“Did you hear our big news?” I asked, allowing for a little build-up. “We’re moving back to Kansas.” Each time I told it, I was greeted with profound silence and looks of utter horror. Lauryn and April were dumbfounded. Zach was struck speechless. Amber and her mom were on the verge of tears. Only Taylor and Emily suspected the truth—an April Fool’s prank. I honestly hadn’t really expected anyone to believe me and almost felt guilty when they did. “Make sure you get your dad,” Gene insisted as Papa retrieved his backpack from the back of the lab. “Oh no!” I exclaimed as we reached the car. “I forgot to go to Wal-mart. Mom had a huge grocery list for me.” I expected and deserved at least a reproachful look. Instead, Papa smiled patiently and answered, “okay” then opened the trunk where half a dozen Wal-mart bags already lurked. “Uh, April Fool’s.” I grinned sheepishly. “Gene told me to.” I hadn’t expected him to believe me, either. I hope this doesn’t mean I’m a good liar.
Being in the girl’s room first thing in the morning is always an encouragement. Even though Shoko was too busy to come home with me tonight, we still enjoyed a good chat catching up in the laundry room while she was supposed to be studying. She always asks what the Lord is teaching me, her eyes eager, smiling. Today I simply shared the story of Joshua and the Lord’s command for courage. I couldn’t have chosen something more appropriate had I studied for years. She is such a delight to talk with, the way she soaks it up and then opens up to share what the Lord’s been teaching her.
In the middle of lunch conversation with Lauryn, a random guy walked up, sat down, introduced himself as “Alan” and began talking to us. To avoid more personal questions we turned to talking about my brother (the very big, very protective one I always bring up), then to spiritual things and finally Lauryn announced, “My food is getting cold. I’m going to go zap it.” Unable to fabricate a good excuse for affecting my own escape, I flung looks of deep hurt and betrayal after her retreating form. Suddenly Zach appeared like a knight in shining armor—shining armor being defined as a Tech Football shirt—and Lauryn’s real plan was revealed. I’ve never been quite so delighted to see him. As others began joining us, our new friend was kind enough to move on.
Jacinda and I had lapped campus in several series of figure eights before she finally commented, “My legs are getting really tired.” “Really?” I chirped. “I could walk forever.” “I know,” came her dry retort. “That’s why I finally said something.”
Out for an evening walk, Papa, Josiah and I met Travis’ wife, Mary, purring up the driveway in her red convertible. “Jump up and down and wave your arms,” Papa told us, so we did. Until I slipped right off the edge and fell down the hill. Grace is Lydia’s middle name, not mine.
Watching the spiritual decline of Israel in the book of Judges causes me to shake my head. Following Joshua’s death, “that generation died and was gathered to their fathers; and there arose another generation after them who did not know Yahweh.” Immediately they are doing evil and serving idols and grieving Yahweh—each man doing what was right in his own eyes, just as Yahweh had warned against. God is not a moral relativist. “Whatever floats your boat” is not acceptable before Him. But how did this happen? How could such a victorious generation have given way to children who provoked Yahweh’s anger? In the midst of the victories, the fathers forgot something—they forgot to teach their children Yahweh’s ways, to demonstrate to their sons what it means to walk with Yahweh, even after Yahweh had warned over and over again the necessity of raising children who fear Him. What a sad testimony to the world—and yet one that is often retold throughout scripture and throughout modern Christianity. Spiritual giants giving birth to miscreants. Here I tremble. If even those who so devotedly loved the Lord as to hear his voice as audibly as did Samuel, so failed in teaching their children the fear of the Lord, who am I to ever hope to raise straight arrows? And even now, with the command for discipleship, how do I impart to others an understanding of the work of God, when I barely can grasp it myself?
Only by the power of the Holy Spirit, which is at work in me both to will and to work for His good pleasure. Only by the grace of Yahweh, who shows Himself great when I fail to describe Him.
Just another evidence that all good is His work, even as all His work is good.
Lord, I plead that I may be
A faithful servant unto Thee,
And following my father’s steps
Would show Thee to my children.
That generations yet to come
Would know the glory of Thy Son,
And following their father’s steps
Would show Thee to their children.
