Category Archives: God

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.

Prayer Burdens

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

Journal 2018

My heart is heavy this morning with the news that a friend is nearing the end of her life, and another is struggling to function with a disease. Perhaps God put the heaviness there so that I will pray for my friends. Perhaps I’m believing a lie. Or maybe it’s tapping into something unresolved in my own heart. I see worry lines across my forehead.

In my mind, I lift my dying friend’s wasted skeleton and lay her gently in the lap of Jesus. He smiles. She is in good hands.

I see my other friend limping and leaning heavily on my left shoulder as I try to keep her upright. I’m sad and I don’t know why. My knees buckle under her weight, while Jesus waits for us to reach Him. Why isn’t He stepping forward to help? We sit for a while and rest, and still He tarries. I believe I have the responsibility to get her there, but I can’t. All I can do is sit with her till help comes. And as I relax and encourage her, Jesus sends angels to minister to her. They gently soothe her, but her earthly pain remains. Then I see the angels lift her, chair and all, to His feet. I follow and I watch.

“Are you ready, my child?” He whispers in her ear.

“Not yet,” she replies. And so he instructs the angels to carry her to Sick Bay.

It seems I’m next. “Come here, my child,” He says. “What’s troubling you?”

“It’s that word responsibility again,” I say. I know that whatever “it” is doesn’t belong to me.

“No, But love does. Staying with her and not walking away is what I ask of you.”

“That’s the easy part; I can do that.”

“Then visit her in Sick Bay and let her know she’s not alone in her pain.”

It’s often easier to try to fix another’s pain in order to relieve my own, but prayer is not about telling God what to do. It’s about letting go of my expectations and listening to His instructions.

Be a Tree

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

Journal 2018

Two days in a row I rose from my bed feeling weary. Is this mild depression? Driven to get some fresh air and exercise, on Saturday I donned a light jacket, packed what I needed for the day, and headed to the Greenway. I snapped some photos and tried not to think. Just walk. Bare trees and brown hues dominated the landscape in the winter chill. I saw a red-headed woodpecker, two fat robins, some ducks on the water, a cardinal, and several squirrels with nuts in their mouths. Under one overpass, I was shocked to see how high the water had flooded at some point. Leaves twined tightly around branches above my head.

Returning to the trailhead, I sat on a bench to rest, but my body felt antsy, jiggly. As I tried to relax, I heard God say, “Be a tree.”

“But a tree doesn’t move!” I exclaimed.

“Precisely.”

A tree. Rooted. Still. Unmovable. Sturdy. Stable. Allowing the animals to come to me. I don’t have to find them; they will find me. Just be. Be still and know that I am God. Be still. Be still.

Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him. Psalm 37:7 (NIV)

In awe of this simple injunction from the Holy Spirit, I began to walk again. But it wasn’t enough. I could still feel the dread of having to be “on” at my next meeting.

I came to another bench warmed by the sun and stretched out on my back. I needed to release whatever load I was still carrying. In my mind I saw a steel cord across my chest with weights on the ends, holding me down. I heard the word responsibility.

Again? Still? Why do I keep struggling with this?

I asked the Lord to cut the cord or remove the balls, and surprisingly He refused.

What? A weight too heavy for Him to lift? I don’t understand.

“OK, Lord, do it your way.”

And I watched as He lifted the cord a few inches off my chest, suspended lightly on His index finger. Now I could choose to stay or to move. That felt better.

And so I walked some more.

“Is there more, Lord?” I still feel tired in my soul.

Then I saw a closet door. When I opened it, a mass of material goods tumbled out. “What a mess!” I cried. “I don’t have the energy to clean it up and sort through the pile.”

“Your decision-maker is tired,” He said. “It’s time to sort and tidy your environment. You’ve been living in clutter and chaos in your home for six weeks now with Christmas, company, family messes, extra meals, and three big projects completed in three weeks. Your office and sleeping space are not restful or peaceful. It’s time to take back your place and create a peaceful environment.”

“That I can do,” I thought. And with that, the oppressive, heavy feeling began to lift.

“Be a tree. Be still. Look to Me to make your decisions. Declutter and find peace once more.”

All during church the next day I tried to process, to rejuvenate, to just sit and soak in God’s presence. I visualized a part of my heart like a squirrel scampering around the tree, so many branches to explore, unable to settle. Then I saw one branch overladen with fruit (and perhaps some excess stuff) drooping to the ground. It represented my to-do-list responsibilities, my ongoing projects, my schedule, and my ministry relationships. It represented the month of January and the burdens I’ve been carrying. I knew the little squirrel needed to stay away from that branch, but he lusted after the fruit. Perching on another branch on Sunday meant trying to focus on other things for a while, but that simply did not work. And so, I gave up the escapist, self-disciplined route to focus on what it might feel like to venture out onto that over-burdened branch. I was afraid it would snap and fall to the ground, and the fruit would rot before it could ripen.

