The “stuff” of life consumes us, confuses us, and clouds our perspective daily. We try to write the pages of our lives our way, but we end up with volumes of unnecessary rewrites. When we add the most important story ingredient daily, not legalistically, but with a dry, thirsty spirit, God enters, and changes us–and our story. We all need a divine appointment.
When You Need Someone to Talk To
The day begins like any other. Shower. Coffee. Dress for work. Run out the door. Or not. Your work and life may revolve around a home base. Wherever you are, whether you face a crowd of employees, shoppers, or students, a blank computer screen, or children begging for attention, the need whispers like a persistent friend. The day progresses. You look around, distractions pulling you away from obligations. At home or at work, it doesn’t really matter. You feel alone. It could be lack of sleep. Too much stress. Not enough energy. Trying to solve things by yourself again. Or just …
When the Future Seems Uncertain, Where Is Your Security?
Sometimes the things we hold dear slip through our fingers like shifting sand. Life changes overnight, and fear wells up like an oil well about to spew. And you’re left, wondering. What happened? What now? When the future suddenly seems uncertain, where is your security?
When Burdens Are Too Heavy, What Can You Do?
When burdens are too heavy, where do you turn? What can you do? Are you struggling with a lack of energy? Does your spirit say, “Yes!” But your body cries, “No way!” Are you tired of trying? We all carry burdens God never intended for us to carry. But the One who never grows tired or weary knows our limitations.
Will God Help You When You Don’t Know What to Pray?
Some things you never forget. The phone call in the middle of the night. The sound of heavy steps in the hallway and a door closing. The noise of a car door opening and shutting, and the hum of our Chevrolet sedan whispering the truth through my open window as our car backed out of the driveway into the street. Then silence. But sleep wouldn’t come again for a while. My eyes might try to close, but imagination would pry them open with invisible toothpicks: Who is it this time, Lord? A baby? A mother, father, teenager, child?