Showing posts with label future. Show all posts
Showing posts with label future. Show all posts
Sunday, March 30, 2008
“It’s just like nothing ever happened,” Tabitha beamed at me, as we sat in church, listening to Papa teach from First Corinthians eleven. “Like you’ve never been away.” I returned her smile, but I could hardly echo her sentiments. I haven’t slimmed up like Caleb or shot up like Ezra or filled out like Lydia, but something’s different. Sitting next to her on cold, grew folding chairs in the Longan’s living room, singing harmonies at the top of our lungs, pointing out scriptures that come to mind as the men teach doesn’t erase the past months. My heart says it’s not like I’ve never been away. It’s like I’ve been away for years. Bethany clung to me and the rest of the children crowded around, eager to touch me, to ask me questions, to show me new things. It’s been so long since I was overwhelmed by children. In a whirlwind, we flash through pictures, watch silly military videos, give a million hugs and bustle back into the suburban for the long trip home. Home, as in, Arkansas.
Arkansas is not my home.
Neither is Kansas.
The Israelites, on the other hand, reached their home. Parceled out and detailed, the inheritance of the sons of Israel was delivered, as Yahweh had promised. Not one of the good promises which Yahweh had made to the house of Israel failed; all came to pass. The book of Joshua is a vastly triumphant book—a book of overcoming through Yahweh’s power. As an old man, Joshua calls together the twelve tribes and reminds them of God’s working in their history, from the day He called Abram out of his “home” and promised the land to his descendants forever. “Look at what God has done for you,” Joshua said, waving his hand over fields, vineyards, cities and olive groves. “This is what God has given you. If it’s disagreeable in your eyes to serve Yahweh, choose for yourselves whom you will serve. You can serve the gods of the people Yahweh drove out before you. But as for me and my house, we’re going to serve Yahweh.” Collectively, the people answered, “We’ll serve Yahweh!” “Ah,” Joshua reminded them. “Yahweh is jealous. Remember, He’s hard to serve—if you forsake Him He will have to discipline you.” Again the people responded, “We will serve Yahweh!” Joshua said to the people, “You are witnesses against yourselves. You have chosen Yahweh! Therefore cast away your idols and turn your hearts toward Yahweh.” A third time the people affirmed Yahweh their God. And they did, all the days of Yahweh, and all the days of the elders who survived him. Joshua knew the importance of spelling out the choice—Yahweh and blessing or the idols who cannot save. He knew the importance of seeking a public commitment. And he knew the value of setting up a visible witness, a pile of stones, to remind them every time they saw it, of the commitment they had made to Yahweh, to serve Him only. It’s easy for me to think in my heart, “I will serve the Lord.” But to open my mouth, to acknowledge that I understand how hard it may be, that I understand that Yahweh is jealous for my attention, which He deserves, that I intend to seek Him first and His righteousness confirms to me and to the world, that I have chosen Yahweh. It reminds me where my home is.
When Mr. T asked me today if I was settled in, I hesitated. Settled in to what? A new groove that I’ve built to hedge me into monotony? Sometimes I become too settled, too complacent, too comfortable. Safe. Afraid to take down camp and move, stretch my boundaries, do something new. Afraid that change might be looming at me like a dark thunderhead on the horizon—but is that cloud rain, or sleet or locusts? Why should I avoid change? Each new change the Lord has brought my way has only given me more room to grow, more reason to stretch down my roots for the living water. It seems the Lord has had change on my mind lately, perhaps as I see what Yahweh has done so far, and I look ahead to things that are already changing, wondering what comes next. Fearing what comes next, as if my Lord would lead me into a way He does not also tread.
Lord! Prevent me from ever resisting change, from ever becoming so comfortable in my own way that I lie stagnant and quit growing. Prune me that I grow stronger, taller and bear more fruit!
Never let me feel entirely “at home”—until I am with You.
Lord, this world is not my home,
So I may be content to roam,
Without belonging here or there
As long as I may have Thee near.
May all my interest always be
Invested in eternity
That when I climb up Jacob’s stair
I’ll find the mansion Thou prepared.
Arkansas is not my home.
Neither is Kansas.
