When God-Whispers "Don't Make Sense"

 

          Do you ever wonder about the whispers God puts in your heart? I do. Sometimes I think this can’t be You, God because—well, it seems so bizarre.

          There’s one particular time in the past few years when I wondered 1) Is this God, indigestion, or a neurological breakdown? 2) If it is God, why in the world is He telling me this? 3) Doesn’t He realize this is way too hard for me? 4) Am I just totally whacked out of my mind?

          I’ve wrestled within myself and with the Almighty.

          Wrestled with the Almighty? Talk about being out of my mind! What sane person does that? Okay. Jacob did, and he took a wallop in the hip. Well, I’ve already got aching hips along with all my other joints, so I’ll skip that argument.

          I will tell you, though, I was brought to tears, laid low—literally falling prostrate across a table with my hands outstretched and turned upward, ready to receive whatever God told me. (No, I wasn’t stretched out on the floor because of—well, the aching-joint thing.)

          But I’ve cried hard tears over what God told me—if it’s Him. I’m still not 100% sure because, again, how could God whisper something so strange? I even went to the alter at church and prayed with our pastor, telling him, “God’s asking me to do something that seems beyond me. I need His help.”

          Here’s the thing: If God is the One whispering to me, then I’ve already told Him long ago I’d obey. And, to be honest, I tried to keep that commitment over the decades.

          IF God is nudging, can it not make sense?

          No. If God nudges, whispers, shouts—He always makes sense—even if what I’m seeing at my end seems totally impossible, loopy, too far out there to be real.

          When I was in my early 20s (and already asked Jesus into my life as Lord and Savior many years before that), I committed my life to serve God fully. Then and since I put on my “work clothes,” one item being the Mind of God.

          God’s Mind? I Corinthians 2:16 and Philippians 2:5 will help you understand. The Lord God Himself tells us to put on the Mind of Christ. In this way, we will know what is His good and perfect will. We’ll think like Him.

          So, when I’m seeking God, I actually imagine myself picking up that head-covering/mind wrap and wearing it. Because, without that, how do I know what He wants? Through His Word this directs me, as if there’s a headlamp brightly shining on a path I couldn’t see otherwise. 

          Now, I’ve contradicted myself. If I have God’s Mind-Cap on, then shouldn’t I know for sure Who is telling me to prepare for the “strange” thing I’ve heard?

          But I confess. I’m flawed. And, although I should know, I don’t. Or is it, instead, that I’m not wanting to know what He’s saying? Hmm.

          So, why am I sharing this with you? Because maybe you wrestle the same as I. Maybe you doubt at times who is speaking to your heart. Maybe you need to know it’s possible for God to ask you to do something big and be able to tell Him, “Speak, Lord, your servant hears you.”

          Ah! There it is! Servant.

          A true servant doesn’t question. A true servant obeys the master, even when the request doesn’t make sense.

          From God’s point-of-view, what He asks always makes sense. Consider these examples:

                        Take your only son Isaac and slay him.

                        Drench the alter of sacrifice before igniting the flames.

                        Build an ark.

                        Pick five smooth stones and go deal with a giant.

                        Break your pitchers, then charge the sleeping enemy.

                        Virgin, you will have a Son and name Him Jesus.

                        Dunk in the dirty Jordon River seven times.

…and the list goes on. No, none of those things “made sense,” but they all did. They were needful. All-important.

          This God of ours—Almighty, all-knowing, all-caring, all-powerful! Perhaps this sets us more in awe when we see the fruition of His not-making sense make perfect sense when the task is completed.

          So, should God whisper something that doesn’t make sense to you, after you’re sure you have no fever and don’t need an antacid, ready yourself to accept what’s to come.

          It might be good. It might seem bad. Whatever the case, He will be the Master of it and already knows the end since the beginning. You can rest in that.

Master, speak! Thy servant heareth, waiting for thy gracious word,

Longing for thy voice that cheereth, Master, let it now be heard.

I am list’ning, Lord, for thee; what hast thou to say to me?

 

Speak to me by name, O Master, let me know it is to me;

Speak, that I may follow faster, with a step more firm and free,

Where the Shepherd leads the flock, in the shadow of the Rock…

 

…Master, speak! And make me ready, when thy voice is truly heard,

With obedience glad and steady, still to follow ev’ry word.

