Posts Tagged ‘trust’

Our snowy season has finally arrived, and now four inches blanket the ground. Part of me feels as if Christmas has finally arrived…the lights and decorations never look quite right until there is a snow on the ground. Introducing my granddaughter to snow has been fun, but mostly we’ve enjoyed being cozy and quiet indoors for the past few days. 


This past Sunday as I putter around, preparing to go over to church early for worship team practice, a thought occurs to me: the aging process makes practicing contentment even more of a necessity than ever. There is surely no point in dwelling in the past, when I was physically able to do things that I probably will never do again, even if the opportunity arose. There is no reason to long for an imagined future…next big milestone for most of us after 50 is either retirement or death. Since I’m self-employed, well–there you are.

Contentment means that I embrace the present, I accept that THIS is where I am, at this time in history, in THIS town, THIS house, with THIS set of friends and relations. There are many things that I cannot change. Now more than ever I need to seek what God wants me to do with the resources that I have right now.

Because right now is all I have.

In truth, it’s all any of us has. But it’s easier to ignore or deny that when one is young and strong. When the aches and pains kick in and simple tasks get harder, then I have to face the fact that I have no idea how many more earth days I have left. That can be scary, or depressing, or I can see it as a challenge not to waste any more time. “Redeem the time because the days are evil,” says the Psalmist.

Contentment is active trust, saying to the Lord, “This is where You have put me, and You have work for me to do here. Please show me.” This is a lesson I learned long ago, and one I’ve taught many times since. Recently I think I’d lost sight of it. Now is a good time to put it into practice once more.

Happy New Year!

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Psalm 77: Suspending My Disbelief, Sustaining My Hope

When all that was vibrant and teaming with life

feels like pewter plate–heavy and dull;

When the duties of worker and mother and wife

leave me hollowed, a beaten-down hull;

Your Word is a light flick’ring fast in the gloom,

and Your Wind blows a life-giving breeze through my desolate room.

– – – – – –

The bow which caresses the string strokes a lingering tone,

and it trembles, sustained on the air, an invisible wave.

The Word suspends each spinning sphere on a track of its own,

and their circular dance shapes our seasons from birth to the grave.

– – – – – –

When I can’t feel my pulse for the numbness inside,

and my heart is a stone in my chest;

When I’ve run out of salt for the tears that I’ve cried,

and my sleep is too heavy for rest;

I’ll remember the God who created this clay,

Who crafted with purpose each numbered, deliberate day.

– – – – – –

And I know Peter’s feet found a footpath on top of the waves…

and he took a few steps till he faltered and sank like a stone.

Help me stand on Your Word that it isn’t my willing that saves–

help me trust in Your promises– firmer than all of my own.

– – – – – –

When I don’t see the point of the things that I’ve planned,

and I shudder and tear up the list;

When I fear that what’s under my floor is just sand,

and I can’t see my feet for the mist,

I remember the beam that’s supporting my weight

is the wood of the cross where You hung to reverse my sad fate.

– – – – – –

And I know that the Red Sea was parted, and Jericho fell,

and that Lazarus lived, and an angel appeared in a cell.

And I stand on Your words when my own are all crumbled to dust.

And Your promise upholds me when there’s nothing else I can trust.

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