The Olive May Fail

 “Though the fig tree 

may not blossom,

Nor fruit be on the vines;

Though the labor 

of the olive may fail,

And the fields yield no food;

Though the flock 

may be cut off from the fold,

And there be no herd 

in the stalls--

Yet I will rejoice in the LORD,

I will joy 

in the God of my salvation.

The LORD God 

is my strength;

He will make my feet 

like deer’s feet,

And He will make me walk 

on my high hills.”

A number of years ago, at the beginning of a one year time period that was one of our worst years — a time of severe and long-lasting pain for me that held no end in sight — a physically miserable, emotionally devastating year filled with tests and imaging and surgery and a long recovery, I went to a pastors’ wives retreat. At the retreat, the Lord gave me a song. I had not yet walked through what was coming. And I knew I would be walking through something. 

“The joy of the Lord 

will be my strength

I will not falter, 

I will not faint

He is my Shepherd, 

I am not afraid

The joy of the Lord 

is my strength

The joy of the Lord

The joy of the Lord

The joy of the Lord 

is my strength

The joy of the Lord 

will be my strength

He will uphold me 

all of my days

I am surrounded 

by mercy and grace

And the joy of the Lord 

is my strength

The joy of the Lord

The joy of the Lord

The joy of the Lord 

is my strength

The joy of the Lord 

will be my strength

And I will not waiver, 

walking by faith

He will be strong 

to deliver me safe

And the joy of the Lord 

is my strength

The joy of the Lord

The joy of the Lord

The joy of the Lord 

is my strength”

You can be suffering pain, uncertainty, lack of resources, loss of relationships, and so many other miseries AND still be surrounded by His mercy and grace. I did not know if I would physically survive that year. And some days I turned my face to the wall and just laid there, heart open in wordless pain to the Lord. I fretted that my children would be motherless, and my husband widowed. And then I trusted them to Him who loves them better than me. I sat in a chair much of that year. 

And the Lord sustained me. He delivered me. He walked the valley with me, and brought me out again. 

You might think I don’t like hearing that song anymore. But you’d be wrong. 

When I hear it, and when I sing it, I remember how the Lord helped me endure when I couldn’t endure. How He gave me courage and taught me to trust Him when my prayers felt like they fell to the floor. How it isn’t abundant circumstances that give us abundant life. 

The joy of the Lord is my strength.

How To Sustain

Sunday morning, February 28,
I was in the Word
and had my attention drawn to two passages of Scripture.
The first is Proverbs 15:4:
"A wholesome tongue is a tree of life: 
but perverseness in it breaks the spirit."
A wholesome tongue.
A healing tongue.
Another version called it a gentle tongue.

So, I was praying about that.
Thinking about what James says about our tongues.
A very world of iniquity.
And that the man who has control over that is a perfect man.
I prayed for forgiveness and transformation.
Because I have not achieved such perfection.
And sometimes, the words escape me.

I want to heal with my words. 
To restore and redeem. 
To reconcile. 
To build up.
To bless You and Your people. 

Then the Lord brought my attention to Isaiah 50:4:
"The Lord God has given me the tongue of those who are taught, 
that I may know how to sustain with a word him who is weary."
Ah, Lord-- give me the tongue of those who are taught.
I want to know how to sustain the weary with a word. 

I read through these with my children, and we prayed together about them, too.

Sunday afternoon my brother went to the ER
because a pharmacist told him to when he saw his swollen elbow.
Tuesday afternoon, he went in for exploratory surgery
because of an infection that was not responding to antibiotics, and kept growing.
In surgery, he finally got a diagnosis: necrotizing fasciitis.
Maybe you never heard of it.
You probably don't want to.
I actually already knew what it was
because we have a family friend
whose life God miraculously spared from it in the 1990s.

A number of us skipped dinner for intercession,
(my oldest three children joined in that decision).
I did not sleep much.
My brother's ambulance was arriving at his third hospital very late,
and I wanted as much news as I could get.
And I was praying.

