Category Archives: God

Lessons From Revelation

Posted on by under God, Scripture

Journal 2020

Revelation 2:18

Son of God, whose eyes are like blazing fire and whose feet are like burnished bronze . . .

When I process with clients, they commonly visualize Jesus in human images. Perhaps they see Him in shepherds’ robes or white attire or perhaps a gigantic lap on which to crawl. Seldom does a client describe Him as John did in Revelation. Here, He seems distant, unapproachable, kingly, sovereign. How do you approach intimacy with a deity like that?

In the context of Revelation 2, God is calling out sin, rebuking, encouraging, warning. In a prayer session, He’s gentle and patient and wooing. What’s the difference? The posture of the postulant? When we humble ourselves, He’s approachable. When we’re rebellious and stiff-necked and pursuing pride and sin, He responds accordingly.

The church at Thyatira is commended at first for their love and faith, service and perseverance, and doing more than at first.

But . . . They tolerated the prophetess Jezebel’s teaching that led to sexual immorality and eating food sacrificed to idols.

God patiently said: I gave her time to repent of her immorality.

But . . . She was unwilling.

And perhaps that is why Jesus appears to them with blazing fire eyes.

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Revelation 4:9-11

You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power . . .

There is something heretical in my humanity that rebels against wanting to cede all my power, glory, and authority to someone Who created me. I didn’t ask to be created, but He wants me to worship Him. What kind of a being, a master, a king, a creator, a ruler, does that to his subjects?

I want to slap myself for even voicing such insubordination, but it would be wrong not to bring the thought into the light and examine it, repent of it, and receive truth. What in me is so arrogant? Am I guilty of the pride that caused Satan to fall? I want this gone!

It feels like we’ve been placed on this earth as a great experiment, but we failed, and so God had to find a way to clean up the mess He made. And the only way He could assuage His guilt was to sacrifice His own Son. But if He hadn’t created us in the first place, He wouldn’t have gotten Himself into this pickle, this mess. (Truly skewed thinking!)

I need help to straighten this out, Lord. I go to You for comfort and answers while I beat on Your chest in anger and frustration. I’m like a little kid who kicks and screams when told it’s naptime and I don’t want to go.

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The temper tantrum does me no good, but I sure do like to assert my will, my control over my destiny. But in the end, the Parent is stronger than me, and I must yield to His authority, and I’m better for having taken a nap. But I still don’t like it.

But the Toddler Me sure enjoys being cuddled, read to, fed, clothed and kept safe and secure. Toddler Me wants the love, needs the love, but my immaturity wants and needs to assert myself so I can grow and develop through struggling and suffering.

I love my Father. I wouldn’t trade Him for anything. So why do I throw a tantrum when He knows what’s best for me? “I don’t WANT to take a nap!” I holler.

I repent. I will go willingly to my resting place, lie down, and give thanks for what He does for me, for Who He is. I give Him honor that is His due and gratitude for His patience with my childishness.

Revelation 19:6-8

Fine linen [the bride’s dress] stands for the righteous acts of the saints.

Much debate has gone into the question of which parts of the revelation to John are literal and which are figurative. But this verse is a no-brainer. The Scriptures tell us the interpretation or the meaning behind the visual. The entire church (not a single individual) is depicted as the bride of Christ. And the more righteous acts we do, the better the garment.

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We Protestants like to camp on salvation by grace alone, but we aren’t quite as swift to focus on righteous acts. We hang onto pride and hatred and bitterness and anger and self-righteousness while we do our “good deeds.” What makes an act righteous? Not necessarily the deed itself, but the attitude, motive, and emotion behind it. If I give to the poor (a righteous act), that is good. But if I give to get self-glory (like the Pharisees giving alms), Christ didn’t have much good to say about that deed. On the other hand, if I have a good attitude but never carry out my good intentions, that also is rather meaningless. We need both/and.

Prayer—A Paradigm Shift

Posted on by under God, Prayer

Journal 2006

I’m struggling this morning with “the prayer list.” When I’m processing with clients, they see/hear immediate answers to prayer. If God doesn’t answer, I know to ask a different question or pray something else. Feedback is immediate.

When I’m praying through a list, however, I don’t know if I’m getting through. Perhaps that’s because my attention or focus has always been on the person him/herself. I visualize the person and try to think what I should pray for—and then I say it.