I am listening, Lord, for thee: Master, speak, oh speak to me!

 

(from Master, Speak! Thy Servant Heareth by Frances Ridley Havergal, 1867, public domain)

#willofGod #prayer #obedience #servant

Dad and the Discards

           In the town where I grew up, the local library placed a cardboard box filled with free books outside once or twice a year—each book’s cover removed and stamped with the town’s name followed by “Library Discard.”

          Many people walked past that box thinking it garbage. 

          But our father was a junk collector and couldn’t resist digging through a box. He really wasn’t much of a reader, but he helped himself to several books every time the library disposed of them.

          Dad chose ones he thought we girls would enjoy. Some must’ve been mighty costly in their day—filled with exquisite illustrations.

          I remember one about the history of musical instruments from the beginning of their recorded history. Gorgeous pictures! But one wouldn’t know those beautiful images lived inside the pages by the condition we found them in. All the thrown-away copies looked the same.

          Coverless. Worn.

          Discards.

          But the contents? So rich and wonderful!

          Not far from where Dad lived was a house with a “reputation.” People avoided that place, although they talked about it and the kids who lived there and wondered aloud “how many men fathered them.”

          These children. Discards.

          I didn’t know those kids—not really. Yes, we invited them to church a time or two, but their mother only slightly opened the door to answer, “Not interested.”

          A mere stone’s throw from Dad lived another “discard”—a young lady with a problem. No husband and now a baby to raise while she tried to make ends meet in a one-room apartment behind an old house.

          My high school self didn’t know this lady even existed, but Dad did. He put two & two together, crossed the street, introduced himself, and offered me as potential babysitting help.

          Thus began my evenings several times a week—playing with the baby, getting him bedded down with a warmed bottle, and sleeping beside his crib into wee hours of the morning when his mother returned from work.

          Then there were other neighbors—two women in a union as one. I don’t know if Dad was aware what went on there, but—if he did—he never mentioned it. Instead, he paused along his walks to chat with the ladies—these considered “discards” by others whispering about them.

          Long after I’d left home for college, the mission field, marriage and family life of our own—the years after Mom died, Dad opted to stay in what had been our family home. My sister and I visited as often as we could.

          Father’s Day weekend 1994, Brian and I took our family for an overnight visit. I remember being shocked by Dad’s drawn appearance and said to my husband, “I won’t see him alive again.”

          And I didn’t.

          Three weeks later, Dad suffered a fatal heart attack while driving on an 8-lane highway where his broken, bruised body landed up the right embankment.

          Medics pronounced him dead at that spot.

          After the funeral, my sister and I spent weeks digging through, sorting endlessly, and discarding what we considered junk.

          As I carried out stuff and temporarily dumped items in the driveway, a girl approached the row of hedges separating our property from the next. I smiled and said, “Hi.”

          She came closer. Although young, her face bore a weariness. “Hi. I was just wondering where the man is who lives here. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

          “Oh,” I said attempting to hold back tears. “He died. I’m one of his daughters.”

          Then tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She paused and took a breath. “You know, I grew up down there.” She pointed in the direction of that house—the one people talked about. The one with the reputation. “Most people thought we were trash and had nothing to do with us, but your father…” she choked up a bit “…always treated me like I was something special. I loved coming to talk with him.”

          Little had I known our dad did this. Little did I know the impact he had on this girl’s life. Little may he have realized.

          Now, don’t assume Dad walked around with a halo floating over his head all the time. Not so! Much got his dander up. Oh, and he was as mischievous as they come! For example, this guy delighted in getting the attention of toddlers eating messy meals with their hands. He’d pat his own head, and the toddlers copied, much to their parents’ chagrin.

          Then there were the times we visited folks, and Dad, with the Flair indelible marker he always carried in his shirt pocket, wrote his name on the bottom of items he admired. Later in the visit he’d pick up that item, turn it over, and say, “This must be mine. It has my name on it.” And more than once the gullible folks gifted the incorrigible fella with the item.

          One of our dad’s favorite items was his screaming mirror, left in the powder room just waiting for a visitor to “excuse themselves.” It wouldn’t take long before we’d hear that awful SCREAM! Dad laughed and so did the rest of us. Of course, the visitor came out knowing full-well who to blame for that mirror-mirror gaff.

          But, despite his antics, Dad taught us an invaluable lesson.

