“The soul for comfort holds herself to be Inviolate; but like the blowing sands That sift in shuttered houses, Christ’s demands Intrude and sting, deny her to be free
twists and turns but finds it vain to flee,
The living Word is in the very air,
She can’t escape a wound that’s everywhere,
She can but stand or yield—to ecstasy
Lord is seeking entrance; she must choose.
A thickening callous can withstand the pain
Of this rough irritant, the sands that swirl
Against her thus defied. But if she lose
Her self, Christ enters in—the sharp-edged grain
Of sand embedded grows a shining pearl”
I have a goal of reading through the Bible in one year, and often I have found
it to be quite enlightening, edifying, and enriching (and there is my three-point
sermon…). The one-year path feels like a sprint to cross that finish line; it
is a hard push and honestly at times, the pressure can scrape up a bit of
irritation and annoyance. I feel like I miss out on the power of stopping to
smell the roses and the reverence of taking in the scenery – the study, the
meditation, and hearing that still small voice. So, this year I have been
choosing random books. I meandered through the prophetic message of salvation
in Isaiah, spent many months strolling through the rhythm of the Psalms, inhaled
Job for about the fiftieth time, and this past week finished reading about my
fleeting life in Ecclesiastes.
time I do the one-year plan, I venture into Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers packed
with rules, rules, and more rules. Several times reading through it, I thought to
myself, “God, how could anyone ever remember all these instructions regarding
rituals and legal and moral practices for holy living?” The next time I came upon
my missionary endeavor, I literally stopped and prayed. I asked God to show me
truth about His reasoning for all these manners of conduct. As I was scurrying
through the text, I heard the Spirit speak to me in that still small voice, “Deeon,
these rules were not meant to harm the Israelites, they were meant to protect
them.” I really had to step back and soak in that revelation. That little rocky
crag in my heart softened. It changed my perception. As I continued reading, Exodus,
Leviticus, and Numbers took on richer meaning. This was not about some punitive
God trying to inflict punishment through laws, this code of conduct was about a
holy, loving God living in their midst. Exodus,
Leviticus, and Numbers, as is the entire Bible, is God’s message of His presence,
His power, and His sovereignty offering reconciliation from sin and a passageway
to forgiveness because He loves us beyond comprehension.
rate, I am intentionally choosing to read the book of Leviticus unhurried. I am
trying to dig underneath and marinate on all the many ways in which God is
protecting His people. Here is an example: near the beginning of Leviticus, the
guidelines for the Grain Offering are rendered. Depending on the version of
scripture (I lean toward the ESV or NKJV), the text states to put frankincense
on the Grain Offering if it is fine flour. I am a “why?” kind of gal. These
offerings are burnt on the altar. Have you ever smelled burnt bread – not so
much a pleasing odor? Perhaps, the frankincense rendered that “pleasing aroma”
to God, that aroma that represented the substitutionary atonement for sin,
which is pleasing to God. Yet, I believe frankincense, the king of oils, had a multilateral
purpose. What I mean is that the frankincense was a pleasing aroma to God,
which I believe holds deeper meaning than I have studied, but it was not unilateral,
only for Him. I believe God created and used frankincense as a medicinal
protection for the Israelites.
an article entitled, Frankincense, The Holy Grail of Essential Oils:
are a few other points of interest about Frankincense:
also known as Olibanum, comes from the resin of the Boswellia tree grown in
Africa and the Middle East, particularly in Oman, Somalia, and Ethiopia, though
the finest comes from Arabia. Careful incisions are made in the tree at key
times of year, and the sap slowly pours out. Once the sap dries and hardens it
is ready to be used. The first period of tapping occurs from January to March
and the second from August to October. After tapping has continued for five or six
years, the trees are rested (the irony that God created through the sixth day
and then rested on the seventh.) Frankincense has a woody, spicy smell. Now, I
have a little bottle of Frankincense oil and indeed the smell is woody and
spicy. I think for some it would be a scent that gains acquired appreciation,
though I have always liked the scent and whiff on my little vile occasionally.
“Traditionally, frankincense was used for hundreds of years in incense, primarily in ancient rituals because of its promise to bring tremendous healing properties. Priests, rabbis, and medicine men around the world—especially in the Middle East—appreciated the essential oil for its antiseptic, anti-inflammatory, and rejuvenating properties.