The Israelites, on the other hand, reached their home. Parceled out and detailed, the inheritance of the sons of Israel was delivered, as Yahweh had promised. Not one of the good promises which Yahweh had made to the house of Israel failed; all came to pass. The book of Joshua is a vastly triumphant book—a book of overcoming through Yahweh’s power. As an old man, Joshua calls together the twelve tribes and reminds them of God’s working in their history, from the day He called Abram out of his “home” and promised the land to his descendants forever. “Look at what God has done for you,” Joshua said, waving his hand over fields, vineyards, cities and olive groves. “This is what God has given you. If it’s disagreeable in your eyes to serve Yahweh, choose for yourselves whom you will serve. You can serve the gods of the people Yahweh drove out before you. But as for me and my house, we’re going to serve Yahweh.” Collectively, the people answered, “We’ll serve Yahweh!” “Ah,” Joshua reminded them. “Yahweh is jealous. Remember, He’s hard to serve—if you forsake Him He will have to discipline you.” Again the people responded, “We will serve Yahweh!” Joshua said to the people, “You are witnesses against yourselves. You have chosen Yahweh! Therefore cast away your idols and turn your hearts toward Yahweh.” A third time the people affirmed Yahweh their God. And they did, all the days of Yahweh, and all the days of the elders who survived him. Joshua knew the importance of spelling out the choice—Yahweh and blessing or the idols who cannot save. He knew the importance of seeking a public commitment. And he knew the value of setting up a visible witness, a pile of stones, to remind them every time they saw it, of the commitment they had made to Yahweh, to serve Him only. It’s easy for me to think in my heart, “I will serve the Lord.” But to open my mouth, to acknowledge that I understand how hard it may be, that I understand that Yahweh is jealous for my attention, which He deserves, that I intend to seek Him first and His righteousness confirms to me and to the world, that I have chosen Yahweh. It reminds me where my home is.
When Mr. T asked me today if I was settled in, I hesitated. Settled in to what? A new groove that I’ve built to hedge me into monotony? Sometimes I become too settled, too complacent, too comfortable. Safe. Afraid to take down camp and move, stretch my boundaries, do something new. Afraid that change might be looming at me like a dark thunderhead on the horizon—but is that cloud rain, or sleet or locusts? Why should I avoid change? Each new change the Lord has brought my way has only given me more room to grow, more reason to stretch down my roots for the living water. It seems the Lord has had change on my mind lately, perhaps as I see what Yahweh has done so far, and I look ahead to things that are already changing, wondering what comes next. Fearing what comes next, as if my Lord would lead me into a way He does not also tread.
Lord! Prevent me from ever resisting change, from ever becoming so comfortable in my own way that I lie stagnant and quit growing. Prune me that I grow stronger, taller and bear more fruit!
Never let me feel entirely “at home”—until I am with You.
Lord, this world is not my home,
So I may be content to roam,
Without belonging here or there
As long as I may have Thee near.
May all my interest always be
Invested in eternity
That when I climb up Jacob’s stair
I’ll find the mansion Thou prepared.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Our backyard resembles a topographical map. In an effort to refrain from exaggeration, I’ve given the ranges such appropriate names as the Himalayan and Andes Mole Hills. Either our neighborly rodents have become archeologists or they should cut down on the caffeine.
Winter must have finally given in and curled up for hibernation. While raking leaves from the front of the house, I kept popping into the house to gulp some water—some golden water, I might add. The ground is still soggy enough to leave our well-water slightly colorful, even after draining through our Burkey filter. Hauling logs over rivulets that danced through the woods brought on the first tingle of being hot.
It seems to my vivid imagination that somehow Papa is holding my hand tighter and even lingering over it during meal-time prayers and his blue eyes shine with a greater tenderness. Has something about me changed? Or is it him? Our relationship has come full circle, through toil and tears, awkwardness and confusion, back to the trust I had when I was my father’s source of joy.
When Rib-eye and Hamburger, excuse me, Lin N and Emily, read Lydia’s testimony they decided on immediate action. A short time later they burst into our house laden with roses, smiles and congratulations. Lindsey hasn’t been here since before Christmas break, due to teacherly studies, but it was just like old times, watching them write an elaborate story in the guestbook, while they giggled and whispered behind their hands. Something about Emily brings out the giggles in everyone I know. Including me.
Becoming irritated with the Israelite’s grumbling invariably guides me into repentance for my own grumbling. “Give us meat to eat!” they whined, “All we have is this bread…this heavenly food. We’re tired of it.” Jesus is the bread that came down from heaven, but I often whine to the Lord, “Look at all the entertainment I had back in Egypt, now it’s just Your word. And these books of Moses, Lord, they’re boring!” Only boring because the eyes of my heart lack depth-perception. Again the Lord revealed His power and His faithfulness when he gave them meat to eat. “Where will you find food for all these people?” Moses demanded, much like the disciples did when Jesus broke the loaves and fish. Yahweh’s answer: “Is My power limited? Now you shall see whether My word will come true or not.” He provided so abundantly that the people ate greedily and many died from a plague.
