All posts tagged Trust

Fearless Love

Memories of my childhood are happy ones. We played with a tamed raccoon. He’d try to wash his cracker snacks off in the tub and we’d laugh as his treat disintegrated in his paws. We fished for salmon in the ocean. We’d tease each other by yanking on someone’s fishing line when they weren’t looking, making them jump to action thinking they’d caught a big one. We camped in the woods of Wisconsin. We’d roast marshmallows over the campfire and go for bike rides on the trails. We helped with camp pitch the week before camp meeting. After our jobs were done, my siblings and I would explore with the other pastors’ kids before the remaining meeting attendees arrived. We tagged along with our parents on the weekends. Saturday nights were often spent in the conference office doing odd jobs or racing each other on wheeled chairs while our parents worked.

Life was carefree. It’s not that nothing ever went wrong, but when it did I believed my dad could fix it. It’s not that I was never in a dangerous situation, but I knew he would always protect me. It’s not that I had all I wanted, but I trusted he would give me all I needed. It’s not that I never fell, but I had faith he would always catch me.

His love set me free. No worry, just trust. No anxiety, just hope. No fear, just faith. No restlessness, just the peaceful slumber of an innocent child. No apprehension of the unknown, just fearless forward motion with him beside me. I believed in me because he believed in me and I believed in him. I know now he is human like the rest of us. Fallible. But I didn’t know it then. All I knew was that he loved me. And that was enough.

Dear God, I want to know love like that with You.

10 Comments

by Sylvia on February 5, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Devotionals, Musings

Tagged childhood, dad, Faith, Father, love, memories, peace, Trust

Posted by Sylvia on February 5, 2012

https://coverwithhislife.wordpress.com/2012/02/05/fearless-love/

Quit Interrupting Me

Some days are just OFF. Some days my kids and I do not communicate well at all. We don’t understand what the other is talking about and some topics of conversation just get abandoned for lack of understanding.

But other days I am ON. This most often occurs with my daughter. She can be going into this rather lengthy recitation of some story and mid-stream I’ll tell her the answer to the question I know is set to come at the end. “How do you do that??” She is amazed. “I’m the Mom, that’s how. Moms just know.” It’s our job to understand our kids and know what they are thinking before they tell us. How else do parents survive teenagers?

Not so long ago I emailed a pastoral adviser and told him I had some things I wanted to question God about. His response wasn’t exactly what I was expecting. “Well, it’s about time!” he wrote. “Get on with it already!” So I was mentally making my list and checking it twice – first and foremost was the age-old complaint of “It’s not fair.” I was making plans as to when and where I could bring my list to God. This was going to be big. I had some sense of relief and satisfaction just knowing I was going to have my say.

Next morning, first patient arrived for me to help her with her feet and somehow in the process she told me about how her husband died. Her story was horrible. Then, without my asking her opinion, she informed me, “Some things we just can’t know why.” And POOF! There went my complaint list. How does He do that?

It’s certainly not the first time He’s interrupted me like that. I don’t even have the opportunity to officially ask, and He sends an answer. Now how am I supposed to develop my thought and get it off my proverbial chest when I already know what He’s going to say? He’ll say things like, My grace is sufficient for you. Or, I will provide for all your needs. Or, I am a Father to the fatherless. Or, I am a defender of the widow. Or, Vengeance is Mine. I don’t want to discount the value of His answers, but I had some things I wanted to ask and say.

Dear God, I’d really like to be able to develop my thoughts into at least a full sentence, or possibly even a paragraph now and then. Don’t go away. But could You please quit interrupting me with Your answers for just a minute and let me finish asking my questions? And if You could allow for two seconds of prophetic time for complaining, I imagine that would also provide some sense of satisfaction. All my love, Your daughter.

7 Comments

by Sylvia on January 10, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Musings

Tagged communication, hearing God, questioning God, Trust

Posted by Sylvia on January 10, 2012

https://coverwithhislife.wordpress.com/2012/01/10/quit-interrupting-me/

Moving Forward in the Rear-View Mirror

My children and I took great strides forward this past weekend by going back. We put some miles on the car and went back to the land we’ve loved.