Early use of frankincense resin was reserved for religious services, where it was burned as incense with the intention of the scent floating up invisibly to heaven in order to attract God’s attention. Historically, burning the resin was also a tool to vanquish negative energies or hold evil spirits at bay. To this day, it is commonly used in churches and temples and believed to affect us at our deepest level, setting our spirit free. The ancient Egyptians, Romans, and Greeks all used frankincense in their religious rituals. Similarly, the Chinese have been known to use it for years.
Frankincense was so valuable during ancient times that it was literally worth its weight in gold. Some cultures even prized it more than gold, making it an integral part of the Silk Road trade. Overall, it has been high in demand, from early history all the way to today.”
modern medicine, research, and the advancement of technology have offered some thought-provoking
theories about frankincense:
when used during meditation, frankincense can be purifying to the mind, create a
connection to one’s soul, and offer spiritual protection.
smoke from burning frankincense drives out mosquitoes, pests, and other flying
insects, reducing incidence of malaria and other insect transmitting diseases.
has anti-inflammatory effects that may help reduce symptoms of joint inflammation
caused by osteoarthritis and rheumatoid arthritis.
may help reduce symptoms of Crohn’s disease and ulcerative colitis by reducing
inflammation in the gut.
may help reduce the likelihood of bronchial and sinus infections and asthma
attacks in susceptible people. It may also open breathing passageways and increase
lung capacity, thus relieving symptoms, such as shortness of breath, wheezing, coughing,
and as well reduces phlegm.
has antibacterial properties. Clinical studies at major universities in Egypt
and in the United States have shown that frankincense has fantastic
immune-enhancing abilities. These studies reveal that frankincense can fight
dangerous bacteria and viruses throughout the body by providing immunostimulants.
When applied topically, these benefits will work to create a layer of
protection against bacterial and viral infections. When used aromatically, the
same benefits manifest internally while working to heal your body from the
has antimicrobial and antiseptic benefits, working to destroy harmful germs and
bacteria upon contact, whether on the body or on surfaces throughout the home. It may help prevent bad breath, toothaches, cavities, and
As a beauty
Serum, frankincense can revive, rejuvenate, and strengthen skin health, adding
elasticity to the skin. It may reduce the appearance of wrinkles and scars, smooth
the complexion, prevent acne, even out blemishes, heal minor wounds, help
reverse damage caused by UV rays, fade stretch marks, and heal cracked skin.
is supportive of cellular function. It can assist with healthy cell function by
promoting cell and tissue regeneration. So far, test-tube studies suggest that
frankincense may fight breast, ovarian, skin, and colon cancer cells. The small
study indicates that it may also help reduce side effects of cancer and may
help kill cancer cells and prevent tumors from spreading. It can suppress
cancer cells viability.
and emotionally, frankincense, through aromatherapy, reduces the heart rate promoting
relaxation, balancing moods, reducing anxiety, and calming and lifting the
And, there are a few additional opinions hanging out there for
which studies have not been performed. Frankincense could possibly help to
prevent diabetes by lowering blood sugar levels; may aid in preventing heart
disease by reducing inflammation; could improve sleep quality; may well boost memory
and cognitive function; and quite possibly balance female hormones — delaying
menopause, and reducing menstrual cramping, nausea, headaches, and mood swings.
An altar of incense burned inside the tabernacle. This incense was a specific recipe of spices mixed with “pure frankincense.” God gave the recipe and stipulated that only this incense, and no other, was permitted to be burned on the altar of incense, and this incense recipe must not be used anywhere or by anyone else or else they will be cut off from their people. Aaron was instructed to burn incense on the altar each morning and at twilight, every day, as a regular offering to the Lord. To release its scent, the frankincense was either burned or smoldered over hot coals.
Frankincense complemented many offerings and sacrifices. Frankincense was extensively
used in burial rituals as part of the embalming material as an offering to the
departed, a means to cover the odor of the dead body, and I believe to create purification
from the potential risks of chronic infectious diseases.
The market for frankincense was
unlimited. It created commerce and trade, via merchant ships and camel caravans.