What dawns on me is that my eyes and ears are in the wrong place. If I look at the Master instead, He will guide my prayers so that they’re following what He wants for the person, not what Karen wants. It moves the focus away from a grocery list to a relationship—where He wanted it all along.

Lord, can I come sit in Your lap as a little child and talk to You about these creatures You’ve made—and loved so much that You died for them? They’re a sorry mess—the whole lot of them. And I’m one of them!

Shall we start with my friends x and y? They are so needy. What do You plan to do for them, Lord? Yeah, I know that’s Your business. But would You mind sending an angel or two to minister to their broken hearts and bind up their wounds; and would You hold them for me because I’m too far away to do so myself?

Thank You.

A 2025 Update. I just read A Change of Habit, by Sister Monica Clare. She was a Southern Baptist who, as a child, felt the call to become a nun. She lived a secular life, married, divorced, and then finally fulfilled her life-long dream and became an Episcopalian nun (I didn’t know there was such a thing!) But my takeaway was what the nuns taught her about prayer. This week I took a hike in the woods and soaked in my surroundings, fully alive and aware with all my senses on alert to the divine. Prayer is more than a list; it’s relationship. It’s awareness and stillness and listening.

Praying Through Problems

Posted on by under Emotions, God, Prayer

Journal 2020

This week in the news:

  • COVID-19 pandemic
  • Tornadoes in Nashville and Chattanooga (too close to home)
  • Tribal killings near Jos, Nigeria (where I was born)
  • Locust swarms in East Africa that may affect my Compassion kids
  • A friend in the hospital

I don’t know how to pray for these overwhelming needs. I serve a big God, and I’m in His hands, and I cannot take on His job.

VISUAL: I see a large metal bowl with all the world’s problems swirling together in a vast, soupy mess. God’s enormous hands hold the bowl steady while the contents are shaken.

And where am I? I’m not inside the glop … yet. I’m a little ant clinging to the rim of the bowl trying to be faithful to the few tasks God entrusts to me. Things could get jostled enough that I fall in, but until then, I’m safe. If I do fall, I’ll have to deal with that. Meanwhile, “He’s got the whole world in His hands.”

The picture is clearer now—it’s like when I make kosai, and all the hulls of the black-eyed peas rise to the top when I swirl the bowl. (I guess you have to have lived in northern Nigeria to understand this one.)

Instead of praying for the swirling to stop, how about I pray that I cooperate with God’s plan for the world. I see things rising to the top of the bowl—the scum that needs to be scooped and poured off, while the good stuff settles to the bottom. God is purifying His church. It’s all good.

Remembering COVID-19

Posted on by under Emotions, God, Peace

Today I begin with a 2025 Update. As we joyfully gather around the feast table with all our family this year, I pause to remember the angst of the pandemic. We survived it, and life went on, some of us changed forever due to circumstances beyond our control. For me, personally, I learned to embrace the change. As retirees, my husband and I had plenty to eat, a shelter over our heads, and no children underfoot to juggle school and job security. I had more time to read, do jigsaw puzzles, and hike solo on the Greenway. What’s not to like for an introvert!

Journal 2020

With the country on lockdown from COVID-19, I find I have a more open schedule, unsure how to plan my day. As a task-oriented person, I don’t know what I’m feeling . . .

Visual: I’m walking through a misty cloud, uncertain which path I’m supposed to take. I can hear the crunch of gravel under my feet, affirming I’m heading in the right direction, and in the small circle of light, I can see Jesus’ feet directly in front of me. Just keep following and trusting my senses, I tell myself.

Suddenly I find I’m blindfolded. Oh no! Now I’m dependent on following His footsteps, but they’re hard to hear over the crunching of my feet. Pause. Listen. Step toward the sound. What if He gets too far ahead of me? That’s silly, I think. He won’t leave me behind. Just listen . . .

I hear some sticks breaking off to the right. Is that Him? Is He leading me into the forest? Is it a distraction? An animal? All is still and quiet. I don’t dare move.

And then I hear a soft “mooo.” Whew! But it’s taken my focus off the footsteps in front of me.

“I’m here,” says Jesus quietly.

Relief. Ready for the next step, I feel His hand reaching back to take mine. “We’re about to cross a stream,” He says. “I need you to hold onto Me so I can guide you across.”

“Blindfolded still?” I ask.

