Do you pray – and pray – and pray – and wonder if the Lord is hearing your prayer? And if He is, why He isn’t answering?
You’ve grown in your faith. You trust in His Word. You believe His promises. But you’re still praying. And wondering. I admit. I am.
You’re not alone.
I’m right there with you.
And David, the Psalmist, whom God loved tremendously, is with us also. He knows grief. He knows distress. He knows waiting.
He comes right out and asks God. I’m asking right along with David:
How long, Lord, before you answer me? It seems like you’re turning your face from me. How long must I struggle with this agony, anxiety, and sorrow in my soul? It seems that the enemy is winning this battle . . . Oh, Lord, turn and look at me and answer me. Give light to my eyes – restore the sparkle I once had. Don’t let my enemy think he has won.
Then, as David does, we too need to recognize God. This is where we must go. This is what we must do. We must respond to our own distress by recognizing who God is. David’s example of recognition is perfect for us, as well:
But, I trust in your unfailing love, Lord God. My heart rejoices in the salvation you have given me and continue to give me. You have been good to me.
You have been good to me. Oh how this causes me to remember God’s goodness. Over and over. A lifetime of it. He has been good to me.
Now I’m trusting more. He knows me. More than I know my own soul. Now I must strengthen myself in the Word.
I read more about God, learning more about myself, as I do:
Lord, You know everything about me. Everything. You know where I am, what I’m doing. You know my thoughts and my words – before I even speak them. You place Your hand of blessing on my head. You are always with me. Always. You’re in front of me and behind me. You hem me in as my Grandmother hemmed each piece of clothing. Securely. Snugly. Safely. If I choose to go up toward the heavens, You are there. If I go down into the depths of the Earth, You are there. If I fly toward the dawn of the morning or toward the farthest oceans, Your hand is there to guide and support me. It’s impossible for me to hide in the darkness. You still see me – because You bring light into my darkness.
There it is my friend – He brings light into my darkness. He brings light into your darkness. Just as He brought light into David’s darkness.
And so I close my eyes and I see His hand of blessing reaching toward me, guiding and supporting me. He places His hand upon my head.
And I am blessed in the waiting. And in His presence.
I must admit, I had some anxiety about it – our lengthy trip planned across the northwest states. I’ve struggled others times, such as the first few days when we arrive in Florida for the winter. It’s an uneasiness about being so far away from the kids for a length of time. (For those of you who don’t know – our three kids are grown up, happily married, unbelievably responsible and self-sufficient, blessing us with eleven grandchildren and one great-grandchild due, as I write this. But, once again, although my anxiety might be unwarranted, I’m just being truthful!) This trip – planned for the month of July – is farther yet. About twice as far. Anyway, it’s an admission. Don’t judge. You have anxiety over certain things, too!
I had tried various Trip Planners (five to be exact), but after hours of using the mouse to move the route to the roads we wanted to take (which do not include expressways) and “losing” the entire plan, I opened the Atlas and started the tedious job of my own “Trip Planning.” Days of effort. Pleasant effort. But time consuming, nonetheless. Finally, the route was finished. Our 31 allotted days of travel, including five National Parks, over 4000 miles, numerous state parks and RV Parks, and a few Walmart parking lots!
Then I started doing some research. I wanted to be prepared to see all that we could within the locations we would travel.
Oh my word! That research changed everything!
The first discovery was Multnomah Falls. I’ve seen pics of it for a few years now – pics taken in each of the four seasons. I’ve always thought it must be the most beautiful waterfall in the country. Little did I know it was on the Columbia River Gorge, in Oregon, just a “hop, skip, and a jump” from Viento State Park, where I had booked two nights camping. (I love how the Lord works all that out!) I just can’t express what this knowledge did to – and for – me. I literally “choked up.” I thought, I am going to see the most beautiful waterfall in the country! Thank you, Father God.
And that’s when things suddenly changed. All my anxiety about the trip was gone. God gave me peace and joy and tremendous appreciation and thankfulness for what Ron and I were about to see and experience.