In essence, it was a form of currency. Whereas other exotic spices and
aromatics were luxury items, frankincense, though expensive was a household
necessity, a basic staple. An article from the New York Times states:
“In January of 1997, exploring the remote back
country of Yemen, over hills and through valleys and ravines, a party of
archeologists came upon ruins and monuments from the time when frankincense and
myrrh were among the world’s most coveted commodities. In the 10th century
B.C., the biblical Queen of Sheba is supposed to have ruled in golden splendor
over this land on the southern rim of the Arabian Peninsula. For several
hundred years before and after the birth of Christ, it was a major emporium of
the ancient world. Spices and textiles arrived by ship from India, silk from
China and gold and ostrich feathers from Ethiopia. These goods were then packed
off by camel caravan to Egypt and Persia, to Palmyra in Syria and, often as
not, on to Rome. Nothing in the shipments was more prized than the two locally
grown gum-resin products, frankincense and myrrh. “
They say the encampment of the Israelites, though highly structured and orderly, was about the size of Houston, Texas, the ninth largest city in the US. Now think of Houston as an entire city of refugees. Some scholars estimate the total Exodus population, including men, women, and children to be around 2.5 million people. Houston’s current population is about 2.3 million. Now imagine Houston as a desolate, barren wilderness where these refugees are, with precision as directed by God, encamped in tents throughout the entire region. The potential for widespread disease is immensely problematic. Now I do not know if every household contained frankincense for personal use, but I do know every morning and evening frankincense was burned in the tabernacle, releasing smoke and fumes upward into the air. This was holy and reverent, symbolizing the prayers of the people rising up to God, which was a pleasing aroma to Him. But, secondarily, I believe the incense served to purify the air in the encampment consequentially benefiting the refugees with all the potential of frankincense described above. The Bible is not clear on these likelihoods, but that is what I believe, and I am sticking to it. I believe God knew the need beforehand. I believe God planned everything out beforehand. Frankincense is a mere fraction of all the ways God sought to protect His people. So you see, the Bible is not all about rules, it is about God’s protection, provisions, and ultimately His love. It is a clear reminder to me, He knows the way that I take, He works all things together for my good, and His love is everlasting and higher than the heavens. I am so thankful for the Holy Spirit’s little whispers and teachings as I persist in reading scripture.
I would say I am not an art connoisseur, but I have a number of artists and cartoonists that peak my interest. For me, art is not a passing glimpse. I like knowing the title of the piece; I appreciate thoroughly taking in the scene, composition, looking for little nuances, looking for the artist’s consistent flavor and flare, and wondering how a particular piece impacts the viewer or personally reflects the artist’s intentions. At times, if I look at a piece long enough, an internal dialogue can emerge. I value art content that is ‘clean,’ light-hearted, and simplistic, yet is the artist’s deeper effort to convey a message without saying a word. I think that is what I love about art; it speaks a personal language and interpretation. I have discovered many artists piddling around on Pinterest. Pascal Campion is one artist that draws my attention. He is a prolific French-American illustrator, animator, and storyteller, developing over 4,000 images. I enjoy looking at his art and style. His works are a language of conventional family life speckled with intimacy and universal experiences. I experience the content in subjective emotional layers; I feel the images; my spirit is drawn into his depictions. His website gives an excellent synopsis of his life: https://gallerypascal.com/pages/about-us. Though I do not own any, he has a number of books published. He also has a current Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/pascalcampionart/ And, Pinterest is spattered with his works.
On occasion, I will share an artist or a piece that I have found noteworthy, appealing, inspiring, fascinating or thought-provoking to me; and maybe, I will allow some vulnerability to share my feelings or impressions.
The countdown is on! My husband has a mere six working days
before he takes his annual vacation. We are in that anticipatory pre-vacation
mode. You know that place; like the dog watching out the window, hearing the car
door shut, becoming filled with giddiness, and prancing and wagging its tail waiting
for it’s human to come inside. Every year at the beginning of October, we begin
frolicking about in eager expectation of the last week. We begin to loosen up.
That carefree spirit starts to emerge. We certainly do not want to rush October
because it is our favorite month, but that precious last week is sacred. At
quitting time on that last day of work, my husband runs out of his office and
drives off like a lone wolf into the dark of night, destination home. We
celebrate our anniversary that week. We celebrate his birthday that week. We
celebrate the crisp air and beautiful colors of autumn that week. We celebrate
being together, attending the Men and Boys’ Choir first performance of the
season at the local catholic cathedral, long drives with no objective or
purpose, road trips, visiting a bookstore, staying up late, sleeping in,
hibernating a day or two, lighter moods and laughter, and rest. There are
always a few “to do’s,” but the rush of time slows, schedules mainly cease, pressures
release, anxieties temper, and a calming peace lightens our hearts. We become
like eagles flying high, soaring on unseen air currents.
