This blog is designed to create community for believers and provide support for seekers. I encourage all readers to share their faith in an effort to lift and encourage one another.
“The voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders,
The Lord thunders over the mighty waters.
The voice of the Lord is powerful; the voice of the Lord is majestic.”
Close your eyes. Can you hear the rhythm of the water? Can you hear the breeze blowing through the trees? Listen. Can you hear the voice of the Lord thundering? Listen to His power and majesty. Heed His voice.
Thank you, Lord, for speaking to our hearts. May we always listen and obey.
During a recent walk, I noticed a tiny snail, its shell no bigger than a dime. It appeared motionless, but when I knelt down for a zoomed-in photo, I could see its forward progress. Ever so slowly, it traveled, a millimeter at a time, across the sidewalk. Satisfied with my photo, I continued my walk.
As I walked, I couldn’t stop thinking about that miniscule snail making its way across the path. It travelled slowly, but in a direct line, never deviating from its goal, the grass on the other side of the sidewalk. I compared its direct course to my own spiritual walk. Unlike the sluggish snail, I tend to be a sprinter.
I get excited about a new book, new project, or new bible study and run, run, run. Then I get tired, or distracted, and scurry off in another direction. Just like the rabbit in the tortoise and the hare story, I hop one way, rest a while, then scurry in another direction. Two steps forward, one step back.
At times, it seems I’m not making any progress, and I get discouraged. I sigh, and think of myself as a failure, one who can’t stick with anything, who makes no progress, sees no spiritual growth. But the tiny snail made me re-examine my spiritual walk. I evaluated my spiritual progress over the past few years.
Not so long ago, I reacted in anger when I heard or read views different from mine. I would rant about it to my husband. Since then, I’ve made progress. God has enabled me to examine other ideas and consider people’s motives and backgrounds. Yes, I occasionally still get angry. But the anger is short-lived. Two steps forward, one step back. God reminds me that all people are made in His image, and He loves them, too. He died for them, too. He replaces my anger with love for others.
Recent events have triggered fears and doubts. But God reminded me that He is faithful, in all circumstances. Abraham and Sarah had a child, but not until they were elderly. The Israelites were enslaved, yet God miraculously delivered them. Paul suffered immensely, yet God encouraged and inspired him. In spite of, or because of, recent fearful times, my trust in God and His plans has strengthened. Sometimes I still experience fear, but I quickly remember that He is still in control.
No, I don’t move in a slow, steady, straight line like the snail. But I do move. My walk may zig-zag, but I still make progress. Even though I don’t move steadily forward like the little snail, I do move; I do make progress. This encourages me.
What about you? Do you make steady spiritual progress like the snail? Or, like me, do you hop about and make your way forward in an erratic path? Do you take two steps forward and one step back? How have you made progress in your spiritual walk?
Father God, whether we make slow, steady progress or erratic progress, guide each of us so that our spirits draw ever closer to you. Teach us to love others as you do.
I wrote this in 2001. It was my way of dealing with all the fear and negative emotions I was experiencing. It brought me peace. In light of recent violence and tragedies and in memory of 9-11, I’m sharing it today. I hope it brings you peace.
After 9-11
Television reveals the horrors: smoking ruins, shattered lives, loved ones lost, distraught survivors. Voices drone: retaliation, anthrax, fears of hijacking and destruction. Bombs drop, troops search for terrorists. There are wars and rumors of wars.
Walking in the woods, all this recedes. Nature’s orchestra plays a peaceful melody, directed by an unseen hand. The wind plays the treetops—a loud crescendo diminishing to a still, quiet voice. The locusts’ song harmonizes, and the calling jays and cardinals trill an occasional solo. Periodically, a reminder of nearby civilization echoes above the symphony: the drone of an airplane, the muffled roar of nearby traffic, the distant bark of a dog, and laughter of children playing. I follow the path to a stream cutting a gully through the woodlands. A wooden bridge spans 15 to 20 feet from one bank to another. I sit on the bridge and gaze at the muddy water flowing eight feet below. A man and his two young sons walk across. The bridge vibrates as they walk, their footsteps hollow on its wooden planks: the only reminder that I am not alone.
The yellowing leaves fall, fluttering to their autumn repose. I watch one slowly descend until it lands in the brown water, creating rapidly expanding ripples. The leaf drifts in the lazy stream, turning this way and that, wondering where this new journey will lead. Watching from above, I spy danger ahead, but the leaf floats on, oblivious of its future, stopping occasionally to explore a sand bar or a branch snaking out of the brown waterway. Now, the leaf is caught in the eddying swirls of the narrow stream, spinning, lost and confused. “Hold on little leaf,” I want to say, “still waters lie ahead.”
So nature reminds me of the constant ebb and flow, the cycle of life. In autumn everything dies and winter lies ahead, stark and bare. Gray skies and bare landscapes shiver in the cold. Once, we were like the leaf, green and glorious in the top of the tree, part of a beautiful symphony of song. Now, our greenness lost, we are torn from the tree of our security and have fallen into unknown waters. We know not where the currents will take us. We know not what lies ahead—calm, peaceful waters, or dangerous currents and eddying whirlpools. From above, one can see the path of the current. So we must be borne along by the current of our times, knowing we are watched from above.
The leaf falls and winter comes, but spring always follows winter—the stark landscape replaced by the green blush of spring and the riot of bright flowers joyfully glad to be alive. Rest and be at peace as you travel on your journey, little leaf. Be secure in the knowledge that you are watched from above.
The voices of gloom and terror clamor all around us, but the voice of God speaks to us in nature, in the leaves falling silently in autumn and in new life bursting forth in the spring. Be not afraid. “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10 NKJ). Let that still, small voice speak to your heart and give you peace.
Oh God, when troubles threaten to overwhelm me, help me remember you are always with me and will never forsake me.
Deuteronomy 31:6 “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for
the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”
Even though Billy Graham passed from this life more than 7 years ago, his words still ring true.
“God is unchanging in His love. He loves you. He has a plan for your life. Don’t let the newspaper headlines frighten you. God is still sovereign; He’s still on the throne.”
~ Billy Graham
Thank you, Father for this reminder. How wonderful to remember that you are still on your throne, and you are still in control.
Growing Our Faith Together 