Once he was in surgery again,
and I knew the news would be awhile in coming, I grew so tired.
I fell asleep on my phone.
When I woke up, in the wee hours of the morning,
I looked at my phone and saw a little conversation, but still no news.
I prayed again, and found myself thanking God
for my brother, my family, my parents and my husband,
my very dear brothers and sisters in Christ
who were awake praying over my baby brother,
doctors and nurses who care and strain themselves doing it.

My sister said a little while later that she had fallen asleep
feeling guilty that she was so tired she couldn't stay awake.
So tired.
But here's the thing, and what really has been balm:
While we were collapsing exhausted,
the Lord was waking up people who love Him to intercede.
I've heard from at least fifteen people
(and I do not doubt there are more)
who were awakened to pray in the night.
And I think of Moses standing with his arms lifted but weary,
and friends who care coming in to support.
And I am overwhelmed with gratitude
at God's handiwork in uniting a family that is not family.
I am so thankful for the family He placed me in,
that transcends states and nations, that crosses over time zones.
When one member suffers, we all suffer.
Bless the Lord, who daily loads us with benefits.

And yesterday, as I was pondering the whole thing,
and thinking how like to flesh eating bacteria
the growing evil in our nation and world is,
and how we need to be directed to the care of a doctor,
to have the condition recognized for what it is,
to be scrubbed clean of it,
and to be prayed over,
but we are too tired and weak to intercede alone --
the words came back from Sunday morning again.

A wholesome tongue.
A healing tongue.
The tongue of those who are taught.
That I may know how to sustain with a word him who is weary.
Because we are weary.
My brother's body is weary.
And prayer and the Word sustain.

And perhaps God will have mercy on our nation if we call out to Him.
Those who are taught intercede.

Second and First

I took my son to his second piano lesson today.
Second is a key word to what follows.
His teacher seemed quite pleased with his ability to hear the music.
I do not play the piano, although a number of people in my family do.
I brought a book along, intending to read.
But I kept being distracted by overheard reminders
to sit with a strong back,
and to keep his hand positioned in a hill, and not a valley.
In spite of the repetition of these reminders,
it was obvious she was pleased with his musical inclination.

His teacher taught him a new warm up.
He played it, and then asked her
if he could show her something it reminded him of.
"Yes, of course."
He haltingly worked out a tune, faltering a little at first,
and then plainly resolving into It Is Well With My Soul.

Scenes from my uncle's house, while he lay very sick
with his parents and siblings around him singing this came to mind.
Laughter through tears, and joy in sorrow.
A few months later, they were singing my Grandma home,
with the same uncle brought in through video phone calls.
So many songs of faith and hope in pain and death.
When I recognized the music, I cried.

I do not know
what parents usually experience with their children's piano lessons.
This is my first time.
But my son stuns me.
As we got into the car to leave, I said,
"I've never heard you play that one before."
"Well, that's the first time I ever played it, Mom. That's why it wasn't right."
Ah.
The first time you ever played it, it was nearly in a flash of inspiration
from hearing a short warm-up exercise?
Of course.
"Hey, next time pick something I can hear without crying."

To Lift Others

I got a note from an old friend a few days ago.
Told me how the Lord had brought me to mind in prayer.
Spoke of faithfulness, and thanks,
and friendship with God,
and sunlight.
Isn't it good to hear encouragement?
Have you given any out lately?

I found myself pondering
how words of thankfulness and blessing that we hear
slip down the drain when one complaint is voiced.

But thou, O Jehovah, art a shield about me; 
My glory and the lifter up of my head. 
~Psalm 3:3

I am thankful for those who let Him use them to reach out and lift others.