“You may take it off,” He replies. “But it won’t help much. The fog is too thick, and you’ll try to rely on your eyes instead of the pressure of My hand guiding you.”

I trust Him. I leave the bandana on and begin my forward movement into the icy cold water. In my mind’s eye I can see the rocks as my feet try to get a grip on their slippery surface.

“I’ve got you,” Jesus reassures me. “Right foot next.” And so we continue across. My feet are cold, but the water is shallow. We are in no danger.

Jesus removes my blindfold, and I see a little spark and then a bonfire ahead of us. He wraps a blanket around my shivering shoulders, my feet toward the fire, and soon I feel drowsy. “Rest, Little One,” He says. “Rest, for the journey is long, and you’ll need your strength for the mountain up ahead. But don’t worry. The sun is rising, the mist will dry up, and soon you’ll be wishing for the cool water. We’ll fill our containers before we leave here to remember the days when you walked by faith and not by sight. For now, just rest and enjoy the quiet.”

And now I know what I was feeling—like I had to keep to a schedule, accomplish a to-do list, keep on track, use my time wisely. What if I allow myself to be lazy today and just do what I feel like doing in the moment, without an agenda. No “have-tos” just “get-tos.” What if today is a vacation day?

The Juggler

Posted on by under Emotions, God, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2005

Today I feel like I’m juggling too many Ping-Pong balls. As they fly helter-skelter out of my hands, I stop, herd them into a four-sided tray, and hand them to Jesus. When I ask Him which ball He wants me to pick first, He hands me a different one—large, crystal-clear and sparkling like a diamond. Though scared to touch it, I reach out and find it is weightless, made of pure light. And He? He places it deep into my heart so that my hands are free. I carry it safely tucked inside my body, but its light spills from my pores for all to see—His light.

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“But what about all those Ping-Pong balls I gave You?” I ask.

“No problem,” He says. “I’m a Master Juggler.” And He begins to toss the stars and the planets in a spectacular, brilliant light show.

“How does He keep from dropping all of them?” I wonder. And then I see the strings attached. He’s bonded to each one—each star, each orb—and, yes, to each Ping-Pong ball. Chords of love and ownership and responsibility.

“Just carry the heart ball today,” He says, “and I’ll help you juggle the rest.”

Morning Meditation

Posted on by under Emotions, God

Journal 2004

Words cannot describe the love I feel for Jesus, the third member of the Trinity. He’s beside me, ever present, watching me, protecting me, surrounding me, providing companionship, leading me, following me to see where my own footsteps take me. A friend—but not casual. A perfect friend—one who loves me just the way I am, but who loves me too much to leave me just the way I am. My Friend is so enamored with me (I haven’t figured out why yet) that He saved my life. Perhaps it’s because He made me. (In a small way I understand because of the way I fiercely love my own children because they’re flesh of my flesh, and in a sense I “created” them, and they were born perfect in my eyes.)

I was falling over a cliff, and Jesus grabbed me and pulled me to safety. But in the process, He had to go over the edge Himself—willingly He did this. And when He hit the bottom, His life blood was splattered. And I remained safely at the top of the cliff, trembling for my near miss with death. And grieving for the loss of my Friend and wishing I could die instead because it was my own foolishness that put Christ in that position to have to rescue me. But in the end, I see it’s better Him than me who went over the edge, because that would have been the end of me—kerplatz, splat! And then Jesus would have been left at the top, friendless.

Okay, never mind that there are millions of others around Him—but hey—they did the same thing I did—they foolishly got too close to the edge as well, but somehow He became the safety net for all mankind, forever, all at once, and permanently too, so when they fall off, they land safely in the net, and Jesus’ shepherd’s crook gently fishes them out. And trust me, there’s not one person who ever lived who didn’t get too close to the edge and lose his step and tumble over—except of course for the babies who were too young to crawl to the edge. (They were safe in their playpens.) Oh, by the way, some who went over the edge didn’t really believe the safety net was there, and they fell right on through. Ouch.

But back to the kerplatz on the canyon floor. If that had been ME down there? Like I said, it would have been all over but the shoutin’. But not Jesus. He had the power to do what no one else could—gather up the broken pieces, mend HIMSELF, grab His spirit and put it back into His body—except that somehow, He morphed that broken, bruised flesh into something permanent and new with new powers. Now He could fly and leap over tall buildings in a single bound. And coming back up to the top of the ledge, He told me I’d never fall over the edge again.

