Letting Go

My pastor told the story of a man falling off a cliff and grabbing a branch. As he held on for dear life, the man cried out to God, and God said, “Trust me. Let go.” I’m not sure how the story turned out, but I do know it doesn’t make much sense when there’s this thing called gravity.

Truth is I’m not sure what makes sense these days. So many voices ringing in my ears.

Wear a mask but don’t because it might cause lung problems, Stay at home, away from others, but beware of lonliness. A vaccine will save the day, but it too might be dangerous. If you have a sniffle stay home, but remember to pay your mortgage on time. Back and forth, back and forth. It makes my head spin! Who can make sense of it all?

Some days I leave the house determined to never take my mask off and wash my hands a gazillion times. Other times I find myself in the middle of the grocery store without my mask feeling guilty because my forgetfulness might be spreading invisible germs. Do we go to see family we haven’t seen in over a year? Some we may not get the chance to see again. Does it make more sense to stay home? How do I live faith and common sense at the same time? If I have to ask this question do I have any faith at all?

I read scripture words long before the sun comes up.

As Jesus started on his way, a man ran up to him and fell on his knees before him. “Good teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” “Why do you call me good?” Jesus answered. “No one is good—except God alone. You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder, you shall not commit adultery, you shall not steal, you shall not give false testimony, you shall not defraud, honor your father and mother.’ “Teacher,” he declared, “all these I have kept since I was a boy.” Jesus looked at him and loved him.

Mark 10:17-21 (NIV)

Wait? What? Jesus looked at him and loved him. How did I miss this before? Before Jesus answered the man’s question, before he invited him to sell all his worldly posssessions and join the gang, Jesus looked at him and LOVED him.

Poor rich young ruler got a bad rap because wealth is something we all experience to some degree.

If you are still reading these words your are rich to the one who is illiterate. A good night’s sleep is wealth to the one who tossed and turned all night. Children with parents are wealthy beyond imagination to the orphan, and the opportunity to work is more than many have this Monday morning.

Is Jesus calling us to somehow let these go? How does it make sense to walk away from the wealth God’s given?

I’m beginning to believe faith doesn’t make much sense. It didn’t to Abraham or Moses or Esther. It certainly didn’t make sense to the discples as they watched the rich man walk away.

The disciples were amazed at his words. But Jesus said again, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” The disciples were even more amazed, and said to each other, “Who then can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God.”

Mark 10:24-27

Here’s the deal (as my oldest often says): whatever wealth we have, whatever Jesus calls us to let go of probably won’t make sense to us. That “whatever” won’t be the same as our neighbor’s because this isn’t about hard, fast religious rules. It’s not about having no wealth. It’s about holding onto “this makes sense” wealth with tight fisted hands, and refusing to let go.

Love invites us to do things differently. To let go when we want to hold tight, to give way when we want to have it our way, and to serve when we want to be served.

This is the way of faith. This is Jesus’ way. It doesn’t make sense, but let me tell you what it does do.

It makes us free.

Free to let go of the whatever we’re holding onto and accept Love’s invitation,

Come… follow me.


Most years I gather twigs from the yard and place them in a vase with scattered paper leaves for writing things I’m thankful for. This is the season I practice thanksgiving but it is more than just a season, it’s a discpline. A few years ago I discovered intentionally practicing thanksgiving during this time is just the exercise I need to grow in gratitude. I told a friend recently it is kind of like lifting weights to strengthen your bicep. Thanks giving strengthens a heart of gratitude.

The past few months I’ve been quietly creating with the help of others a few things to encourage you (and me) to grow in faith. Through the process of redesigning the blog, graduating from spiritual direction training, and learning a new design technique, God reminded me I am made to encourage. God’s taken what I thought were separate pieces and connected the dots so to speak.

With a humble and joy filled heart I invite you to explore the links below where you’ll find encouragment to be thank-full in this season.

The thank-full tin is filled with thirty hand-lettered cards to inspire thanksgiving. Click on the picture to go to the on-line store or visit our shop, Picture This for purchase.
I love a great t-shirt. Most days when I sift through the closet I choose something to encourage me throughout the day. And so this encouraging enough design made its way to my closet. And now it is available to you too.