Now You Offer It To Me

That thing that made you weep and sent you reeling,
and the thing that hurt too much to bear alone,
that pushed you to seek comfort 
and to beg for company --
it resulted in a hand reached out to steady,
and a drink that when you swallowed quenched your thirst.
And the words your sister told you let the light in,
and the light was just enough so you could see.
You're still standing in the comfort, like a blanket,
warmed enough that now you offer it to me.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of mercies and God of all comfort;
who comforteth us in all our affliction,
that we may be able to comfort them that are in any affliction,
through the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.
For as the sufferings of Christ abound unto us,
even so our comfort also aboundeth through Christ."
2 Corinthians 1:3-5

"For even when we were come into Macedonia our flesh had no relief,
but we were afflicted on every side;
without were fightings, within were fears.
Nevertheless he that comforteth the lowly, even God,
comforted us by the coming of Titus;
and not by his coming only,
but also by the comfort wherewith he was comforted in you,
while he told us your longing, your mourning, your zeal for me;
so that I rejoiced yet more."
2 Corinthians 7:5-7

Soul Sisters

"I had a bad dream last night," she told me.
When she told me what it was, I agreed.
It was a very bad dream.
I asked her to read Psalm 91:1 to me --
a verse that has chased away nightmares in my life.
I suggested she learn it and keep it in her heart.
And she told me that she had awakened her sister in the night,
and that her big sister had prayed with her,
and let her fall asleep in her bed with her.
Oh, how good and pleasant it is when sisters dwell together in unity.
I am so blessed to have my daughters ministering to each others' needs.

Food for the Hungry

He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High 
shall abide in the shadow of the Almighty.

I read it in my news feed this morning, shared by a friend.
It's one of those verses that marked a turning point in my life.
I remember the night I read it so many years ago.
I woke up from a nightmare that night, and it came to my rescue.
The Word came in, and the fear went out.
I said it, and the darkness fled.

I have asthma.
Some seasons the asthma is worse,
and I use an inhaler to release the squeezing of my lungs.
Reading that verse this morning felt like Albuterol to my spirit.
I breathed it in, and the squeezing released.
Oh, I love His Word.
Medicine to my soul, food for the hungry.

Thank You, Father, for the balm that You give us,
for the remedy to our spiritual ailments.
Thank You for the water You give to the thirsty,
for the growth that You bring when we take You in.

Tell Every Trembler

"God has been faithful to you.
Tell it to your children. 
Tell them God will save sinners when they come to Him, 
for He saved you... 
Tell them He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins 
if we confess them to Him, 
and to save us from all unrighteousness, 
for He forgave you. 
Tell every trembler you meet with 
that Jesus will in no wise cast out any that come to Him.
Tell all seekers that if they seek, they will find, 
and that to everyone who knocks, 
the door of mercy will be opened. 
Tell the most despondent and despairing 
that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, 
even the very chief..."
(C.H. Spurgeon, The Practice of Praise)

Sometimes the trembler I meet with is the one in my mirror.

In The Multitude of My Anxieties

"Unless the Lord had been my help,
my soul would soon have settled in silence.
If I say, 'My foot slips,'
Your mercy, O Lord, will hold me up.
In the multitude of my anxieties within me,
Your comforts delight my soul."
~Psalm 94:17-19

As a child, I loved flying.
In fact, I loved it until September 11, 2001.
My anxiety increased with each trip taken after that.
In 2010 I stopped flying
when the Obama administration
instituted its new security measures against even innocent American citizens.
Since then, I have taken some long car drives,
and even a long train trip (which I recommend heartily).

But earlier this month, we were asked to come out
and be introduced to the church.
It was an internal wrestling match for me.
I intended to send my husband alone, and stay behind.
I am that courageous.

Some of you fly without anxiety, I suppose.
Perhaps being irradiated in the name of security doesn't bother you.
Perhaps being pulled out for additional screening
every time you've flown (save one) since 2003 doesn't disturb you.
But it has disturbed me.
Maybe you don't mind surly blue-shirts who question your clothing choices,
look suspiciously at your glasses,
yell at you for not knowing where to stand,
and make your children cry.
But I have minded.