And that’s when I saw a metal bar (God’s strength) underneath the branch supporting the weight. Now the squirrel could perch on the bar and still reach various fruits without breaking the whole limb. That felt a whole lot lighter and safer.

The next morning, I felt more rested and alert instead of groggy and grumpy. And that evening I did not get overwhelmed when we hosted a Super Bowl party for our entire family. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper. Psalm 1:3 (KJV)

Like a cedar of Lebanon he will send down his roots; his young shoots will grow. His splendor will be like an olive tree, his fragrance like a cedar of Lebanon. People will dwell again in his shade. Hosea 14:5b-7a NIV

The Odor of Heaven

Posted on by under Emotions, God, Scripture

Journal 2018

Your robes are all fragrant with myrrh and aloes and cassia. Ps. 45:8 ESV

We talk of the beauty of heaven and even the sounds, but seldom do I think about the anticipated smells.

I grew up in a different country than my husband. To prepare him for a visit to the land of my birth, I showed him pictures; I spoke to him in Hausa; he touched the curios I’d transported from overseas. But how could I share with him the smells of a place he’d never been to? He loathed my malodorous dadawa (fermented beans used as bouillon in tuwo da miya), but I wanted him to experience frangipani and guavas and baobab fruit. The minute he stepped onto the airline bound for Nigeria, the biggest assault to his senses was not the sights or the sounds, but the smells. I thought he’d pass out!

I can’t say that I have a favorite fragrance, but I am partial to the headiness of bread baking in the oven, the duskiness of rain approaching, or the intoxicating scent of sheets drying on a clothesline. I know little of myrrh and aloe and cassia. I can’t get excited about something I can’t relate to. The very words sound overpowering. I prefer light, fresh scents. I avoid darkly scented candles, most perfumes (including Essential oils) and heavily scented deodorants. Both my cat litter and my detergent must be unscented.

For sure, our visual capacity will increase in heaven, but will our sense of smell be different as well? I just know that there will be no malodor or distaste associated with my King’s garments. We will be drawn to it, delight in it. There will be nothing artificial or decaying or sour or bitter. It will be unlike anything we’ve ever experienced here on earth. I have no hooks on which to hang an odor I’ve never smelled before.

When we use words to describe something visual, we include a myriad of parameters: height, weight, shape, color, etc. But when we try to describe a smell, we’re reduced to one-word descriptors or similes, often connected to taste: bittersweet, salty, bland, lemony, spicy, peppery, acidic. Smells can have qualities such as delicate, overpowering, pungent, or acrid. But even those fall short when trying to describe an odor you don’t taste like pine or roses or rotting flesh.

We have associations with smell, like my mother’s cinnamon rolls, like a boy’s locker room, or like a friend’s Chanel No. 5. Our brains have smell memories—one whiff of something and we’re transported back to a time when we first experienced emotion with it. I know one MK (Missionary’s Kid) who stowed a scarf inside a sealed jar so she could pull it out occasionally to bring back her olfactory memories.

Besides a reference to His garments, I checked a concordance for other scripture references to fragrance. “Sweet smelling” is used most often in the Bible. I doubt this means sickly sweet but rather in a beautiful (a sight word), soft (tactile), pleasant sense.

  • Evil odor
  • Foul odor
  • Fragrance or pleasing aroma of Christ
  • Fragrance of His knowledge
  • Good ointments
  • Lebanon (cedar)
  • Mandrakes (wonder how they smell)
  • Of a field which Jehovah blessed: sweet
  • Of death or of life
  • Of the cloud of incense
  • Of the face like citrons
  • Of water
  • Perfume
  • Pleasant fruits
  • Pleasing odor
  • Spikenard oil
  • Sweet aromas
  • Sweet fig trees
  • The smell of battle
  • The smell of fire
  • We are a sweet fragrance to God.
  • His breath

Aroma, scent, savor, tang, reek, stench, feted, stink, and whiff—and that about exhausts the list, both in the dictionary and in the scriptures.

What’s your favorite scent and why?

A 2025 Update. This meditation is even more poignant to me after my year-long sense deprivation with COVID-19. Like a blind person who looks forward to seeing heaven’s beauty, I can’t wait to get my first deep whiff of heaven’s scents.