And that’s not all. These items inspired a way for you to go deeper in gratitude through a free on-line course at sistertalkfaith.com. Carol and I are trying our hand at offering our teachings through this new platform. Hop on over to the Sister Talk page and explore the sistertalkfaith thank-full course.

Whew! I’m a bit humbled as I finish up this post. Because Encouraging Enough Designs felt a lot like birthing something new. There were times I doubted it would all get done. I certainly didn’t expect the coming together of so many moving parts. But here it is (and there’s more to come).

Enter his gates with thanksgiving,
    and his courts with praise!
    Give thanks to him; bless his name
!–Psalm 100:4

Oh I almost forgot! Follow Encouraging Enough (click on the link) on facebook to get a daily dose of thank-full encouragment.

L.O.N.E. and loners

I used to live there, sometimes I return, to a place I call the Land of Not Enough–L.O.N.E. for short. Maybe you’ve been there too. The place where nothing and everything is “Not Enough.”

L.O.N.E. was a dark and gloomy place with dreadful weather. The sun never shined enough, rarely enough rain watered the ground. The temperature climbed too high or fell too low. And oh how the wind howled through every season constantly screaming, “You’re not enough… you never will be!”

Fear was my mode of transportation in the land. Moving, moving, always moving in the hopes of being or finding enough. Yet nothing satisfied. No relationship or possession. No amount of education or career achievement. I built houses on streets named Money or Time… Tall or Skinny… Talented or Smart. And none of these were ever enough.

Residents of the land were do-it-yourselfers, independent people who never asked for help. Because if you did achieve enough with someone’s help it wasn’t REALLY enough. I was a LONEr, a citizen of the land. I trudged through my days with a smile on my face and discontent hidden in every corner of my mind. It stirred my jealousy when others seemed to have enough. Judgement crept in when others missed the mark. This was a land where no authentic relationship could be found.

Throughout my life in the land there were many opportunities to move out. There were times I heard of a better place… whisperings of a different way. I happened on others who somehow found a place where they were enough, but I couldn’t imagine it. A place free from striving and working and fear. A Kingdom whose ruler loved no matter the achievement or failure. Where residents didn’t have to obtain enough.

Could this place be real? Did it exist? A Kingdom where just being me would be enough for the King? Would He really want me to live there? Did He know I am worn, weary, and at my absolute best not enough? Did He realize I would be a burden… a total fixer-upper? Did He know I”m not worth it?

Still the new land and its King beckoned me come…

I packed my bags and moved to the outskirts of the new land. Maybe I could blend in, and learn to fit in with the others. It was a large Kingdom and if I worked hard, did my best, kept a low profile, I might go unnoticed. As long as I never came face to face with the King it might work out. Because meeting Him face to face was a horrifying thought. He would know, would see right through me. I knew I would never be enough and He knew it too.

Year after year I worked. I strived for a strong faith. I studied the law of the new land, and shared the good news with those around me. I watched as the King granted freedom to others, healed their wounds, stitched up their broken hearts. I witnessed the King pour out grace upon grace and heard them testify of His goodness. This was a King like no other. One who sought out the lost and made them heirs to the throne.

Oh, how I wanted to be close to the King, to be able to enter His presence and feast at His table. Is it possible I misunderstood the invitation? Could it be He intended from the beginning to draw me in, make me more than a outskirt-living resident? If He knew the real me inside and out, would He even want me? Was there enough courage in me to crawl to the foot of His throne and risk the rejection?

Slowly, slowly I gathered the remnants of baggage I brought from the Land of Not Enough. I packed them neatly and began the journey to meet the King face to face. I trembled and quaked with fear. This was the only sacrifice I had. The only thing left to offer to the King. Maybe just maybe He could wipe away my not enough and do what I never could do on my own.

This is my story, the story of a girl who once lived in the Land of Not Enough. A girl rescued and adopted by the King. A girl risking all she knows to live as a daughter of the Most High.

A beautiful unfolding of a girl free to be… enough.

Porch Pacing Prayer

March 30, 2021

It’s late or maybe it’s early. I lay in an unfamiliar bed staring at the full moon through the upstairs window. Shadows dance as my husband snores and I try to rest. Because I’m bone weary tired like I’ve never been before, but I can’t seem to turn off my racing mind.