I suppose the turmoil was because I felt I ought to do it,
and had no intention of doing it, regardless.
But I love Jesus, and I want to please Him.
In distress, I prayed about it in spite of my determination.
And after praying about it,
I opened up my Chequebook of Faith devotional and read this:

"'Blessed shalt thou be when thou comest in, 
and blessed shalt thou be when thou goest out' 
(Deuteronomy 28:6)
...I have a good deal of work to do within my own soul; 
oh for a blessing upon it all, 
the blessing of the Lord Jesus, who has promised to abide with me.
I must also go out.
Timidity makes me wish that I could stay within doors, 
and never go into the sinful world again.
But I must go out in my calling,
and I must go out that I may be helpful to my brethren,
and useful to the ungodly...
Oh for a blessing upon my going out this day!
Lord, let me go where Thou leadest,
on Thy errands, under Thy command,
and in the power of Thy Spirit."

I flipped through a book by Oswald Chambers that same day,
one I had not looked at in years.
Its title?
So Send I You.
"The stamp of the saint 
is that you can waive your own rights and obey the Lord Jesus."
I told my husband I would go with him.
Knowing me as he does, he had not insisted.

These anxieties are thorns to me.
Painful, irritating limitations.
Messengers of Satan to torment me.
They slow me, and hurt me.
Handicap me.
And as with Paul, who begged the Lord to remove his thorn,
the Lord answers,
"My grace is all you need.
My power works best in weakness."
They hold me down, and make me weak,
but when I lean on Him to walk through them,
they give me power.

Having opted for a pat down instead of being scanned,
and having encountered a very polite and respectful agent
who did not yell at me or act irritated with me,
I walked through the airport toward our gate.
We weren't in a hurry.

As I looked around,
my eyes fell to rest on a display set up on the way to my gate.
"The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in."
(Psalm 121:8)
There was a Bible open in the display case.
Two verses were highlighted in it.
They happen to be significant ones to me.
"He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High
shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord,
'He is my refuge and my fortress; my God, in Him will I trust.'"
(Psalm 91:1,2)

And He did preserve our going out and our coming in.
Thank You, Father:
in the multitude of my anxieties within me,
Your comforts delight my soul.

Therefore I Have Hope

I opened my Facebook this morning
and saw one of those things
posted by Christian friends with good intentions,
hoping to stir up in you the perfect parent
and thus lead your family into a state of unmatched perfect outcomes,
never yet seen in the world.
That was how it felt, anyway.

Don't forget: everything depends on you.
If you fail to be perfect in parenting,
husbanding,
wife-ing,
and general citizenry,
all is lost,
and your children will lead the next pagan revival.

Honestly I didn't even read the post.
I have enough anxiety about my performance,
and the results of my performance
without reading it.
Maybe it was a truly helpful post.
But its title looked unbearably guilt-trippy and depressing to me.

And when a child in my house informed me this morning
that I 'was bearing false witness against them!' 
by requesting that the pan cupboard be straightened up,
knowing that particular child
had shoved everything into it topsy-turvy in a haze of daydreaming,
I lost my temper.

The bickering between this one and one other has worn me down.
I am tired of hearing pointless arguments
and contradictions without cause.
And snotty little comments made to provoke tears.
And denials of reality when reality is that the child is a space cadet,
and walks around putting things in odd places,
whether the places and actions are remembered or not.
And it was the last straw.

I did not bake some cookies to correct the misinformed little soul.
I failed to keep my cool.
And probably ruined all future hope of happiness and prosperity for the child.
Maybe of Christianity, too.
Although I did apologize,
and the child apologized,
and we hugged one another and forgave one another.

It says that if your brother has something against you,
go to him and be reconciled.
It doesn't say,
"If your brother has something against you,
you are obviously damned
because Christians never do wrong by each other,
and don't need to ask forgiveness of each other."

