The Lord has been highlighting to me the difference between resting “from” and resting “in.” It Is not always possible to rest “from” our lives. It is always possible to rest “in” the Lord.
The Lord has been highlighting to me the difference between resting “from” and resting “in.” It Is not always possible to rest “from” our lives. It is always possible to rest “in” the Lord.
It is hard to experience the presence of an invisible God. It is hard to hear the inaudible voice of our Father. But it doesn’t have to be impossible.
I promised you we would get practical, and that’s what we’re doing today. Today, we will consider one practice that I believe will position us to more readily recognize and experience the presence of God in our actual lives. That practice is what I call “telling God the whole truth,” which is based off of an encounter recorded in Mark 5: 25-34, where a woman who had been suffering for twelve years experiences the healing power of Jesus and in response “tells Him the whole truth” about what she had been through.
Every single time I’ve turned around, I’ve found myself face-to-face with Him. Right there. He has taken the 10 or the 1000 steps right alongside me, never leaving simply because I failed to see Him. My failure to remember His presence didn’t make Him any less present. My lack of faith didn’t make Him any less faithful.
For so many years, I read the parable of the sower as a description of how other people were going to respond to my words. I read it with the understanding that you and I are called to share the word of God, and I found it a reassurance that I was only responsible for sharing the word—for sowing the seed. I was not responsible for the way that it was received.
And maybe that’s a good reminder, but I no longer think that was the primary intention of the gospel writers as they wrote about the soil.
I asked a question on Instagram the other day about why y’all think you feel more distant from the Lord in this season. The overwhelming majority said that it was because you “lack discipline” in seeking to spend time with Him. I would definitely put myself in that category.
But the thing is, I don’t think we lack discipline just because we are lazy. What if we lack it because we don’t see the value of something? What if we don’t see the worth?
What if we have learned the price of the plowing but forgotten its profit?
The Lord planted a garden and He placed the man in it. And then God told Adam, long before sin slinked in, to work the ground and tend the garden.
The invitation remains. Work the field. Tend the garden. Till the soil and prepare this land for life again.
The Lord planted a garden and He placed the man in it. And then God told Adam, long before sin slinked in, to work the ground and tend the garden.
The invitation remains. Work the field. Tend the garden. Till the soil and prepare this land for life again.
Recently, my friend Lindsee has been consistently reminding me to “keep my hands to the plow” — to keep my hands on the work in front of me, to keep my eyes on the Lord beside me rather than be distracted by the works going on around me.
And I’ve been failing. But I realized something.
I told her earlier this week that I’ve been hearing her all wrong. Every time she’s said plow, I’ve pictured a lawn mower. I’ve pictured my hands on a gas-powered machine, leveling the ground in front of me. And it’s felt overwhelming and exhausting and quite frankly, impossible, because every other yard looks much more manicured than the unmanageable grass beneath my imagined mower.
And I’ve been distracted and discouraged. It’s really hard to stop comparing manicured lawns.
Recently, my friend Lindsee has been consistently reminding me to “keep my hands to the plow” — to keep my hands on the work in front of me, to keep my eyes on the Lord beside me rather than be distracted by the works going on around me.
And I’ve been failing. But I realized something.
I told her earlier this week that I’ve been hearing her all wrong. Every time she’s said plow, I’ve pictured a lawn mower. I’ve pictured my hands on a gas-powered machine, leveling the ground in front of me. And it’s felt overwhelming and exhausting and quite frankly, impossible, because every other yard looks much more manicured than the unmanageable grass beneath my imagined mower.
And I’ve been distracted and discouraged. It’s really hard to stop comparing manicured lawns.