We have never been “vacationers.” We used to spend a night here or there, but have never traveled to far off destinations. Age, pets, and finances make us predominantly “staycationers.” And, honestly, we have come to prefer and enjoy it that way. We share a deep friendship wherever we find ourselves. We love gut-splitting laughter, times of quietness, and the simpler things of life. Home is our refuge, a sanctuary of serenity, a haven of contentment. Certainly, life’s heartaches, struggles, and cares do not dissipate, but we place them on the back burner as a respite from the storms. As the few old quotes state from Gone with the Wind, “Fiddle-Dee-Dee, I’ll think about it tomorrow,” “After all tomorrow is another day,” and “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” So, hats off and cheers to our fast approaching, passionately welcome “staycation!” Our tails are wagging! Are we there yet?
My mother’s due date is to be the makings for a New Year’s
Day celebration or there about, but even at birth, I take the road less
traveled; in desperation, I draw my first breath one month late. I am purple
from head to toe, having difficulty breathing, and my skin is pealing from
being in the womb too long. My mother tells me in that day, they did not induce
labor; they allowed life to happen naturally. Her labor did not progress; it was
prolonged with exceptional pain. Laughing, she tells me she screamed quite loud
throughout the entire ordeal, annoying the staff, the doctor, and probably the
entire labor and delivery wing. Ultimately, she rips the curtains off the
hospital window. She says the doctor strongly urges them never to have any more
children. Because I am struggling to survive (the story of my life,) my mother does
not hold me. The medical staff work on me as she says she prays, “God, please
let her live. If you let her live, I’ll give her to you.” My mother tells me
that my father took one look at me and says, “She’s an ugly little shit!” So,
near dying, one wants to give me away to God and the other thinks I am ugly!
Let’s get this late New Year’s party started!
My brother is a little over two and half upon my arrival. He
has been an only child, grandchild, and nephew his entire short life thus far. Naturally,
all dote upon him. I am told he is full of life, always on the go, in to
everything, very active, all boy, and always hungry. In the pictures I have, he
is one cute little boy with brown naturally curly ringlets of hair! When I
begin talking, I call him “Bubby” and he calls me “Sissy.”
One Easter, for some insane reason, my aunt brings us each live little yellow baby ducks. Now, we do not live on a farm; we are city folk. What pray tell are we going to do with ducks in the city in a small yard? My brother wants to see if they can swim. He goes out to the garage; I follow him. He gets out a five-gallon bucket. He fills the five-gallon bucket with water from the garden hose. He goes back indoors and gets the baby ducks. He places the baby ducks into the five-gallon bucket of water. We are standing over the five-gallon bucket watching these baby ducks trying to swim for their very lives. The baby ducks do not know how to swim; they gurgle to the bottom of the five-gallon bucket and drown.
My brother loves playing with matches and fire. Where and
how that began is a mystery to me. Again, my aunt for some insane reason, buys my
brother a white Styrofoam life-size surf board and lifesaver ring. We do not
live near water. We do not own a pool, other than a little plastic yard pool in
which these items do not even fit. They are useless to my brother other than futile
folly. I am unclear how my brother has a book of matches, but outside at the corner
of the house, he begins breaking off little bits of the surfboard and ring,
setting a match under the pieces, and watching them melt. I vividly recall standing
aside watching the melting with great intrigue. He runs out of matches in his
matchbook and asks me to go inside and get more matches out of the drawer. I
do. He continues melting Styrofoam as a black soot mark begins accumulating on
the corner of the house. My mother comes home, rounds the corner, and I literally
think my brother’s death date has arrived. Her wrath swoops down upon him like
a typhoon. Now, I strongly believe in proper discipline, rules, boundaries,
consequences, punishment fitting the crime, etc., but corporal punishment and ear- splitting vocals cause grave life-long
trauma to a child.
Frequently, I hear my mother and father say, “We have to break his spirit!” Before I am five, who knows what that cognitively means, but visually and audibly that meant watching my mother turn into a category five hurricane with rantings and screaming at decibels beyond the Krakatoa Eruption of 1883 chasing after a little boy. Now my brother says he probably deserved everything he ever got, but harsh physical spankings and cruel punishment equate to abuse and I refuse to define it by any other term! How about they take responsibility for safeguarding access to matches and such, playing with him rather than leaving him up to his own mischievous wiles, and seeking out participation in constructive activities, which they had no interest in doing throughout our entire childhood. They wanted him contained and controlled by punishment and sought measures to “break his spirit” not considering they were breaking much more than his spirit – his self-esteem, his belief and joy in who he was as a little boy, changing his internal chemistry into someone he was not created to be, and emotionally creating defiance, anger, and rebelliousness. They did not break his spirit, they altered and wounded his spirit.