I shake my head and glare at the moon. If sleep would come I could escape if only for an hour or two. How can I be so tired and full of energy all at the same time? Throwing off the covers I make my way to the back porch.

Up and down I pace. What just happened? Is it possible to wake up from this nightmare? Do we have enough insurance? My great grandmother’s quilt… Ronni’s wedding dress… my Bibles. The pearls my mother gave me… the baby bed where all my children slept. Do I have any clothes for tomorrow? Where will we live?

I think of dancing with the youngest in the kitchen just a few days ago.

Back and forth, back and forth… the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

My mind stills but my feet keep moving. The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.

With each step I try to focus. What’s the next part? I can’t remember the next part!

Over and over I begin again… The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.

I’ve heard these words thousands of times. Why can’t I remember them!

The moon casts tree shadows in the yard. Horses snort and cattle bellow in the distance. Words return.

Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil. Your rod and staff they comfort me. You set a table before me in the presence of my enemies and anoint my head with oil. My cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

I walk a bit taller and let holy words sink deep. I come to the end of the porch and speak aloud to the full moon. Or maybe the whole wide world.

The Lord is my shepherd. I do not lack one thing!

What fog is teaching me

It’s been three months and the Twilight Zone theme song still rings in my ears. I’m still not sure how one minute your morning alarm sounds weird to standing in your yard watching as friends and family comb through the ashes of what’s left of your home.

Most days I do life like before the fire. I go to work, to church, to exercise. I handle business at the bank and stop for a cold brew down the block. Once in a while I post on social media when I’m needing a bit of extra self encouragement. Not long ago a friend called my posts inspiring, and I replied, “Oh you don’t see the other side.”

Because there is another side to tragedy and heartbreak. One that leaves you reeling in the dark of night yearning for a little light. You pray for the sun to rise quickly and take all this darkness away in hopes you’ll be able to see which way to go.

Just when you think you know what steps to take, you find grief’s foggy shadow lingering over the land.

So you wait and you wonder. You cry and you laugh. Some days you feel angry and others it’s a fight to get out of bed. But you do, because maybe just maybe if you sit on the porch long enough the fog will lift.

It may sound completely crazy but there is something beautiful about the fog. Could it be there is something beautiful about the grief journey too? I’m not quite sure, but I see others farther along on their journey, and they give me hope.

I watch sun’s rays warm the earth and eventually the fog disappears. Maybe grief will do the same. Maybe once its work is done in me, grief wil drift away like the morning fog.

I’m wise enough to know it won’t be gone forever. Jesus meant it when he said, “In this world you will have trouble, but take heart, because I have overcome the world.”

Trouble is a part of life and I take heart the only way I know how. Because in the midst of sorrow, no matter how foggy it gets, His words echo through the valley, “I have overcome the world.”

A Call to show up

The season of Lent begins and I take the challenge of a blogger to pray the promises of God. It seems I’ve lost a bit of my passion when it comes to praying for things that are left unanswered.

Surely you’ve been there too? Days turn into months and then years and your prayers sound like a skipping record. Same requests… same heartfelt desire for God to work… same dissappointment. Slowly resignation sets in, and you move to other prayers thinking God knows best. After all his timing is perfect. Without realizing it you find yourself accepting what is with little hope for transformation or change. Passion wanes and your fire’s flame burns down to a glowing coal in the midst of ashes.

Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.

Photo by Ahna Ziegler on Unsplash

As I write these words, we are in the midst of a terrible ice storm. Many have lost power in subfreezing cold with no way to generate heat. I stoke the fire and pray for passion. Because what I do know is no amount of willpower will fan the flames in my soul. Any attempt to reignite my own passion is much like an electric faux fireplace. It may look beautiful and give off heat, but no matter how real it looks, it is not the same.

I can see the benefits of this kind of fireplace insert. No need to haul or stack wood, no work in arranging kindling just so, no tending necessary. Perhaps the best part of a faux fire is there’s no mess to clean up. But what happens when the power grid goes down? What happens when the only source of heat in the house is useless to warm at least one room?

Manufactured passion is not what I want. I want the real thing inspite of the work and mess it makes. I want passion only God can flame.