It isn't our perfection that sharpens one another, I think.
I think that where it says,
"As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another,"
it's more about friction than lubrication.
Sometimes I wish there was less to sharpen in me.

My husband texted me, "Broken people beget broken people.
If it wasn't for the Lord, what would we do?
He is strong.
He will hold us up."

Feeling like a jerk, I sat down and looked over a few blogs,
hoping to glean a little grace.
And my eyes fell on one of my favorites,
which was quoting a Scripture yesterday:
"This I recall to my mind,
therefore I have hope:
The Lord's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease,
for His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning; great is Thy faithfulness."

And it's from Lamentations -- a bit of grace in itself.
'Compassions' are multiple.
'Lovingkindnesses' are multiple.
Unfailing.
Unceasing.
New every morning.
And strangely enough, though I am a Christian,
I need them again today.
Maybe you do, too.

There is reason to hope.
Though my lovingkindnesses stopped with six words said to me,
and my compassion probably didn't even get out of bed this morning,
His was new again, as ever.
And His faithfulness is great.

Have mercy on us sinners, Lord,
and sanctify our dirt-born lives.

My Helper

While I listened to Friday's news,
with shooting in the streets of Boston
between the marathon bombers and the authorities,
and the city locked down,
a reporter offered this advice for parents to comfort children with
who were being exposed to terror in this week's news cycle:
Look for the helpers.
It is Mr. Rogers' advice, and I saw it passed around on Facebook, too.
It seems not much comfort
in the light of people bleeding in the streets, their legs gone,
and parents powerless to save their children.
In the face of horrendous evil, brave kindness seems small:
the courage of those heroes who run to explosions,
who drench themselves in the blood of strangers,
trying to tie in their lifeflow.

But in the face of that bloody fear,
He gives real comfort:
He Himself has said, 'I will never leave you, nor forsake you.'
So that we may boldly say, 'The Lord is my Helper, I will not fear. 
What can man do to me?' (Hebrews 13:5,6)
Maybe that seems like a foolish question after a bombing.
Obviously men can do us harm.
Jesus said, "I tell you, my friends, 
do not be afraid of those who kill the body 
but cannot afterward do anything worse. 
I will show you whom to fear: 
fear God, who, after killing, has the authority to throw into hell. 
Believe me, He is the one you must fear! 
Aren't five sparrows sold for two pennies? 
Yet not one sparrow is forgotten by God. 
Even the hairs of your head have all been counted. 
So do not be afraid;
 you are worth much more than many sparrows!"
(Luke 12:4-7)

Be anxious for nothing, 
but in everything, by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, 
let your requests be made known to God; 
and the peace of God, which surpasses understanding,
will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

A terrorist can separate you from your body,
but cannot separate you from His love.
Our Lord is risen, and He will raise us.
He has conquered sin and death, and in Him, we are also conquerors.
In His Light, we see Light, though we see the darkness, too.

Gleaning Grace

From the time I was a child, the end of December held dread for me.
There was Christmas to look forward to,
but the end of Christmas was such sadness.
There was no more fun to be had for the year.
Nothing to expect, but a return from vacation to that long stretch of school.
New Year's is my most hated holiday.
It has always felt like a dismal foreboding approaching.
And it made me sad even about Christmas itself.

Over the years, I have noticed that the news itself
conspires against hope particularly at this season:
The end of the world is approaching.
The wicked have come out in force to assert their evil wills over the innocent.
Again.
Only in worse ways than you imagined.
The bottom is about to fall out of the economy.
The only solution to these perplexing problems
is to surrender the freedom of law-abiding citizens
(and the tools of self defense),
to pay higher taxes,
and to live in the eternal dark.

But this year, although the darkness of the season
and of the world does oppress me,
I feel a hopeful flutter in my heart.
I am looking forward, though the new year promises no improvement.