Today the Lord led me through green pastures and quiet waters, bidding me lie down and wait in peace, sending abundant promises on the wings of hope. I’d rather be up running around in circles, tripping in mole-hills, dancing in the sunshine—anything rather than sitting still. I run to the woods and keep running, when I should stop, drop and pray. He put my life back in perspective as I sped along, reminding me of those without hope, those in other countries where every day merely living is a hazard, and then of His Son, who suffered more in anticipation in the garden than I could ever fear suffering. Why am I afraid? Why do I insist, “I can’t handle this!” when the Lord is faithful to keep all His promises? “All things work together for good to those who love God.” Do I love God? As purely as a broken and confused little girl can. I’ll enjoy the moments of quiet refreshing now, reflecting on the Lord’s faithfulness to those before me, instead of allowing myself to dread all those future things I don’t understand.
Indeed, my heritage is beautiful.
Lord, I will rejoice in Thee
For Thou wilt not abandon me!
An orphan I shall never be—
Thou wills to me, Thyself.
So, when Thou heard my mournful cry
Thou sent Thy only heir to die
To execute Thy will, and I
Inherited Thyself.
Winter must have finally given in and curled up for hibernation. While raking leaves from the front of the house, I kept popping into the house to gulp some water—some golden water, I might add. The ground is still soggy enough to leave our well-water slightly colorful, even after draining through our Burkey filter. Hauling logs over rivulets that danced through the woods brought on the first tingle of being hot.
It seems to my vivid imagination that somehow Papa is holding my hand tighter and even lingering over it during meal-time prayers and his blue eyes shine with a greater tenderness. Has something about me changed? Or is it him? Our relationship has come full circle, through toil and tears, awkwardness and confusion, back to the trust I had when I was my father’s source of joy.
When Rib-eye and Hamburger, excuse me, Lin N and Emily, read Lydia’s testimony they decided on immediate action. A short time later they burst into our house laden with roses, smiles and congratulations. Lindsey hasn’t been here since before Christmas break, due to teacherly studies, but it was just like old times, watching them write an elaborate story in the guestbook, while they giggled and whispered behind their hands. Something about Emily brings out the giggles in everyone I know. Including me.
Becoming irritated with the Israelite’s grumbling invariably guides me into repentance for my own grumbling. “Give us meat to eat!” they whined, “All we have is this bread…this heavenly food. We’re tired of it.” Jesus is the bread that came down from heaven, but I often whine to the Lord, “Look at all the entertainment I had back in Egypt, now it’s just Your word. And these books of Moses, Lord, they’re boring!” Only boring because the eyes of my heart lack depth-perception. Again the Lord revealed His power and His faithfulness when he gave them meat to eat. “Where will you find food for all these people?” Moses demanded, much like the disciples did when Jesus broke the loaves and fish. Yahweh’s answer: “Is My power limited? Now you shall see whether My word will come true or not.” He provided so abundantly that the people ate greedily and many died from a plague.
Today the Lord led me through green pastures and quiet waters, bidding me lie down and wait in peace, sending abundant promises on the wings of hope. I’d rather be up running around in circles, tripping in mole-hills, dancing in the sunshine—anything rather than sitting still. I run to the woods and keep running, when I should stop, drop and pray. He put my life back in perspective as I sped along, reminding me of those without hope, those in other countries where every day merely living is a hazard, and then of His Son, who suffered more in anticipation in the garden than I could ever fear suffering. Why am I afraid? Why do I insist, “I can’t handle this!” when the Lord is faithful to keep all His promises? “All things work together for good to those who love God.” Do I love God? As purely as a broken and confused little girl can. I’ll enjoy the moments of quiet refreshing now, reflecting on the Lord’s faithfulness to those before me, instead of allowing myself to dread all those future things I don’t understand.
Indeed, my heritage is beautiful.
Lord, I will rejoice in Thee
For Thou wilt not abandon me!
An orphan I shall never be—
Thou wills to me, Thyself.
So, when Thou heard my mournful cry
Thou sent Thy only heir to die
To execute Thy will, and I
Inherited Thyself.