Priscilla Shirer’s words softly blow across the coals of my soul.

But when we talk about passion in prayer, I sure don’t want to leave the impression that the only prayer God hears is the kind that’s spoken at high volume, with sweat and tears and shaking fists and extraordinary energy. Prayer can be silent and still seethe with passion. And on some days, at some times, prayer–for any of us–can start out as simply an obedient appointment, an act of discipline, showing up in that prayer closet because it’s the appointed time that we said we’d be there. Because praying–reaching outward and upward to Him–is the way His passion comes down.

Fervent by Priscilla Shirer

Only God can fan these glowing coals of passion in my soul. Only the work of his Spirit provides the oxygen required to burn brightly. God alone provides the energy and strength to haul the fire’s fuel, and stack it just so.

Photo by Matias Mateo on Unsplash

I’ll give you a new heart, put a new spirit in you. I’ll remove the stone heart from your body and replace it with a heart that’s God-willed, not self-willed. I’ll put my Spirit in you and make it possible for you to do what I tell you and live by my commands.–Ezekiel 36:26-27 MSG

Still, there is something I can do. I can show up. No matter how I feel or how busy I think I am. Showing up is all I really can do. Because when I reach upward to God in prayer the path is set for His passion to come down.

This Lenten season I am setting aside time to show up, trusting it is more than enough to ignite a roaring flame in this girl’s soul.

What about you? How’s your passion for prayer lately? What does your fire look like?

Come… join me on this journey of prayer for passion. Consider how God is calling you to show up. And then if you feel so led, won’t you share it in the comments. For “two are better than one because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 ESV).


It all began Thanksgiving break when my hubby and I traveled to see his family in their Illinois hometown. In an effort to stay outside in the fresh air the two youngest nieces and I took a walk through the neighborhood. We set out on our journey to the little lake just down the hill.

As we drew closer I said, “Let’s go skip a rock.”

“Skiparock, what’s that?” the youngest asked.

We headed down to the water’s edge and the lesson began. They made a few attempts as I coached them in the art of skipping rocks. A few practice throws didn’t bring success, and as the oldest prepared to make another attempt we heard, “Hey you! Stop throwing rocks in the lake!”

The youngest questioned what was wrong with playing skiparock. The oldest remained quiet. I was a bit miffed at the thought that we just got in trouble for skipping rocks in what this country girl considered a small pond. I mean if Canadian geese are allowed to do their business in every corner of the “lake” what’s the harm of a few small rocks? Was there some unknown danger? Could we possibly throw so many the displaced water would flood the houses? If we continued would the police be called? I envisioned the headlines, “Aunt from Texas arrested for teaching nieces to skip rocks on Thanksgiving Day.”

I wanted to pout. I wanted to skip one more just to see how the grumpy bumpkin might respond, but I was pretty sure a lesson on how to be disrespectful might land me in “she can’t be alone with the kids” category. So with a sigh we continued on, but the abrupt stop to our lesson left me a bit dejected and sad.

Just a few short weeks later we traveled north and the in-laws drove south to celebrate Christmas on the river. It was beautiful day to be outside. The girls and I hiked the nature trail. We read information signs about birds living in this area and watched in awe as two blue herons flew close. The youngest carried her backup muffin and a bag of chips for fire starter just in case we got lost.

The path led us close to the water. She smiled her toothless grin up at me, “Look at all these rocks! Can we play skiparock?”

And just like that what I thought was lost returned.

Four days on the Road to Epiphany I’m reminded I serve a God that returns things I’ve lost.

Not the other way around.

What I mean is most of the time we can’t return to the place we’ve come from. On this New Year’s Eve when I want to forget this year ever happened, there will be no returning to the world I knew a year ago. Mistakes I made along the way cannot be undone. Lessons learned won’t be unlearned. I’ve grieved the way things used to be. I’ve ugly cried over wearing masks and trying to decide if hugging is safe. I don’t like the feeling of constraint or quarantine.

Thanksgiving day I walked away from the lake and let go of the skipping rock lesson. I never expected to return to it.