“How come?” I asked.

“Watch,” He said. And then He flattened the terrain with a single word. No more cliff! So we began to walk arm in arm, sometimes hand in hand; and occasionally, like a gentleman, He carried me over the rough spots and the puddles. And sometimes I let go of His hand to explore something nearby that looked more interesting than what was on the path He was leading us down. But invariably, it was fools’ gold I discovered. Sigh. Better to stay on the path with my Friend, my Savior.

He’s got a big machete and can swipe away all the snakes we encounter along the way. He’s got good eyes. He always sees them first. Sometimes He points them out to me so I can sidestep and avoid them. Sometimes He warns me, but my mind is elsewhere, and I get bitten. Yikes! But He carries an antidote with Him. One drop of His precious blood from the vial neutralizes the poison.

Sometimes I see a huge mountain or obstacle in the way, blocking our path, and I get frustrated or scared or uncertain. But my Companion just laughs. “I’ve been here before,” He says. “Come, I’ll show you the path around the mountain.” Or sometimes He surprises me and says we need to climb over or through the mountain. And He shows me the hidden entrance.

And He never leaves my side. As long as I hold onto Him, His energy flows into me to keep climbing, keep trudging, feet steady. He keeps reminding me of the beautiful valley of Sonshine on the other side. Sometimes on these treks, especially through the mountain, the way gets pitch black, and I lose my orientation. But He says all I have to do is ask, and He starts to glow with His own internal light. And He lets me see the myriad points of light—angels guarding the footpath, some up ahead, and some behind. And I step forward in confidence.

My Friend is very patient with me. He doesn’t ridicule me for my doubt or my ignorance or my stupidity. I wish I could be just as good a friend to Him. “But then, you’re not God, are you?” He smiles. “So quit looking at you, and keep your eyes on Me. I know what’s best for both of us. I’ve been to the other side, and I know the journey is worth it. Come on; let’s keep walking. One step at a time.”

There are no words to describe this Friend of mine. I love Him, and He loves me. And that is enough.

I stand, I stand in awe of You

Look into His eyes

Posted on by under Emotions, God

Journal 2020

Someone challenged me to “look Jesus in the eyes.” I don’t know how to do this. I don’t see pictures in my head like an artist does. So when I “see” Jesus, it’s an indistinct outline of the form of a man. How then can I possibly look into His eyes?

AI-generated

When I ask Jesus to reveal Himself to me, all I see in my visual is a distorted, grotesquely shaped mask that covers His face. Am I afraid to see Him in all his glowing, white-hot, pure light, like when Moses had to wear a veil? I don’t think my human eyes could tolerate seeing Him in His glorified form. And yet He wasn’t glowing when He appeared to the disciples in His resurrected body. Why can’t I experience that as well?

“Do you want the mask off?” Jesus asks.

Well, why wouldn’t I? Who put it there in the first place?

My Heart Guardian steps up. “I’ll do it,” he says. And when he rips the mask off, I see the misshapen, disfigured face like the Phantom of the Opera. And Isaiah’s words leap at me: “There is no comeliness . . .” (referring to the cross). He was bruised . . .”

I once saw an artist’s rendition of Jesus. It wasn’t ugly . . . just plain and uncomely. And I didn’t want to continue looking. I want my Jesus to look handsome, majestic, chiseled and rugged and buff with gorgeous features that would make me fall in love with Him and His form. I felt disappointed . . . like this can’t truly be Jesus. I want Him to look perfect. But then I see Akiane’s drawing of Jesus and I like it. Or Jechoon Choi’s Joyful Jesus.

We all have distortions of reality. We have no photograph of Jesus hidden in the archives. No one living today has seen Him in the flesh or walked with Him. And even a drawing doesn’t produce the same result as being in someone’s presence. I can’t wait to see Him face to face.

How do you visualize Jesus?

Intimacy with God

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Peace

Journal 2020

In the beginning stages of a human love relationship, there’s an emotional high, an excitement, a drive to spend as much time together as possible. Then life happens, and you struggle to work through disappointments that the fairytale doesn’t exist. The same can happen when you begin a love relationship with God. The initial joy of finding a perfect partner in life gets buried under disillusionment and painful circumstances. You find He’s not what you first expected.