Passing on the tradition with my grandsons

Relationship with the God of Habakkuk

Posted on by under God, Scripture

Journal 2018

In the book of Habakkuk, I read about the mighty power of the God of the universe and how He is coming to uproot and decimate wicked nations, churn the sea, flatten mountains, and cause the whole earth to go silent at His Majesty. How can I deign to have a relationship with such a deity? Surely it’s all one-sided. He holds all the power, the glory, the omniscience. I am less than an ant in his sight, powerless, useless, puny and lowly. How does an ant have relationship with a giant? Yes, Jesus came down to the ant’s level for a time, but He returned to His glory, His Majesty, His omnipotence. He is no longer bound by an earth suit.

Yet when I visualize Jesus, I see Him in earthly form. When I try to relate to Him, I don’t see Him in unapproachable light. And when I try to picture the Father, I have to bring Him down to my level of comprehension—like a compassionate grandfather figure who enfolds me in His strong arms of love and protection. I am not capable of seeing Him in all His glory. Our minds were not given that capacity to truly experience Him and the truth of His existence. I feel so … I am so …. unworthy.

I do not want to give up the intimacy of seeing God through my earthly eyes. Is it wrong to picture Him this way when, in truth, He is far beyond my capacity to imagine? There’s a tension of longing and desire to know God for who He truly is, but I don’t think the human body is capable of comprehension of the divine. I accept it by faith. I sense no judgment or condemnation for using earthly visuals to describe the infinite. Jesus did it. He’d say, “The Kingdom of heaven is like …” and then use an earthly illustration for his disciples to grasp the intangible. Jesus is like a shepherd, a door, bread for life, a friend, a brother, a king. But metaphors fall short of reality.

How do you picture God?

A 2025 Update. I recall a story I heard from the pulpit about a father who came upon his little boy hunched over his box of crayons.

“What are your drawing?” asked the father.

“I’m drawing a picture of God.”

“But no one knows what God looks like,” his dad said.

“They will when I’m done,” the boy replied.

Joyful Jesus by Jechoon Choi, https://www.dgraphicartsdesign.com/

A Chance Encounter?

Posted on by under Choices, God

Journal 2018

Yesterday I parked at our downtown library and was walking to the City Cafe for lunch when I met a little old lady on the street corner. I smiled and greeted her as I passed by, but she called after me, “Could you give me a ride home?” She lived on such-and-such a street, just .8 miles away, about a 17-minute walk if one was in good health.

“I’m 70 years old,” she declared, “And I’m tired, and people just laugh at me when I ask them, and I need money for my medicine. If you can’t help me, will you pray for me?”

I asked her a few questions. She lives alone, no family in town. Two daughters live up North who don’t speak to her. Her Social Security check doesn’t arrive till Wednesday. She needs her meds for seizures.

Yes, I’d gladly give her a ride. She looked so frail, like a slight breeze would topple her over. I urged her to sit on a nearby park bench while I walked back to the parking garage to get my car. Lunch would have to wait.

On the short drive to her house, she thanked me again and again, prattling, “I just want to tell people what God has done for me. (He’d spared her life after a major health issue.) I put up a homemade flag on my house that reads ‘God loves everybody. Amen.’ But twice people have torn it down and painted over it, and I made a third one. My apartment neighbor doesn’t like me. He won’t like it if you park in his driveway. I like to sing!”

“What’s your favorite song?” I interjected, and she burst into song, strong but wavering, “How great Thou art.” And later, “Because He lives…” And I sang along with her.

Her meds cost $25. I gave her $32, all the cash in my wallet. She burst into tears. “Now I can get my medicine! I think I’ll just sit on my porch and sing,” she said as I helped her out of the car.

“May I take your picture so I can remember to pray for you?” I asked.

With a funny little grin, her hands flew up to her frizzy hair as if to make sure she looked presentable, lifted her chin, and smiled for the camera.

Though I’ve been hoodwinked, scammed, and taken advantage of in the past, I continue to be generous to strangers if God asks me to. Sometimes I’m proactive in my ministry goals. Sometimes God simply guides my feet. I wish I’d prayed with her. I’m praying now that God will supply all her need and continue to give her courage.

A 2025 Update. Now that I’ve passed the 70-year milestone myself, I have to smile at my “little old lady” perception. I never saw her again. I never felt a nudge from the Lord to return to her house, and I sometimes wonder what happened to her.

This is my sweet friend, Grandma Vera, not the person I met downtown. But she loves to sit on her porch, and she loves to sing.