Photo by Mike Newbry on Unsplash

I think I’ll do the same this night. I’ll walk out of 2020 and into 2021confident I serve a God who is in the business of returning things that are lost. I’ll put down my expectations and keep walking this faith road. If along the way God returns something lost, you can believe it will be better.

Kind of like the way my niece transformed skipping rocks into a game of “Skiparock.”

Warning signs

Two trucks, two boats, and one four runner all packed with the seven of us and two dogs. Not to mention the loads of stuff we’ve brought for the journey. We traveled north on four lane roads for most of the trip. But the final two hours of our journey included the winding up, down, round and round through the Ozarks.

Mile after mile we drove, and along the way were warning signs. Arrows pointed out the hard curves. Squiggly lines warned of squiggly roads ahead. One sign read, “Caution. Very sharp curve.”

As we passed another sign the thought came, “If this trip needs countless warnings, is it even safe to keep driving.” I quietly chuckled at the thought of stopping this caravan of loved ones and turning back. As if there was even a possibility this outdoor loving, game playing, fishing crew could be deterred at this point.

Today’s epiphany is simply this. Warnings are meant to help us continue along our way, to keep us on the road to where we are going. Yes, there will be detours. There will definitely be times to slow our pace and stay focused. But for me refusing to continue is not part of the equation.

The Wisemen didn’t turn around either. No matter what they faced on their journey to Bethlehem, they kept going. You’ll even find they heeded the warning of God and returned home another way. But it didn’t stop them in their tracks or deter them from continuing the journey to Jesus.

She asked the question as loved ones discussed the difficult roads, “Why are all the pretty places so hard to get to?” It’s a question I’ve asked myself a time or two when it comes to following Jesus. “Why is faith so difficult at times? Shouldn’t this journey to Jesus be easy going? Maybe I’ve taken a wrong turn or lost my way.”

Turns out there is a scripture warning that speaks to these questions.

And whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.“Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? For if you lay the foundation and are not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule you, saying, ‘This person began to build and wasn’t able to finish.’“Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Won’t he first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? If he is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace. In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples.

Luke 14:27-33

Counting the costs of following Jesus is all the warning sign needed to know this is not an easy going road. There will be twists and turns, ups and downs. Some days I’ll travel at warp speed and others will be at a snail’s pace. There will be detour moments and back tracking along the way, but the warning doesn’t keep me from going.

My sister-in-law spoke wisdom with her question because all the pretty places ARE hard to get to.

And the prettiest place of all just might be a stable that holds the manger where the newborn King sleeps.

Road to Epiphany

The story of Christ’s birth often feels as if it all happens in a few short hours. Mary and Joseph travel to Bethlehem and Jesus is born. Shepherds and kings arrive shortly after to worship the newborn King. By December 26 all is finished and on to the New Year’s celebration we go.

A song begins, “On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…” I wonder about the twelve days. Are these the final days leading up to Jesus’ birth? Or after? A little research brings new understanding. The twelve days begin Christmas Day and continue through Epiphany, January 6.

I wouldn’t change a thing about how we tell the story. Each year as I set up the Nativity, I put the Magi in their place. But this year I want to linger on this twelve days of Christmas idea. These were traveling days for the Magi. Twelve days of following the star’s sign to the place of epiphany.

Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men from the east came to Jerusalem

Matthew 2;1

One of the definitions of epiphany reads,

an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure

Merriam Webster

There’s something about the definition that draws me. What illuminating discovery did the Magi experience on the road to Jesus? Or was there a road at all? What realizations came as they made their way to Bethlehem? Were they expecting some great epiphany at the end of the journey or did they experience a few along the way? The scriptures don’t reveal much about this time. And so I’ll use my imagination and invite you to do the same.

Let’s travel together and consider what the Road to Epiphany might reveal to us and in us.

On this second day of the twelve, let’s take the first step together. Let’s step out on the Road to Epiphany and see what’s to be discovered along the way. Are you ready?

Here we go!

He’s here!

This Christmas morning doesn’t look like it used to. No tiny tots at my bedside sounding alarm in unbridled anticipation of gifts under the tree. The oldest two celebrate in other places this morning. The youngest still sleeps in his bed. The house is quiet. It’s weird and wonderful all at the same time.

