allowable reach, misses the grace of God and, therefore, misses the march of freedom.

Perhaps this is the worth of walking with some Danite bloodlines, the beauty of standing “at the back” and with a fuller picture in view. They were the clean-up crew. When the Judahites and the other-“ites” missed a few stragglers—those who were forgotten and mistakenly looked-over in the chaos and confusion of moving ahead—the Danites were charged with their inclusion. With making sure that the “left-behinds” had the opportunity to walk the road of Promise.

I don’t know your position this day. Some of you are in the lead; some are muddled down in the middle, and some of you are hunkered down at the rear. Some of you don’t like your position. I understand. I’ve harbored similar feelings in seasons past; I imagine it won’t be the last time I find my discontent regarding my assigned position. Regardless of our place in the line-up of grace’s procession, we are all charged with its dispensation. With making sure that no one misses out on God’s journey of promise.

And when we take hold of that understanding, that we all are entrusted with a great grace from a great God to be a great influencer regarding a great kingdom, then any position we’ve been assigned becomes holy ground, consecrated and set apart for a great purpose.

It’s a great day to be a kingdom walker and to share this desert wandering with you, my friends. This week, I’m standing with the Danites as part of the clean-up crew … maybe even for the next season of my life. Where have you been called to stand this day? Don’t worry. If you feel left behind in the “push” forward, I’ve got you covered. So does God. You won’t be left behind. This is the beauty of our corporate walk together.

As always, my prayer and hope is for you to know your God more fully in this moment because of your spending some time with me at “peace for the journey”. We serve the only God who can be known. The more we press into his truth, the greater our understanding about who he IS.

Think on him this day, and be thankful for your position within the march to freedom … to Promise. I love you each one.

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PS: If you would like to study further regarding the Israelites’ march to Promise, Numbers 2 is a good place to start.

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