The conversations often started with “Remember when…” The winning question was probably, “Remember when I thought the pellets to feed the trout were actually a snack?”

“Yep! I remember that! Didn’t taste very good, did they?”

We drove over the roads we’ve been on so many times before. We went to The Rise and fed the trout again. We stopped at The Sinks where the river disappears into a cave and marveled again at the wonder of it all. We went further on up the windy road to the small campground – the one that’s always accessible – the one that we would frequent early and late in the season and sometimes in the winter. We parked in the lot with the same big pot-holes. We walked on the same bridge with wood slats over the dashing river, swollen with snow run-off. And we found “our spot”. The fire pit is still there. The picnic table is still there. But some things have changed. A couple of trees have been cut down. There are some other trees that have suffered from the beetles and need to be cut down also. It looks a little barren. And my daughter was sure something else had changed.

“Is that the rock I’m laying on in that picture I have?” she asked, pointing to a boulder.

“Yep!”

“It can’t be. Someone must have changed it. That rock is small.”

“It’s the same rock. You, my dear, are big.” Her perspective was different due to about 10 inches of growth since she’d last visited.

The Shrinking Rock

We gathered dry pine needles and small branches, built a fire and made lunch. After putting the fire out, we headed off to find more familiar sites. I drove the loop road so the kids could see the switchbacks of the trail to Shoshone Lake. We didn’t go on the trail. I didn’t have the right clearance. It’s public access, so I didn’t need permission from the land owner. I wasn’t missing that kind of clearance. There isn’t enough height between the bottom of my car and the top of the rocks. That’s the clearance I needed. I didn’t have it. My car probably couldn’t have even made it up the road to the area where most people park their SUV’s and get out and walk. We never parked there when we went in years past. No, we used to continue driving the trail.

The first time we drove the trail our son was an infant. I held him tightly, wrapped in a large pillow rather than put him in his car seat, trying to avoid shaken-baby syndrome from the jolting as the Cruiser worked its way over the rocks. We didn’t have power steering yet. I was sure Jeff was going to break a finger as the wheel spun around wildly after descending off of each rock. He hadn’t done much with the suspension. The vehicle was struggling to make it up the rock chute where the “trail” went. There were various and sundry car parts, mostly consisting of axle pieces, strewn to the side of the trail. That’s never a good sign. I got out several times to “take pictures”. That was code for “I’m scared to death and am going to walk over this part. You go right ahead and kill yourself to prove you’re a man, if you really must.” Not many pictures were actually taken since my arms were full with an infant and toddler.

We didn’t get all the way to the top the first time we tried. There was an unidentified fluid dripping from the Cruiser when we got about 3/4 of the way up the trail. I volunteered to stay with the wounded comrade – along with my children, sister-in-law and infant niece – while the men-folk continued on their quest in the other vehicle.

The next time we took that trail the kids were older and the Cruiser had power steering, a lift kit and bigger tires. When we got to the top of the mountain I asked Jeff where the section of the trail had gone that was so scary the first time around. His smile couldn’t have gotten bigger. “See! I told you putting that stuff on here would make a world of difference! Huh? Yeah?! I know what I’m talkin’ about!” It was an I’m-the-man! kind of moment for him.

Looking at Jeff’s old ’67 FJ45 from the driver’s seat of the new owner’s ’53 Willy’s

As the mountains grew fainter in my rear-view mirror this trip, I was confident I’d see them again. I’m sure of it. There will be more mountains in my life. If not literal ones, there will be figurative ones. I am a human living on planet earth. Mountains are certain to be ahead. As I climb the trail, I pray that the growth of my past will change my perspective and cause the mountains to look smaller. And I pray that I will be better equipped so the way is less frightening and the trail easier to complete.

“We have nothing to fear for the future, except as we shall forget the way the Lord has led us, and His teaching in our past history.” —E. G. White, Life Sketches, p. 196.