Yes, I know Jesus loved me enough to die for me, and that knowledge is all good, but it doesn’t impact me emotionally. I’ve heard it for 65 years in thousands of sermons, and somehow now I’m obligated to serve Him whether I like it or not. I’m in this marriage now because I said “I do” when I was five years old, but it’s not an equal partnership. He is everything, and I am nothing. And maybe I hold back or cringe if I sense Him coming on too strong—like He wants something from me, and I may as well give in, whether I like it or not because He’s going to get His own way in the end anyway. “Thy will be done” might mean there’s suffering to follow, and what if I prefer to stay in my comfort zone, guarding my heart and trying to shield myself from pain?

And somewhere, somehow, a part of my heart holds out, self-sufficient, anticipating harsh judgment from the God of the Old Testament, surprised at His betrayal, and believing He expects absolute perfection, surrender, and obedience to His will.

Through time, as I work through my painful childhood memories, my relationship with my husband begins to heal and grow and deepen, and I find my intimacy with my creator begins to change as well. I learn more of His compassionate heart, never condemning me or forcing my will. He is the embodiment of I Corinthians 13 love. In the end, when I allow my guard to stand down, and I embrace what is to follow, there’s sweet fellowship and excitement at renewed intimacy and a deepening passion that feels safe. I’m returning to my first love.

Jesus, Aged 12

Posted on by under Emotions, God, Motherhood, Scripture

Journal 2020

The story of Jesus in the temple at age 12 (Luke 2:41-52) has always left me feeling uneasy with more questions than answers. Where did Jesus sleep each night for five nights? Did someone invite Him home with them after dark? How did He get food? Did He even eat? Did He have enough money in His pocket? Where did the crowds go without any port-a-potties?

How did Mary and Joseph feel? One day to travel toward home, one day back, search for three days. Not only had they missed out on five days’ worth of work back home, but they’d misplaced the Son of God! This mother’s heart would have vacillated between fear and anger, between trusting God that He would take care of His Son, and relief that He was safe. And if Jesus weren’t considered a man, she’d be tempted to give Him His first whipping for being so uncaring, irresponsible, and self-centered. “How could you do this to us?” she cried.

I wonder if Mary’s faith grew ten times that day, or if she became triggered every time Jesus wandered too far from the back door after they returned home.

And then I look at it from Jesus’ viewpoint. Did He even realize His parents had left? Was He so engrossed in being “in the zone,” where He felt closest to Home that He was unaware of what day it was? He wasn’t being disobedient, for His parents never said, “Come, Son, it’s time to go,” and He didn’t respond with a whine, “Do I have to?” Was He just being a boy, acting like a boy/almost man, not to think about how this would affect His family?  Or was He unconcerned, for He knew He was safe, and He knew they would be okay. He’s not responsible for their emotional well-being. No codependency there!

How did Jesus respond to His mom’s accusation? He was actually surprised they’d been searching for Him. He knew where He was; why didn’t they? He didn’t apologize or self-defend. He put it back on her. “Didn’t you know . . .?” Was Jesus being inconsiderate? Unkind? (I don’t think so, for as the Son of God, I believe He could do no wrong.)

How was Jesus at age 12 a reflection of the Father’s heart? Here was an opportunity to spend time with His real dad. Here was a chance to listen to and receive instruction from the seat of power and authority and instruction in His dad’s holy Scriptures. THE WORD was hearing about the Word as a growing, learning, almost-teen-age human.

Relationship and truth with God are more important than even human relationships. “I MUST be about my Father’s business; I MUST be in My Father’s house; the Son of Man must suffer; the Gospel MUST first be proclaimed to the Jews; I MUST preach the Kingdom of God to other cities; The Son of Man MUST be delivered into the hands of sinful men and be crucified, and the third day rise again; all things MUST be fulfilled; you MUST be born again; so MUST the Son of Man be lifted up; we MUST worship Him in spirit and in truth; I MUST work the works of Him that sent Me; other sheep I MUST bring in.”

“Must” feels like a divine appointment that Jesus kept, but I still feel the story through His mother’s eyes.

For Counselors and Therapists

Posted on by under Emotions, God, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2018

When strangers ask me what I do, I often say, “I’m a counselor,” because it’s hard to explain, “I’m an inner healing prayer minister.” Though I have the degree, I’m not a counselor. I’m not a therapist. I’m simply a facilitator who helps people connect to THE Counselor—the only One who can heal their pain.