And with my continued research, I began to wish we had planned two months instead of one!
Thor’s Well – don’t you know, we’ll drive right past it on the Oregon Coast.
Seals! I didn’t realize there were seals on the coast, as well, did you?
One photo after another – of prairies and streams, of mountains and glaciers, of wildflowers and waterfalls, of mountain goats and grizzly bears – filled me with excitement. It is so much more than I ever expected! And I’m going to see it and live it for a while!
And so it is with heaven. I can’t begin to realize how great it will be. For you, it might be a quiet setting you desire. Or a mountain top. Or a home beside the world’s best shopping center! Jesus said He’s preparing places just for us! We can’t begin to realize how amazing it will be. Unlike our trip out west, which is for just a short time, heaven will be for eternity! And instead of anxiety about it, we can have peace – total peace! He alone gives that peace. It comes with trusting Jesus Christ as Savior. Only then can we look forward to His plans for us! Click here to learn more about becoming a Christ follower.
If you haven’t yet “subscribed” to my writing on this website, I invite you! Only on my website will I be posting throughout our trip! Join us! Click here.
Walking through the house this morning, I heard the “honk” of a car. I didn’t know if the sound came from the TV or from a car going by. But it brought back some memories. Perhaps you can relate.
Growing up, we lived in the country – a gravel road at that time. Few cars traveled past our house. We spent much of three seasons outdoors, but if we were in the house, the outside noises came through the big old single pane windows or the screen door. When a car came down the road, we most often heard it, and one of us would often say, “There’s a car coming.” We stared as it went by. It was a notable event! If the passerby knew us, sometimes even if he didn’t but saw us outside, he or she would most often “honk” the car horn. It was a “hello.” Of course, my dad and mom did the same thing as they drove.
Daddy. 1944Mama and Daddy shorty before they were married in 1946
My dad always loved cars. I wasn’t around yet when these early photos were taken, but they tell me a story of his passion – not just for my mother – but for the automobile!
Cars were like a part of the family back then – well, at least in our households, evidenced in those photos where Daddy most often posed in front of a vehicle or photographed others with vehicles as the backdrop.
Travel was much slower in those days. Rarely did Daddy ever drive 50 mph and that was only on a big road, a “highway” like US 27 or US 12. No, instead, he drove slowly and intentionally, enjoying the drive, commenting along the way on wildlife, farmers in their fields – discussing various changes in the scenery with my mother. From the backseat, I learned much during those drives. Landmarks, not addresses, marked our travel. “Culps Hill”; Clarendon Pond . . .
GPS wasn’t used, nor was it needed. My mother held the map when we took longer trips, a practice I observed and still follow throughout my years, with just an occasional reference to our more recent Navigation apps!
Travel was limited. We didn’t just “jump in the car” to go someplace or to get something. We conserved energy before it was considered “cool.” (I think my mom and dad could have taught Al Gore and AOC the true meaning of “green”!) Even short trips were planned. Of course, Daddy drove to work every day. He worked at Federal Mogul, and he left the house shortly before 7:30 am. The office opened at 8. He arrived home from work at 5:19 pm every day. Supper followed at 5:30.
Mama drove, too, when she worked away from the home. Those were the only times we had two cars.
We didn’t often make extra trips to town. All errands were combined. Those stops to be made were written on paper, as were grocery lists, usually on reused, back sides of envelopes. Our rare drives to town included buying groceries, going to the laundromat (during the times Mom didn’t have an automatic washer), sometimes a trip to J.C. Penney, and an occasional fun trip to Otto & Sons where Daddy shopped the hunting gear and we kids browsed the massive toy department.
Online photo, of 1956 Pontiac Chieftain station wagon, similar to one of our family vehicles.