One of my Christmas gifts is a book which I anticipate comfort from.
Comfort from one who was comforted in so much grief.
Two children lost within months of each other,
after bouts of miserable sickness which he also suffered.
And while that sounds like a terrible beginning,
he gleaned grace in it,
and offers it up for our edification.
And I intend to eat it.

The book is called Diary of an Old Soul by George MacDonald.
It is a book of poetry he wrote, seven lines every day,
while he wept over his children's deaths.
It is arranged as a devotional.
It is one long poem-prayer
broken into a short seven lines a day.

It is reverent, honest, grieving, and hopeful.
It looks in faith toward Him who conquered death.
And He is the only hope we have in the face of death and sin.

Although it is not January first yet, I cheated and read the first three poems.
And what I read made me, for the first time in my life,
look forward to the new year.

The very first one:

Lord, what I once had done with youthful might,
Had I been from the first true to the truth,
Grant me, now old, to do-- with better sight,
And humbler heart, if not the brain of youth;
So wilt thou, in thy gentleness and ruth,
Lead back thy old soul, by the path of pain,
Round to his best-- young eyes and heart and brain.

Is that not beautiful?
Does it not urge you to get out your dictionary and look up ruth?
I ought to have looked it up long ago -- it is my mother's name.
Compassion for the misery of another.
And yet, all that remains of this sweet word's usage in our culture
is the word ruthless.
Let's change that.

Anniversary Thanks

What to say on this anniversary of her homecoming?
Looking back on my memories of her,
I look forward to realities she's already living in.
When next I see her, her eyes will sparkle more
than they always did when she arrived for a visit.
I expect she'll have a bag to unpack full of gifts of another kind.

"Give thanks in all circumstances," it says.
Grandma did that.
Here we are on the eve of Thanksgiving,
and many of us have suffered loss,
and perhaps only look forward to more losses.
In all these things, we are more than conquerors.
Our prize is already waiting.
The Son of God has crossed the finish line for us.
In Him, all the promises of God are 'yes' and 'amen'.
So remain in Him.
In Him we have Life.
Live in Him.
In all our sorrows, He has shared.
And we will share His joy.
Thank You, Jesus, for the fellowship of the Spirit,
the communion of the saints.

Call me Mara.

She had worked all her life in service to her family.
She birthed those sons in pain and blood.
She packed up her home with her own hands,
and followed her husband out of the drought.
The famine.
Out of the homeland and its inheritance.
They left it all and moved away into Moab.
There in a land not her own, she fed them.
She clothed them.
She took care of them when they were sick.
And then her husband died,
and she had to lead alone.

She began to look forward in hope from all the leaving and the loss,
when her sons were old enough to marry.
She found them wives.
Moabite wives, yes.
That hadn't been her dream.
But these were nice enough girls.
One day soon, maybe the loneliness would fade.
There would be women to share the load with,
and sons who could protect them,
and make their living.
And babies.
Laughing grandbabies she could offer advice about raising,
and rock to sleep,
and pretend away the sadness with.
Maybe it wouldn't all be loss.

For ten years she hoped,
while her daughters-in-law did not conceive.
Every month at first, that hopeful excitement.
Is my grandbaby on the way?
Surely any day now...
But the day did not come.
And then her last living hopes died.

The sons she had birthed in pain and blood were gone.
Their father had led her here to this alien place.
She had no friends.
No sisters a few houses down.
And two barren daughters-in-law.
They probably blamed her.
Everything around her ended in disaster.
Everything she touched turned to dust.
But these women were past their fruitful prime,
and had a ten year record of infertility.
Who would marry them?

Her homeland had good crops again.
It came like a breeze in the market place.
Maybe she bought grain that had traveled the road from her home.
Working it into bread,
perhaps she thought about the fields her young husband had worked.
How they had built their dreams there,
and birthed their sons there,
and harvested life there.
It had been nothing but a harvest of misery for years.
She decided to go back.
She had nothing here to keep her.
Better to die among friends.
Better to cry over losses with friends.
They had known her husband,
and rejoiced over her sons' births.
They could sympathize with her.