Super Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Other states planned caucuses this year. Arkansas is stuck with the primary pattern—today was Super Tuesday. My first presidential primary. During highschool years I became a frequent visitor to the political website of Representative Ron Paul, from Texas, in search of the perfect evidence for the perfect case. When the campaigning first started I said, “If he’d run, I’d vote for him.” Imagine my delight when he announced his campaign. A Christian should be in subjection to the governing authorities, and the United States constitution is the highest law in the land. Dr. Paul has always taken seriously his vow to uphold and defend the constitution. In spite of gainsayers who insisted that, though the best man, he didn’t have a chance (imagine how different our outcomes might be, should everyone vote principle) I put in my plug for the “best man”. Now, I know I’m no voting veteran, but I do remember tailing Mom into the voting booths in Topeka—behind curtains—and helping pull the lever on the huge, old metal machines. And at the last Kansas election, nearly two years ago I secluded myself behind a small curtained area in the courthouse basement to use the electronic devices which caused the veteran voters to stare suspiciously. This year I sloshed through the rain into a tiny rural fire station, presented my ID and was handed a ballot and directed to a banquet table a couple of feet away. Several other voters soon joined me as we quickly filled in the circle of our choice and slid our ballots through the slot of the counting machine. Privacy? Who needs privacy? This is Arkansas.
Josiah and I headed out in search of the elusive perfect lawnmower, to end our mowing woes. Actually, we found it, in the midst of a torrential downpour that soaked us to the skin. Backing the pick-up into the ditch we drove the new Murray up the tailgate and strapped it in place before handing the previous owner a rather soggy check. Layers of clothing avail very little against a determined wetting, but I’ve never melted yet and hope I never will.
Everyone’s full of the news tonight: bad tornadoes in Atkins, three fatalities, cars strewn across I-40. Is it just me or is there an increasing number of natural disasters? On top of the regular fighting between selfish human beings. Combine this with the likelihood that we could end up with either a Communist woman or a Muslim man in national office—or both—and I’m praying for the Lord’s speedy return. The time seems ripe. Of course, Jesus might remind me that my time is always opportune.
Lord, Thy time is drawing near
I find it offers me no fear
But only rushing, eager longing.
Tarry not while I am calling!
I know it is Thy mercy, Lord,
In longing that men be restored
That makes Thee tarry yet today.
But, Come Lord Jesus, this I pray.
Josiah and I headed out in search of the elusive perfect lawnmower, to end our mowing woes. Actually, we found it, in the midst of a torrential downpour that soaked us to the skin. Backing the pick-up into the ditch we drove the new Murray up the tailgate and strapped it in place before handing the previous owner a rather soggy check. Layers of clothing avail very little against a determined wetting, but I’ve never melted yet and hope I never will.
Everyone’s full of the news tonight: bad tornadoes in Atkins, three fatalities, cars strewn across I-40. Is it just me or is there an increasing number of natural disasters? On top of the regular fighting between selfish human beings. Combine this with the likelihood that we could end up with either a Communist woman or a Muslim man in national office—or both—and I’m praying for the Lord’s speedy return. The time seems ripe. Of course, Jesus might remind me that my time is always opportune.
Lord, Thy time is drawing near
I find it offers me no fear
But only rushing, eager longing.
Tarry not while I am calling!
I know it is Thy mercy, Lord,
In longing that men be restored
That makes Thee tarry yet today.
But, Come Lord Jesus, this I pray.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
History reenacted itself today, at our bay windows. History, or at least, Shakespeare. The tragedy was that of Romeo and Juliet, star crossed lovers. Huddled in front of the wood stove, I was busily composing, arranging and modulating, when suddenly THUMP. Josiah, always eager for distractions during Math time, was out the door in an instant and returned a moment later with a limp female cardinal. He was just beginning a Hamlet-style soliloquy when another THUMP made us both jump. Again the door fanned, and Josiah returned, his other hand gently cradling the shivering form of our dear Juliet’s mate, his crimson feathers ruffled. What sad circumstances drove this innocent pair to seek to dash their brains out against the unyielding glass of our bay windows, I can’t even guess. The tragic scene ended with the burial of the female, who had clearly departed this vale of tears, and the return of the male to the wild once he regained his composure and ventured off of Josiah’s hospitable finger.
About noon, the drizzling rain caught a cold and drifted into snowflakes, spreading a delicate blanket over the pine forest, the yard, the road and anything else not too warm to resist. “Enjoy it,” I was told, when I boasted of what I’d brought home from Kansas with me. “It doesn’t happen often.”