On Sundays, after church and a quick Sunday dinner, we all piled in the car for the long drive from our home on Quincy Grange Road in Butler Township to Grandpa and Grandma Nutt’s house on Grass Lake Road, northwest of Kinderhook. Daddy occasionally “honked” the horn when we arrived. There, we spent the afternoon. (Oh, the stories I could tell would fill a small book.) After hours of visiting and investigating the old barns, sheds, empty silo, and garden areas with my brother and cousins, we once again hopped in the car and drove the long route back to Butler Township, turning onto the even narrower graveled Bidwell Road to Grandpa and Grandma Locke’s house. Daddy “tooted” the horn a bit louder here, drawing our Locke cousins out from their places of play around the yard and out buildings. The grownups sat around the kitchen table, while we kids spent every remainder of daylight playing outside until the familiar whistle of the theme song of “Lassie” drew us into the living room.
Yes, my childhood travels to and from our graveled Quincy Grange Road residence always centered around a vehicle, filled with a family of five, a bushel of love, and a car horn that spoke a friendly “hello” to all. Occasionally today, I hear it – if only in my memories.
Featured photo is taken Summer of 1959. Mom at the wheel. Becky, my little sister and I in the back of our new yellow and white Ford Fairlane.
Yes, this is “D-day” the day we have so patiently waited for. I suppose you know as much about the news as I do, so won’t say anything about it. But maybe I have a little closer view of it than you folks back there. I see hundreds of the planes overhead, some going and others returning. At times I wish I could be up there and get a first hand hit at them. But guess I will have to be satisfied here on the ground and do what little I can. No foolin’ tho’ it does make a guy feel awful small and cheap to stand and look up at the boys flying toward danger and me be here on the ground with both feet on Mother Nature and more or less safe and not sweating out a bullet aimed your way, or an anti-aircraft gun pointed up at you. Tonite I can lay down and sleep comfortably. (I say sleep, that is if I can get my mind off the boys in the foxholes long enough to doze off and forget it.” All the fellows have had a different look on their faces today. A look hard to express in words. In the mess hall, too, it was not the usual tone but altogether a different atmosphere. Well, we must all pray for the end of this hell on earth. That’s the least we can do. “Prayer changes things.”
Tonite after chow, I watched a string of planes & gliders for over an hour. Just a continuous roar. It sure made me glad I wasn’t on the receiving end. All day long, almost, we could hear our bombers going over. We could see them this morning. How they glistened when the sun hit them. But later this afternoon we could hear them & wanted to see them so bad but couldn’t because of the low clouds. Just a minute ago it rained, guess that’s what was in the clouds. Hope it’s nice tomorrow so I can get up early, look up at the boys, and breathe a silent prayer and wonder if they’re ok. It is hard to decide just how I really feel today. Can’t feel happy feeling so useless, and shouldn’t exactly be sad because the days that pass will mean a day closer to the day I can come home.
I got another package from the Service Club at Pratts. It is sure nice to get things like that. I will write and thank them for it soon.
Haven’t had any letters the last few days. Guess they are being held up. Oh, yes, I did too. I got one from Velma. She was saying how nice the neighbors are about coming to see her. But of course they all must express their feelings & poor Velma said after two or three visitors she just can’t hardly stand it any more. She said, “Bless them.”
Well, it’s time for me to go off duty now (10:00). We work on a full time basis now 24 hours a day. So I’ll be back and write more after a few hours sleep…… (Bye bye)
Hello Folks, it is now after three o’clock in the morning and here I am back again. Nothing has happened except that I didn’t sleep very good. Early yesterday evening before I started this letter one of the fellows and I went outside and done a little wrestling and every muscle in my body is sore this morning. Oh well, that’s good for me.
Guess our boys are doing alright over there. Late yesterday afternoon newsmen said they had advanced as far as into town from where you are. Gee, the radio said that channel looked like one mammoth bridge. There were as many thousand big ships in it all at once as there are letters in my littlest brother’s name. And as many thousand planes as he is years old minus one. (I shouldn’t think there is anything wrong in saying this, if there is it will give the censor something to do.) Have any of my letters ever been censored?If you can make out the above figures it might seem rather strange but that’s what the radio said.
A low flying plane is going overhead now. Guess he is out scouting. They sure keep a close lookout. I bet the old Jerries are beginning to do some serious thinking. I bet they are next on the list and they probably know it.