My father is rarely home. He works three jobs. One I know, he scrubs, buffs, and polishes floors at night in an office building. A couple times, he brings the buffer home to do our floors. We get to sit on the buffer for a ride as he swirls the machine all around the room. His main employment is working for the grounds department at the state university. He enjoys that job and does it for his entire career, working countless hours in the winter plowing snow around the clock. A co-worker of his plays Santa at Christmas and travels about the town visiting little children at their homes. My father arranges for him to drop in for a visit to see my brother and me during a few Christmas seasons. Santa boisterously emerges through the front door shouting, “HoHoHo!” I run for the bedroom, but my brave brother goes right up to Santa, sits on his lap, and tells him everything he wants for Christmas. I keep my distance, peeking around the corner to see. I am still given a little netted stocking filled with candy. One Christmas we get bicycles. Mine, of course, has training wheels. We do not stay long, but in the snow, my father takes us to the school playground to ride our new bikes. Before I am five, I gravitate toward my father. He really does not have much of a clue about me as my mother keeps a solid grip on my life. In his absence, he thinks my mother takes care of everything for the kids. However, he certainly gives his two cents about doctors and dentists. My mother is not to take us to the dentist while we have baby teeth. He thinks that is a waste of money. We do not see the dentist. I am given a toothbrush, shown where the toothpaste is, and how to put the toothpaste on the brush, but I am not taught how to brush my teeth.
My mother tells me I was a sickly child. My nose dripped constantly. I struggled with severe constipation to the point she says she was frequently checking and administering some type of medication from the doctor. I have chronic earaches. Apparently, my mother hears of an old wives’ tale that suggests if she heats dry salt up in a pan on the stovetop, puts it in a baby sock, and places it on the child’s ear, it will draw out the pain. I beg for salt socks regularly. Did it draw out the pain? Who can say, but it is comforting and soothing quietly lying down on the couch with my hot salt socks pressed into my ears. I have migraine headaches, primarily on Sunday afternoons, that pierce my skull, throbbing and pulsating with a rhythm of a bass drum. She speaks to the doctor and gets another type of medication. I yearn for the isolation of a quiet dark room to lie down and let the pulsating subside. My mother tells me I was an angel sent from heaven. She tells me I never cry. She says I sleep all the time. She says she flicks the bottom of my feet to wake me up to eat. She tells me mostly she props a bottle up for me to drink in the crib and walks away, only to find the partially drank bottle somewhere on the floor. She tells me my brother wants me to come outside and play with him, but I am just a baby, so he decides to bring in a bucket of dirt and proceeds to pour it in my face. She says I nearly suffocated, turns me upside down to get me breathing, and has a terrible time getting all the dirt out of my eyes, ears, nose, and throat. She tells me I do not like to be held except for my paternal grandmother. She tells me that I do not talk. She says it is because my brother speaks for me. She decides to send my brother to my grandparents for a week and somehow forces me to speak. My speech is abnormal; I talk like Elmer Fudd for a couple years. I remember my mom and aunt mimicking my speech and words. It feels like they are making fun of me and laughing at me.
My mother tells me when I am able to sit up by myself
without tipping over, many days she sits me in the middle of the dining room
floor surrounded by toys and goes off to take a one to two hour nap. She says
that I never move or cry; I sit there until she returns. I actually have a
foggy memory of a few of those times.
At age three and four, I begin to have some of my own clear memories.
My mother loved to watch, I Love Lucy in
the mornings. Many mornings she sits me down beside her with a basket of
laundry and teaches me how to fold washcloths and dishtowels – perfectly, while
watching I Love Lucy. If it is not
perfect, we start all over again as she watches The Price Is Right and The
Young and the Restless. I eventually learn how to fold all the laundry –
perfectly. In the afternoons, she takes a nap and begins giving me a choice. I
can either take a nap or stand on a chair at the kitchen sink washing the
dishes. I no longer want to take naps and always choose to wash dishes. By age
four, I am a master class laundry folder and dishwasher – with perfection.
Now I am unclear of my naughty behaviors, but I am very
clear on spankings. My mother spanks me; I do not cry. My mother spanks me
again; I do not cry. My mother becomes infuriated and spanks me again; I do not
cry. My brother tells me it became laughable to her. I remember this escapade a
couple times. She is out to break me as well.
I have no recollection of being played with, other than by my brother. Before I was born, I believe an uncle built my brother a super large roofed sandbox that stray cats used as their litter box, and a swing set was erected in the side yard. I want to say I was three. My brother and I are playing on the swing set. He pushes the swing sideways at me, gashing my forehead open. My mother rushes me to the ER where I am stitched up, not crying, all the while asking for my dad. I have no memories of sitting in laps, being read to, being told ‘I love you’, or any of those warm safe and secure feelings.
