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.
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?
There was a time in the training of the 12 disciples when Jesus let them practice preaching—like an internship. Some of His instructions make sense, but some seem a little extreme. I try to put myself in their sandals.
He sent them out in pairs—good for accountability, safety, and companionship.
He gave them authority over demons. Only Jesus had this power pre-cross. Today this authority is given to all believers (in His name).
He instructed them to travel light.
No food—yikes!
No suitcase or backpack—no backup resources
No money—really?!
No extra clothes—depending on others for warmth
Yes, bring a staff—protection? walking aid?
Yes, sandals—why mention these? In a time when people probably went barefoot as much as shod, it’s interesting He includes this. Rough terrain? A symbol of something?
I suspect going without money would be the greatest faith stretcher for me. I would want to travel light if I were walking to Shelbyville, the next town over, but I would feel a little uncomfortable without money in my pocket and no fast food in sight.
They were to stay with people along the way—go to the town square and preach, and God would move in someone’s heart to invite them home for the night. (Yes, hospitality was the norm in those days, but what if no one stepped up?)
If a town didn’t receive them, they were to shake off the dust from their feet for testimony against them. (And my mind goes to: how far is the next town? I’m hungry!)
I believe Jesus’ instructions were strictly for those 12 men for that event, but are there any principles we could glean for today? Work in community. Do the ministry God calls us to do with the resources He provides. Trust God for our daily needs. Minister to those who want it rather than beating our heads against a wall trying to get through antagonism and resistance.
When people and things disrupt my workflow, how can I tell if an interruption is a distraction or a God-event? Is it like a child’s bumper lane in a bowling alley, meant to keep me out of the gutter? Or is it a snare, a stick-pile in the river?
The rapids are the events over which I have no control, and I’m glad I have an experienced Guide with me Who knows where the hazards are. He expects me to use my paddle as I’m able and engage in the fight to stay upright, but He’s strong enough to keep me on an even keel.
Sometimes, when I’m about to be dumped into the river, I just hang onto the sides for dear life. But I’m not going to drown (unless it’s my time to go Home). When He comes to rescue me, I must relax and not struggle against Him. He has the lifeline in His hands. Thankfully, not all of life is rapids. Sometimes it’s okay to drift and to rest.
So, whether I encounter shallows, a stick-pile, or the rapids, I don’t have to figure out its source. I just need to navigate what comes with patience, faith, and grace.
The Scene: I am inside my house, facing our big picture window while a friend stands outside facing me. We each have Windex and some paper towels in hand. I wash my side. She washes hers.
The Need: A clean window
The Conflict: I can see her dirt; she can see mine. We can’t see our own.
The Cause: The light shines through differently from each of our perspectives.
The Solution: Trust. Trust the other person to point out the spots I missed. Keep rubbing till she nods her approval.
The Lesson: That’s what friends are for. A trusted friend is invaluable for pointing out my dirt. My job is to respond in gratitude for helping me get my soul-window clean—not to get angry that she pointed out my dirt.
In the Pursuit of Peace 