I watch light overcome darkness and think about the magi noticing a star for the very first time. I hear the Spirit whisper, “He’s here.”

The Wisemen weren’t God worshippers at least not that we know of anyway. We do know they were stargazers and sign-watchers. Curious risk-takers who packed their stuff and headed out guided by the light of the star that heralded the news, “He’s here.”

I hear an invitation. Come… pack up your things. Follow the star’s light and see. He’s here. He’s really here!

Traveling takes lots of packing. There are gifts to wrap and food to cook. The clean clothes wait patiently to be put in suitcases. My hubby scurries around setting things out just in case we need it. The youngest calmly waits for his next assignment. I am bit overwhelmed with all the camo and fishing stuff. It feels like chaos. It’s definitely not like last year or the year before. I would be taking a nap by now.

I breathe deep and heave another suitcase into the truck, pushing and prodding things into place like I’m playing tetris. All this packing makes for physically hard work, but it’s nothing like what’s going on inside. Because in order to go on a trip there is much leaving to be done. This might be the toughest thing of all.

Scanning the kitchen for the last time I wonder, “Did I leave anything important?” I hurry about turning off lights and whisper to the pups, “we’ll be back in a few days.” The truck and boat are ready because our journey north will takes us to a place where “fishing and presence” are part of the celebration.

While I’m not so sure about the fishing.

I do know one thing.

Christmas is about presence.

 And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.  And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”

Luke 2:10-14

Did the Magi feel this way as they began their journey. When the preparation work was all done, did their hearts thump with anticipation of what they might find? Did they take a look back and let go with a bit of sadness?

The youngest grins back at me through the rearview mirror. He’s not aware of the pull in this momma’s heart. Of all the letting go it takes to embrace the new. One day he’ll understand. One day he’ll find himself at the crossroads of holding onto what was or journeying to another place. I pray he’ll choose the latter.

Because faith calls us to move toward Jesus, to prepare for the trip and let go. Faith is trusting the path I’m taking leads me to the manger.

When I get there I’ll bow low and worship the newborn King. I’ll whisper in the quiet of the stable, “He’s here.”

He’s finally here!

advent’s waiting

She toddled in with her momma , and I peeked around the corner of the shelf to say hello. She frowned and I stepped back with a comment, “Maybe my mask scared her.”

Her momma replied, “If this keeps on going she won’t remember the time when we didn’t wear masks.”

Ugh! I wasn’t prepared to consider a world where masks are so normal a generation won’t remember not wearing them. Because I’m tired of virus talk, and weary of its background noise. Most days the waiting is tolerable but not this day, and I find myself praying Psalmist’s words, “How long, O Lord?”

The Isaraelites spent 400 years in silence between Malachi’s final word and Matthew’s first word. Four centuries passed without a message from God to the Israelites, without a prophet to herald the good news. 146,000 days of silence. Over 3.5 million hours without a word. Two hundred million plus moments. Generation upon generation waiting….

I can’t quite wrap my heart around God’s people waiting 400 years. How did Anna, the widow in Luke’s gospel, continue to spend day after day in the temple without a sound from God? Didn’t she get tired? Wasn’t she weary when months went by without change? Were there times she wanted to leave the praying behind and give up? Its hard to imagine an ancient Israelite woman worshipping God and praying for the silence to end most of her adult life.

Advent is the season of waiting and I hear Paul’s words,

And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.

Galatians 6:9

How do we guard against the weariness of this season? All the waiting? The bad news? Where do we turn when we feel like staying in bed or giving up? When quarnatine feels like forever and there’s no end in sight?

I would love to sit right down with Anna over a cup of steaming coffee and ask her how she did it.

But deep down I already know. She prayed, fasted, worshipped no matter what because she believed in a God who speaks. She believed the day was coming when God would show up.

I believe it too. I believe God speaks. I believe God shows up. I believe there is purpose in the waiting. Most of all I believe a day will come when God’s work is complete in me, in the world.

Like Anna I worship and pray, looking forward with anticipation to Jesus coming.

Until that day I’ll keep singing, though it might be a bit muffled by a mask, “My soul, my soul, maginifies the Lord, my soul magnifies the Lord. He has done great things for me, great things for me!”

…for your Advent listening