Christian Author and Speaker
Pharoah, the ruler of Egypt – the enemy of the Israelites – detested the words of Moses and Aaron regarding God’s plan for the Israelites. He referred to their words as lies and told his overseers to “Make the work harder for the people
(You’ll hear waterfall in addition to the music on this post. If it’s distracting, feel free to mute either as you read.)
When I became a Christian, I became a new person in spirit. Naturally, my spirit yearns to shelter in the comfort and protection of the Father. The Psalmist refers to that place of shelter as the secret place of the Most High God, El Elyon. (Psalm 91:1) And when we dwell, actually reside, in that secret place, we find rest. Rest of mind – peace – assurance. Isn’t this kind of rest what we really want? I do.
Some places on this earth, even right here in Michigan, would make amazing secret places.
Once through the Bighorn Mountains, we continued east toward South Dakota, definitely wanting to see more of the Black Hills on our way to the Rapid City area. Oh my word! This land is stunning! We took Hwy 14 north to Devils Tower.
After a perfect day, driving through the mountains of Glacier National Park on “Going to the Sun Road” (See “A Day in the Park”, we drove up to Babb on the east side of the park and then in to the small town of Many Glacier. Ron and I enjoyed lunch in an Alpine lodge while we reminisced
So many people are sick now – maybe you – or your loved one. I was very sick a few years ago around this time of year. We had just arrived in Florida for the winter. . .
From a state of brokenness, she heard Jesus whisper to her throughout the Advent Season.
Her son – her only son – was ill. It was a strange illness – undiagnosed, puzzling the doctors. One doctor after another. One hospital after another.
She had probably attended the births of her nieces and nephews, had rejoiced with her sisters and cousins and friends at the births of their babies, had seen their babies at breast while her own breasts yearned the suckle of a child yet unconceived. I suspect she had often gone home crying, once again pleading with the Lord for a baby of her own. I watched my sister go through this agony for years – baby showers for others, never for her own. Many of you know her pain.
I’ve screamed at the enemy – the devil – many times in the past and will many times again, I’m sure. But on a recent Tuesday morning, June 13, shortly after midnight, in a hospital parking lot, I raised my voice in anger and authority against the thief who was trying to kill my husband:
The day was the worst ever. It was neither “Good” nor “Holy,” as we now refer to the Friday of Holy Week. In the midst of the curious, the angry, the Jewish officials, and the Roman soldiers, this handful of Christ followers – the women – stood near the cross, numbed in their sorrow and despair. Their Messiah, their Lord, their Savior, had been brutally beaten – beyond recognition. Earlier, they had followed Him and the procession of onlookers as He carried His cross, sometimes falling to the ground, up the hill.
How can He possibly continue. Please God.
But He did continue.