I accomplished three things today: First, I finished our family newsletter, a task that somehow descended on me close to ten years ago. Secondly, I finished my arrangement of “We Three Kings”, complete with my new passion: snare drum, and sent it out accompanied by my Christmas Wishes, a day late. Thirdly, I spent the entire day in my pajamas. Which was the most unique, surprising, unpredictable? The last, of course.
Everything is so different from how I expected it to be. My closest friends are not the ones I’d thought I’d spend the most time with. My emotions have turned upside down. My schedule, my projects are not what I had in mind. Sometimes I can’t help wondering what other murky things lie waiting to be revealed—ugly, unexplainable, painful? Or do they only seem unpleasant because I can’t fathom them? We have lived here less than three months and already the earth begins to shift beneath my feet. What does the Lord have in mind?
Lord, ‘tis Thou who plans my path
And Thou wilt lead me with Thy staff,
But shadows lurk, and demons call,
I fear I’ll lose Thee, most of all.
Break my legs, Lord, if Thou must,
To teach this willful lamb to trust,
Then lift and carry me each day
That I may know this is Thy way.
About noon, the drizzling rain caught a cold and drifted into snowflakes, spreading a delicate blanket over the pine forest, the yard, the road and anything else not too warm to resist. “Enjoy it,” I was told, when I boasted of what I’d brought home from Kansas with me. “It doesn’t happen often.”
I accomplished three things today: First, I finished our family newsletter, a task that somehow descended on me close to ten years ago. Secondly, I finished my arrangement of “We Three Kings”, complete with my new passion: snare drum, and sent it out accompanied by my Christmas Wishes, a day late. Thirdly, I spent the entire day in my pajamas. Which was the most unique, surprising, unpredictable? The last, of course.
Everything is so different from how I expected it to be. My closest friends are not the ones I’d thought I’d spend the most time with. My emotions have turned upside down. My schedule, my projects are not what I had in mind. Sometimes I can’t help wondering what other murky things lie waiting to be revealed—ugly, unexplainable, painful? Or do they only seem unpleasant because I can’t fathom them? We have lived here less than three months and already the earth begins to shift beneath my feet. What does the Lord have in mind?
Lord, ‘tis Thou who plans my path
And Thou wilt lead me with Thy staff,
But shadows lurk, and demons call,
I fear I’ll lose Thee, most of all.
Break my legs, Lord, if Thou must,
To teach this willful lamb to trust,
Then lift and carry me each day
That I may know this is Thy way.
Concerning the Future
I’m at a place in my life where I often think about the future. I know that’s a good thing...most of the time, but it can also be a distraction from what the Lord is trying to work into my hard heart now. I catch myself daydreaming, wondering, asking what God’s will is for me—meaning, what He’s got planned for me in the future—instead of focusing on what He wants me doing now. Such foolishness! Getting ahead of the Lord, trying to guess His gifts before they’re finished and wrapped, trying to make decisions that haven’t even come up in my life yet! “What should I do if...” “What should I say if...” “I just can’t handle it if...” I should be seeking what the Lord wants me doing now—today. His will isn’t some mystical feeling in the pit of my stomache. It’s not a voice whispering in the back of my mind. It’s not revealed through visions and premonitions. He doesn’t lead through impulses, or even through the well-plotted schemes of people. He leads through my obedience to His known will—as laid out in His word.
As I’ve been studying His word, seeking His will, and looking back at my own life, I’ve been convicted, encouraged and comforted with His ways.
He’s always got it under control...and He’ll lead me across every bridge that we come to.
I gaze at the future and try to decide
A question that’s not yet been posed.
Between here and there stands a powerful door
That may be left open—or closed.
The light I have now leaves my choices too dim.
I worry, I fret—and I pray.
The question unanswered is unanswered still,
But it begs not my answer today.
I focus on Jesus. The future grows pale.
He points me to look at my past.
I know there’s a question that waits undefined—
But I won’t seek an answer ‘til asked.
As I’ve been studying His word, seeking His will, and looking back at my own life, I’ve been convicted, encouraged and comforted with His ways.
He’s always got it under control...and He’ll lead me across every bridge that we come to.
I gaze at the future and try to decide
A question that’s not yet been posed.
Between here and there stands a powerful door
That may be left open—or closed.
The light I have now leaves my choices too dim.
I worry, I fret—and I pray.
The question unanswered is unanswered still,
But it begs not my answer today.
I focus on Jesus. The future grows pale.
He points me to look at my past.
I know there’s a question that waits undefined—
But I won’t seek an answer ‘til asked.