My training provided me with some tools for the trade, but John Wembe said, “You come to each session with an empty toolbox! It doesn’t matter if you’ve used it 400 times in the past. Don’t assume that what worked yesterday will work today.” Over the past 25 years, I’ve been astonished at how God gives us the exact tools we need for each client.

One day we discovered the teachings of a fellow MK (Missionary’s Kid), Arthur Burke, who founded the Sapphire Leadership Group. Reading through his prolific material is like drinking from a firehose. And though no one person has perfect knowledge or truth, we can learn much from one person’s journey of discovery. Here are some quotes and information I gleaned from his writings that have helped me in my ministry.

Being a Healer Is Contrary to Our Nature—it’s not natural.

  1. We have a deep preference for power and control (we don’t like powerlessness). Inner healing costs us something.
  2. Safety: we’re always at risk (those who are traps and deceivers—witchcraft, lawsuits, blamers). The demonic knows your schedule and uses manipulation.
  3. Craving for closure (You can’t get closure if someone is suicidal.) Boundaries don’t cut it. It’s hard to switch off when you leave the office. There’s no finish line—an open-ended journey—especially if clients leave before you think they should.
  4. We are made for community. Pain and pleasure are done best in community (e.g. birth, death, weddings). Because of confidentiality, the therapist must process his pain and pleasure in private. We experience landmines and tripwires. We can’t avoid them. We don’t like doing this to a client. It’s unintentional, emotionally devastating, and you can’t discuss it with anyone. You also can’t share victories.
  5. Validation: We are designed by God to receive it, and we delight in giving it. But very few clients give you validation (e.g. “You’re doing a good job.”)
  6. Therapists are driven over the years to a personality change: we become more sour or less sparkly. “It’s a toxic trade.” There is a cost to us and our personalities to be a healer, and we risk addiction to medicate pain in the body or in the soul.

The brain’s hardware, explains Burke, is the physical, the gray matter. The brain’s software is the mind/soul. All of the above is about the software. But we need to find the energy in our spirits. We need to welcome God’s initiative, like a new mom initiating connection with her newborn.

Toxic Beliefs

  1. That my job is to bring pleasure to God by my obedience. (Psalm 33:5) We try to train God to love us, but it doesn’t work! God will reveal Himself to me in ways that are uniquely for me. God trains my spirit to build my joy. In a therapy session, my soul moves forward, but my spirit can anticipate how God is going to work, not just problem-solve. The bigger the problem, the more the opportunity to watch God work.
  2. We’ve been fed a lie. We have a guilt trip if we don’t “hear” from God. But by design, we might “see” (e.g. visuals, visions) rather than “hear” from God. God asked the prophet Jeremiah, “What do you see?” God engages with us in a myriad of ways. Ask, “What do I see?” and then ask for dialogue from God.

On Being Stuck

Authenticity comes when we face our powerlessness and admit it but are willing to sit with an individual no matter what. When you can bring others to healing but not experience it for yourself (e.g. Paul’s thorn in the flesh), you are not alone! Don’t go to the place of guilt. Trust God. He chose to leave you in that place till His purposes are fulfilled. How long can you stand in your powerlessness without allowing it to define your God? How long can you wrestle with God selectively answering prayers without it becoming about you?

When to Call It Quits

You may need to disengage from these four types of clients if they are not willing to move forward, if they make no progress at all, or if they make some progress but regress.

  1. A person who doesn’t want help but wants legitimacy—they will tell their friends they’re working on their stuff, but they aren’t. Phase them out!
  2. Denial. You can’t help them till they crash and burn.
  3. Beware of someone who comes to you self-diagnosed. They want you to work on their choice. “I can’t get other therapists to listen to me,” they might say. They’re allergic to responsibility. Ask: Are you open to another possibility?
  4. They have a religious spirit that reduces God to a formula (like Job’s friends). “I’ve done what I’m supposed to,” they might say. Beware this person. He believes he can control God. Can you walk with God with no guarantee that He’ll change your circumstances? (e.g. Shadrach)

A 2025 Update. I have been asked multiple times how I can listen for hours to horrific stories of pain and abuse without being weighed down myself. The answer is always to process what feelings get stirred up inside my own heart. When I am at peace, I can relax and watch God work. It’s His job, not mine, to fix broken hearts.