Well, Mom, I want to write to Margie if I have time, so I better ring off for now. I’m at the same place as before so please try not to worry about me. I’ve always said I’d let you know when it was alright for you to worry and that will be when I’m in a more dangerous spot than I am now. I mean it Mom so don’t worry yet. I will write again soon. I look for a letter from you today. If so I will answer tonite. Have my laundry to wash out today. Poor me!! Give my love to all the boys & tell Dad not to worry. I love you all very much.
Your boy, Wayne
Notes:
Par. 4: Wayne refers to neighbors who have reached out to his family, expressing their sympathy for his brother, Marion, who was killed in service in North Africa, just a year earlier.
Par. 7 Wayne uses clues to indicate distances – “into town from where you are” is the distance from Kinderhook to Coldwater;
“ships . . . letters in my littlest brother’s name” Wayne’s younger brother’s name was Dale, so that’s 4,000 big ships.
“planes as he is years old minus one” indicates 11,000 planes, as Dale was 12 years old.
I carefully hold the aged lined paper, worn from years of handling, first by Daddy, then by his mother, and now years later by me, his daughter. Little did he realize his daughter would hold this letter in her hand all these years later – his mother’s lifetime passed, and his own lifetime passed. My eyes follow the longhand script of his beautiful penmanship, displayed in each letter he wrote home – to his mother – or to his sweetheart, Margie, my mother, and of which I had observed throughout his lifetime. The papers continue to age in my own hands, as I can never get enough of reading my Daddy’s letters, as well as looking at his photos from those days he served in WWII. Each time, something different stands out to me. Today, one thing is his closing – “Your boy, Wayne” He was indeed her boy. Growing up didn’t change it. Going to war didn’t change it. My heart enters another decade, aching for my Grandma Nutt who sent five boys off to that dreadful war – and only saw four return.
Daddy was just 19 years old when he wrote this letter. As I contemplate, I discover a young man who has “grown up” quickly in the tumultuous world in which he lived. And in reading this particular letter today, I compare that dreadful time in which he was living – four years into a world war – to our present world, filled with storms, earthquakes, plagues, pandemic, riots, and political unrest. Although in a different country and in a different century, I see people who have a “different look on their faces today. A look hard to express in words. . . altogether a different atmosphere.” It is the look of today, also. The look that comes with a “different atmosphere.”
Similarly, his response to his own observations in June of 1944 could and should be my response to those around us today:
“Well, we must all pray for the end of this hell on earth. That’s the least we can do. ‘Prayer changes things.'”
Prayer changed things all those years ago, on June 6, 1944 – “D-Day.” And prayer can change things today – June 6, 2024. Join me in praying for those who are suffering – for those who are lost.
I joined Mama in those last steps of her dying. As much as I could. From the outside looking in. This was Mama’s dying, not mine. I was very much alive and it made it all the more difficult to accept this separation that death was about to force upon us.
I never knew my Uncle Marion, yet my throat tightens, and tears roll down my face whenever I look at pictures of him, read his letters from war, or place a flower on his grave.
Perhaps it is because he reminds me of my father. They shared such a resemblance. Or perhaps it is because sometimes I try to place myself in my Grandma’s shoes – having five sons in the war at the same time
. . . we prayed and then drove to the court house. I was worried, “keyed up.” My soul was encased with weeks – months – years of prayer. The anxiety caused me to be somewhat “punch drunk.” I wanted to glorify God no matter the outcome of this sentencing. Family and friends filled the courtroom. I felt blessed. Our daughter and son-in-law sat at the front of the courtroom, waiting to be called up before the judge. But we waited a length of time while others stood before him. Some offenders were being arraigned. Others were being sentenced. As we heard those sentences, my physical gut tightened and my mind became frightened. The judge was giving harsh sentences for seemingly minor offences. When these “criminals” went forward to be sentenced, their family members shuffled in and out of the courtroom. Sometimes one or two family members observed. Sometimes none. None of these people, these “criminals” or their family members, had the support our daughter and son-law and Ron and I had. We waited. And watched.