She didn't want these poor daughters-in-law
to have the same fate she had suffered.
Bereft in a strange land.
They'd been good girls, but it was too much to ask.
Ruth, odd girl, chose the mourning.
She'd rather stay under the cloud.
It seemed like choosing a curse.
Even her words sounded like she was choosing death.

All those old friends still recognized her.
They were excited to have her home.
Ah, but they remembered her hopeful and pleasant.
They remembered her a landowner.
They remembered her a mother.
They remembered her a wife with a husband who loved her.
They remembered a woman with a future.
There was nothing for her now.
All her fruit lay rotting in Moab.

"Don't call me Naomi.
Call me Mara.
I had full hands when I left,
but the Lord has taken everything away from me.
The Lord afflicts me.
The Lord sent tragedy to me.
Call me Mara."
I've eaten bitterness, and I'm a disaster.

Aren't you glad it doesn't end there?
Because this woman with no hope
and no family
and no property
and nothing to live for
is cuddling her grandson in the last verses,
and her daughter-in-law is better than ten sons to her,
and the future she thought was cut off
is connected to the past by a different branch.
And she embraced it.

Breathe and Worship to This

I'm satisfied by Your love so completely.
How can I thirst for the praises of men?
There's nothing I need that You haven't provided,
and no one can offer me peace like You can.

Jesus, You're more than enough,
sufficient for me:
all I have needed You've given for free.
Your love is enough,
don't need man's applause,
I know what I'm worth: I remember the cross.

I'm sustained, O Lord:
when Your Light surrounds me the world fades away.
I'm sustained, O Lord:
my heart knows Your love like it flows through my veins.
Such peace and contentment I've found in Your grace:
I can't think why I ever complained.
You love me: what more could I want?
I am sustained.

My husband was playing this song tonight,
and as it always does, it soothed my soul.
Unfortunately, a Google search didn't enlighten me on its authorship.
If you know who wrote it, please let me know.

You can listen to it here.

Our Outward Man

I was not looking for what I found.
I was looking for the second passage.
But this one came up first:

But the LORD said to Samuel, 
Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; 
because I have refused him: 
for the LORD seeth not as man seeth; 
for man looketh on the outward appearance, 
but the LORD looketh on the heart.
1 Samuel 16:7

I was looking for this one to contemplate:

So then death worketh in us, but life in you. 
But having the same spirit of faith, 
according to that which is written, 
I believed, and therefore did I speak; 
we also believe, and therefore also we speak; 
knowing that he that raised up the Lord Jesus 
shall raise up us also with Jesus, 
and shall present us with you. 
For all things are for your sakes, 
that the grace, being multiplied through the many, 
may cause the thanksgiving to abound unto the glory of God. 
Wherefore we faint not; 
but though our outward man is decaying, 
yet our inward man is renewed day by day. 
For our light affliction, which is for the moment, 
worketh for us more and more exceedingly 
an eternal weight of glory; 
while we look not at the things which are seen, 
but at the things which are not seen: 
for the things which are seen are temporal; 
but the things which are not seen are eternal.
2 Corinthians 4:12-18

As our outward man perishes, our inward man is renewed.
The outward grows weak and frail, gasping for breath.
The inward grows stronger, breathing Spirit-life.
Outwardly too weak to sing, she makes a silent noise.
More frequently, she forgets herself.
But she remembers Him.
"Jesus."
She remembers that 'He who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it.'