The doctor decides to remove my tonsils and adenoids. My mother decides that my brother will have the same procedures done at the same time. It is summer. We are confined to house arrest in the mornings and limited activities in the side yard for a short bit in the afternoons. We each wear ice cuffs around our necks for a few days; we each drink pink medicine. My earaches cease and my speech clears up. I am five.
The book is a glimpse inside the life of John the Baptist, based on the scripture of Matthew 11:6, and the subject that Jesus does not give explanation or healing to everyone. Approximately five years ago, a friend loaned me this book. At that time, my world was swirling in the basement of rock bottom, asking and questioning, “Why, why am I in this dark, foreign pit? Why would God allow all this? Maybe I have been brainwashed to believe in this God? God certainly does not love all people the same.” The author’s words offered a forgiving mat of padding for me on my concrete basement floor. The book is a gentle read in one sitting; I actually recommend it. It keeps congruency in the progression and brings it all home in the tempering summation at the end.
This is my second time reading the book. Wow! My thinking
has changed immensely and I am in a different space in the house now. I am not
in the basement of rock bottom. I am not wrestling so fiercely with this God
who allows suffering and sorrow with seemingly no explanation. Though I
continue to grieve for myself and others, I continue to wrestle with the ‘Why’
questions, and I grapple with fears of slipping into that darkness again, yet I
am changed in several ways, not ‘because’ of reading this book alone, but rather
through reading this book, God planted seeds of new perspective and thinking. Praise
God! Thank you, God!
For me, the book is like rinsing with mouthwash; it
disinfects the heart and mind a bit. If you allow the story to truly sink in,
laying aside personal pain, heartache, expectations, resentment, anger, and
anything else that seeps out and infects our hearts and minds throughout suffering,
the book can soften the edges of your heart, shift your thoughts, and open a
window in the house for a ray of light called hope. Though we may never know in
this life the reason for our sufferings and sorrows, we can be confident that
our God is sovereign and Jesus is acquainted, and I believe weeps, with ALL our
suffering. We can have peace amidst suffering and sorrow; we can trust and have
faith when there is no explanation.
A few quotes from the book:
“It has been said that it is impossible to forgive a man who deliberately hurts you for the sole purpose of destroying you or lowering you. If this be true, you have but one hope: to see this unfair hurt as coming by permission from God for the purpose of lifting your stature above that place where formerly you stood.”
“There is no end to the wickedness of the human heart.”
“They do not know,” he (Jesus) sighed. “They will know, but not here on this earth. All they will ever know in this lifetime is that I did not come to them in their hour of greatest need. Today they, like all others, have met a God they do not understand…Everywhere I look I see my people caught up in circumstances not of their own making…Yet I have been to you, as to all others, a Lord not fully understood, a God who rarely makes clear exactly what He is doing in the life of one of His children.”
“…every believer imagines his God to be a certain way, and
is quite sure his Lord will do certain things under certain conditions. But
your Lord is never quite what you imagine Him to be.
You have now come face to face with a God whom you do not
fully understand. You have met a God who does not live up to your expectations.
Every believer must come to grips with a God who did not do things quite the
way it was expected.
Today you are resentful of those who so callously hurt you. But
no, not really. Truth is you are angry with God because, ultimately, you are
not dealing with men; you are dealing with the sovereign hand of your Lord.
Behind all events, behind all things, there is always His sovereign hand.
The question is not, “Why is God doing this? Why is He like this?” The question is not, “Why does He not answer me?” The question is not, “I need Him desperately; why does He not come rescue me?” The question is not, “Why did God allow this tragedy to happen to me, to my children, to my wife, to my husband, to my family?” Nor is it, “Why does God allow Injustices?”
The question before the house is this: “Will you follow a God you do not understand? Will you follow a God who does not live up to your expectations?”
“Your Lord has put something in your life, which you cannot bear. The burden is simply too great. He was never supposed to do this! But the question remains, “Will you continue to follow this God who did not live up to your expectations?”
“Dear reader, no one can fully understand the pain you feel as you suffer your present situation. Whether it came upon you because circumstances or by the deeds of men, one thing is certain. Before this present tragedy entered into your life, it first passed through the sovereign hand of God.”
“And blessed are you, if you are not offended with me…
And blessed are you,
if you are not offended with me…
And blessed are you,
if you are not offended with me…”