A young woman, crying, sat alone at the side of the courtroom.
I went over, sat beside her, and put my arm around her, hoping to console her. She told me about her sister who would be arraigned on this day.
Her short story was filled with hopelessness – a background of abuse and hate, a story of drugs, a child taken from her mother, no money for bail. I asked if I could pray for her and her sister. She allowed me to.
Although I prayed for her sister by name, my prayer was for all women invaded by the enemies of abuse and neglect, deceived by the demons of a myriad of drugs. My prayer was also for their crying and neglected children, entwined in the lost cycle of it all, people for whom I now had a greater empathy and a sincere concern. “Christ,” I said. “We fight under your banner. Lead us.”
Soon her sister, handcuffed and dressed in orange and white stripes, stood before the judge. The arraignment was stated. The officer led her from the courtroom. The young woman with whom I had spoken smiled a thank you through her tears as she left the courtroom. I returned to my seat and waited our turn.
I thought of the first time, nine months ago, when I had entered this court house. I remembered seeing my daughter and her husband in shackles. I recalled the many court appearances speckled throughout the months between then and now, during which I had seen other women and men shuffling down the halls of the court house, in the faded striped coveralls, shackled hand and foot.
Some hung their heads in shame; some were frightened; some smirked. No matter their demeanor, my heart had ached for each one; my hate for the deceitful enemy who had caused it all was fueled on those days and refueled today.
But on this day, my awareness of the Father’s great love for all and the saving grace of Jesus Christ was foremost in my awareness. Now I looked at my daughter, her beauty and health returning to her once-addicted body, and at my son-in-law, now a true man in every sense of the word, and I thanked God. They sat together, knowing that most likely, they would be separated from this day forward, and separated from their children, as well, for a lengthy time. But they faced the consequences of their sins and crimes, thankful that God had saved them out of their depression and addiction, thankful that they had a bright future in Him.
The judge had stepped out after the young “sister’s” sentencing – then had reentered the courtroom. “All stand,” the court assistant instructed . . . Then called our son-in-law forward …
The heavens declare the glory of God . . . (Psalm 19:1a)
You’ll see it in the skies – the sun, the stars, the clouds, deep into the huge expanse reaching far beyond our sight.
It’s there. His glory!
You’ll hear these heavenly elements speak. Day and night, they are declaring, speaking. And as they speak, they teach us, revealing knowledge, making God known to us, reviving our souls. His voice is heard and He is made known in every corner of the earth, reaching every land, every tribe, every language. No place is hidden from His voice – from His glory. Whenever and wherever you see the skies, you see God’s glory.
It’s there. His glory!
Father, I look up because I want to see your glory. Open my eyes to every aspect of your creation that I see when I look up. Open my ears to hear your glory. Let me hear your Word speaking to me. Day or night. Light or dark. I join the heavens in praising you.
“Though you walk in the midst of trouble,” God says:
My purpose will stand, and I will do all that I please. . . I summon a bird . . . or a man to fulfill my purpose. What I have said, that will I bring about. What I have planned, that will I do. It is my purpose that prevails. My word goes out and achieves the purpose for which I sent it. Though you walk in the midst of trouble, I will preserve your life; I will save you; I will fulfill my purpose for you. (Is.46)
We all have been walking in this “midst of trouble” since early Spring 2020, and probably well before.
He says He will “fulfill” his “purpose” for us. What is His purpose for me? For you? His Word has gone forth and He is speaking to us through His own creation. Are you listening? I am. And I am strengthened in faith as I contemplate.
Especially throughout the tumult of 2020, in the midst of all the pain and frustration, agony and isolation, more photos were posted on social media than ever before. Photos. Of nature. Of sunrises and sunsets, beautiful birds, spring flowers pushing up through the cold soil, budding bushes, flowering trees. Super moons. The tumultuous year changed seasons. Summer brought photos of green fields, late evening sunsets, and bountiful fruit and vegetable harvests. Autumn’s beauty yet surpassed our expectations with its changing leaves of abundant color and “Frost on the Punkin.” The beautiful Northern Lights. We entered yet another winter. It began with our own “Christmas Star,” followed by ice-covered trees, weighted with heavy wet snow.