6 Comments

by Sylvia on June 1, 2011 • Permalink

Posted in Devotionals, Good Grief

Tagged Cruiser, God's providence, Home, Mountains, Moving on, perspective, Toyota, Trust

Posted by Sylvia on June 1, 2011

https://coverwithhislife.wordpress.com/2011/06/01/moving-forward-in-the-rear-view-mirror/

Wind Blown

There’s a stiff wind out today. The kind of wind that makes a girl wish her hair was in a pony-tail. A slam-the-door-shut-if-you-don’t-hang-on wind. A blow-the-arbor-over wind. Yes, it’s a stiff wind. But it’s not a Wyoming wind.

There are very few kite-flying days in the Wyoming. The wind is either calm or blowing hard enough to put sand in your teeth. I’ve got some Wyoming wind stories. Like the time the horse loafing shed got blown over a 5′ tall fence and came to rest upside down on a large round hay bale. Or the time a quarter of our shop roof got blown off. Or the pool with several inches of water blew over. Or the camper was thrown off of its jack stands. All those times. That kind of wind.

There was something else I noticed in the Wyoming wind. The sagebrush. It doesn’t move. You can’t look at the sagebrush and know whether or not the wind is blowing, which direction it is blowing or how hard it is blowing. It stands strong despite the wind. Or possibly it stands strong because of a history of wind.

He only is my rock and my salvation;
He is my defense;
I shall not be moved.

Psalm 62:6

Dear God, keep me from blowing about in the winds of life. Strengthen me with the wind. Hold me fast, rooted in You.

Dark as Night

Déjà vu. I know this feeling. I’ve been here before. What am I doing back at this place, Lord? Did I not learn it the first time?

It was dark. Too dark to talk about. No one could see it. It was in my head. I would hide it. But it had a ravenous appetite. It ate at my joy. It ate at my peace. It ate at my happiness and relationships. So then I decided I had to be rid of it. Thank goodness it was in my mind. I had a strong mind. I could handle my mind. Or so I thought. And tried. And struggled. For about 12 years. I was determined, but, unsuccessful. And it was still dark.

Then, at just the right time- God. He shows up not too early, but never late. He shows up when He knows we’re ready to listen. He started talking. And I started listening. And I decided I better start talking about my silent darkness. Only to find, to my dismay, it appeared darker than it had looked inside. It was worse than I had thought. It looked as though the darkness would indeed consume me until a friend, at just the right time, led me to where I needed to go with my darkness. And I fell flat on my face under the weight of it all at the foot of the cross. And I felt God smile because He’d been calling and waiting for so long. So patient. And He took the darkness from me. And I felt Him pick me up to live again as if for the very first time. And I learned to trust and love Him like never before. And I looked back and said it was worth it. The sweetness of it all would not have been there without the struggle.

Then darkness arrived again. Its name was cancer. At times it was very dark. But I had learned trust. And the darkness, though very dark, never consumed me. And I saw God leading and guiding and growing and touching all along the way. I could see His hand despite the outcome as it appeared here in this life. I could see eternal value in the way hearts were changing. And it was dark- but oh so bright.

But now, God, where are You? I’ve been calling to You. What is the purpose of this pain? Where is the glory that is coming to Your name by my going through this? Why can’t we carry on, You and I? Why must we be stuck in this place? Will it go on forever? I don’t feel You now. It’s dark here and I’m crying out. Are You listening?

My soul knows the answers to those questions. Because God has provided in my past, I can trust beyond the shadow of a doubt that He will provide in my future. But I have learned through the school of hard knocks that my mind is, in reality, quite weak. My head doesn’t always remember the answers and sometimes I require remedial courses in trust. I learned it the first time. I learned it as best I could at the time. And now I’m learning it in a whole new way. A broader and deeper way. But yet, learning it again, just the same. And I know I am actually moving forward, but due to the darkness I can not always perceive the motion. And I know the next bright light I see will be brighter than the one before. For after the night, comes the morning.

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