The End of Your Faith

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
who according to his great mercy 
begat us again unto a living hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, 
unto an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, 
and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, 
who by the power of God are guarded through faith unto a salvation 
ready to be revealed in the last time. 
Wherein ye greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if need be, 
ye have been put to grief in manifold trials, 
that the proof of your faith, 
being more precious than gold that perisheth though it is proved by fire, 
may be found unto praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ: 
whom not having seen ye love; 
on whom, though now ye see him not, 
yet believing, ye rejoice greatly with joy unspeakable and full of glory: 
receiving the end of your faith, 
even the salvation of your souls.
1 Peter 1:3-9

From November 12th

Here I sit,
looking at pictures of family at grandma's house,
where I am not,
and feeling glum.
The blind next to me is closed,
but an inch of the edge of it has curled somewhat at the top,
and the moon is hanging in the crack,
reminding me that God is with me,
and He is with Grandma,
and He can see through my window blinds.
Thank You, Father.

Light Walks With Me

'Be content with such things as you have.
For He Himself has said, 
"I will never leave you nor forsake you."
So we may boldly say,
"The Lord is my helper; I will not fear..."
Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.'
~Hebrews 13:5-8

With such things as I have?
Wow. So often those things are not things that leave me feeling content.
Have you just had distressing, devastating news?
Be content with that?
With pain? With depression?
With a diagnosis of death?
Or a future expectation of loss?

I was speaking with my children tonight
about living as children of light, here -- in the dark.
That passage gives a reason for our contentment.
We have His promise!
Here, in the dark, He will not leave me alone.
Here, in the night, the Dayspring from on high dwells with me.
The Lamp to my feet, and the Light to my path walks with me-- the Word made flesh.

"I will never leave you, nor forsake you," He said.
"I am your God and will take care of you 
until you are old and your hair is gray. 
I made you and will care for you; 
I will give you help..."
(Isaiah 46:4)

The Lord is my helper; I will not fear.
He has helped me.
He does help me.
He will help me.

For thou wilt light my lamp: 
Jehovah my God will lighten my darkness.
And He does not change.

Nearer To Us

"And Gideon said unto him, 
Oh, my lord, if Jehovah is with us, why then has all this befallen us? 
...but now Jehovah hath cast us off...  
And Jehovah looked upon him, and said, 
Go in this thy might, and save Israel ...have not I sent thee?  
And he said unto him, 
Oh, Lord, wherewith shall I save Israel? 
behold, my family is the poorest in Manasseh, 
and I am the least in my father's house. 
And Jehovah said unto him, Surely I will be with thee..."

"But Jehovah had shut up her womb. 
And her rival provoked her sore, to make her fret, 
because Jehovah had shut up her womb. 
...When she went up to the house of Jehovah, so she provoked her; 
therefore she wept, and did not eat.
And she was in bitterness of soul, 
and prayed unto Jehovah, and wept sore.
...And Elkanah knew Hannah his wife; 
and Jehovah remembered her."

"...And the women said, Is this Naomi? 
And she said unto them, 
Call me not Naomi, call me Mara; 
for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me. 
I went out full, and Jehovah hath brought me home again empty; 
why call ye me Naomi, seeing Jehovah hath testified against me, 
and the Almighty hath afflicted me?
...And the women said unto Naomi, 
Blessed be Jehovah, who hath not left thee this day without a near kinsman; 
and let his name be famous in Israel. 
And he shall be unto thee a restorer of life, and a nourisher of thine old age, 
for thy daughter-in-law, who loveth thee, who is better to thee than seven sons, hath borne him. 
And Naomi took the child, and laid it in her bosom, and became nurse unto it. 
And the women her neighbors gave it a name, saying, 
There is a son born to Naomi; and they called his name Obed..."

"Jehovah has cast us off."
"Jehovah has closed my womb."
"Jehovah has brought me home empty, 
testified against me, 
and afflicted me."

They were all perplexed by the trouble upon them.
And they were all in His direct view.
Loved and cared for.
He had their good in mind, although they could all ask,
"If God is with us, why has all this befallen us?"

"You need not cry very loud;
He is nearer to us than we are aware of."
~Brother Lawrence, from The Practice of the Presence of God