All of nature. God’s own creation.
I enjoyed the photos on social media throughout the last year(s) and especially these last months, didn’t you? In the “midst” of divisions over political candidates and policies, wearing or not wearing masks, and taking or not taking the controversial Covid Vaccine, I, nonetheless, have sensed a unity among those of us, the people of His creation, who have discovered or recognized or cherished these elements of nature more than ever before. And that unity – the common love of nature – is brought about because of our God.
What is His purpose we read about in Isaiah 46?
This spring, I sat at my old table by the window, facing the storm-battered Maple beside our Michigan home. I looked up at its small budded leaves, which increased in both size and depth of green each day. I observed both male and female Baltimore and Orchard Orioles. Woodpeckers, Chickadees, Goldfinches, Cardinals, Blue Jays, Robins. Mourning Doves. Rose Breasted Grosbeaks. Varied species, each illustrating our varied circle of human community. Each beautiful in God’s eyes. Each placed here with purpose.
In Michigan, we delighted in the resurgence and arrival of the birds that had months ago left the cold for the warmth of the south. Now they have returned, and we are listening to their song, amazed by their color, enraptured with their beauty.
What is His purpose?
I look further, to the patio and into what we call Matt’s little woods. I have planted a few bulbs, such as the daffodils or tulips, that surround the edge of the growth of small maples, but I didn’t plant the Umbrellas and May Flowers, the Adder’s Tongues and Blood Roots, or the Cowslips that carpet the floor of the spring woods. They were planted by their creator, and they rise to Him.
What is the purpose?
I remember my walk through the woods a few days ago. Morels camouflaged amidst the dried leaves carried over from fall.
What is the purpose?
Yellow forsythia. Crab apple. Flowering bushes and towering trees that appeared dead through the long winter have budded in renaissance.
What is the purpose?
Could it be that the purpose of the great beauty of Spring, the most noticeably striking in years, one which has captured our every physical sense, is poured upon us as a reminder from our God that He has not forsaken us as we walk through the midst of trouble. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever. It is He who has created everything good. It is He who has created the beautiful nature we see and enjoy. It is He who has created the depths of the deep waters and the waves in the Great Lakes surrounding our state and in the oceans surrounding our country. No person or entity can control those bodies of water – not a scientist – not a country – not a leader or ruler.
My word goes out and achieves the purpose
for which I sent it.
~ The Lord God
I believe that He sent that Word out all those years ago, in the beginning, speaking into being these elements of nature, knowing that their display in this anomalous Spring of 2021 would bring joy to our lives – at a time we would need it most. I believe that His purpose for us is to be encouraged, to know that He is God, that He is in control, and that we can trust Him. His presence revealed in nature reassures us of His promise – that He will never forsake us.
Did He summon that bird that delights us or that budding element of nature to fulfill His purpose. I think so. Take it personal. Listen to Him speaking. Let your heart be renewed in the knowledge of His faithfulness. Yesterday, today, and forever.
My parents bought their 80-acre Butler Township Farm in 1952 from Elizabeth Ramsdell. Her husband, Ray Ramsdell had passed the year before, and Elizabeth did not want to keep up the farm herself. After selling the farm on land contract to my parents, she moved to a huge home on Washington Street with her sister, another widow or perhaps an unmarried woman. I simply remember them as “elderly” and looking back, I find they were younger than I am now!
I remember going with my mother every month to make the farm payment to Mrs. Ramsdell. The Washington Street house was a typical late 19th century, Victorian home. While Mother had tea with the ladies in the parlor, I was allowed to close the 10 foot pocket doors on two sides of the grand foyer and let my imagination run wild on each step of the massive open stairway and landings to the huge, probably unused, upstairs. Closed doorways throughout the wide hallways held stories I could only imagine, hopefully saved for another day. For about an hour a month, I visited airplanes and railroad cars, hospitals and hotels, and mansions and palaces.