          Love unconditionally.

          Treat everyone like special books because there’s beauty inside their “pages.” Books worth keeping even though they’ve been discarded.

          In this way, Dad showed the “discards” Jesus. Made them know someone saw value in them—simply through the gift of moments spent with them and kind words.

          They experienced unconditional love—maybe the only time they’d seen it. Maybe not. I don’t know.

          I also don’t know what’s happened to these neighbors over the 30+ years since. I wonder if they remember the man who gifted them with kindness.

          I wonder if I show unconditional love. Live it out. Treat everyone as treasured books, no matter what condition they’re in.

          May I show Jesus to others as our father did—and in this way reassure them that, as they “write their life pages,” they hold value and may even see their “stories” transform.

“Let the beauty of Jesus be seen in me,

All His wonderful passion and purity.

O Thou Spirit divine, all my nature refine,

Till the beauty of Jesus be seen in me.”

 

(from the hymn, Let the Beauty of Jesus Be Seen in Me, by Albert W. T. Orsborn—1916,

public domain—also attributed to George L. Johnson)

 

#librarydiscards #unconditionallove #mischievous #Jesus #FathersDay #Dad #valueineveryone

King of the Broken-Hearted

             In the Kingdom of Snowdenia in the universe of Real lived a tiny princess.*

            Now, to be a princess in and of itself bears a specialness as well as great responsibility. But this particular subject carried a heavy load, which was not easy for one so small.

            Princess of Snowdenia, you see, entered the universe of Real with a broken heart. In fact, much of her heart was missing! So, carrying out her royal duties was so much more difficult for one this size. And oh, how hard it was for the princess to understand the load she must carry and never lay down! Sometimes this made her stomp her foot and pout—even scream and cry!

            Oh dear!

            But this princess was blessed with family who loved her and wanted her to live life to the full. They would do anything for her, even wishing to carry the load of a broken heart because for them, even though loads are heavy, their princess is not. Not to them anyway.

            But the family needed lots of help, for Princess required so many things others never do. Most of all the family needed prayer warriors. An army worth! Those who’d pray for the princess when she went to the place called Hospital for the Small, where she must go and stay sometimes more sleeps than she was able to count.

            Oh yes, many in this army were tall, but some smaller—much akin to the princess. And one mustn’t be fooled into thinking the tot-sized warriors** cannot reach Heaven with their prayers. For these who bowed before the King of the universe did so believing full-heartedly that this benevolent One listens to them, just as He does the tall.

            Thus again, the Snowdenian princess will go through what is called Open Heart Surgery—this her third—so that the princess can continue to grow, play, learn, and journey through life with as much as can be fixed.

            But, dear me, she will always carry her load—this very fragile heart!

            So, prayer warriors in the universe of Real, this one who writes comes to you with a most important assignment as you request of the King on the princess’s behalf. For ’tis the King of Real, all created beings, and things Who truly brings the miracles of each day to the princess.

            And it is He Who knows full well about her very broken heart and all she needs as she journeys each day throughout Snowdenia and beyond. He loves her and knew the load she’d carry before she was born, and He cares greatly for this one He created and calls perfect, good, child.

            Sometimes, though, princes’ and princesses’ families ache with a tall-sized hurt for their small ones in ways no others in the kingdom can understand. They weep, they fear, and they wonder if their royal one will see the dreams blossom that their prince or princess planted.*

            Oh, how it helps to know the King, to cry out to Him, and to read the Book He’s authored and given to help them and all who hurt for the fragile little princess! Yes, this wonderful Book speaks to their hearts, which are also breaking. Yet, they know deep, deep down inside the King of Real—of all living creatures and things—speaks to them, cares about them, carries them—just as they carry their little princess.

            You see, this King understands the issue of broken hearts because He had one. He also understands what it’s like to carry such a heavy load—for all who journey this treacherous path. So, He most excellently cares for them. (Psalm 147:3)

            And the King whispers and tells them they can cast all their cares and anxieties on Him because He cares about them and loves them beyond what they can fully understand. (I Peter 5:7)

            The King is ready to carry all our cares. So, this one in another kingdom who writes to you today asks you to close your eyes and picture yourself dumping whatever load you carry at the feet of the King—leaving it there and letting Him do with it what He shall.

I Cast All My Cares by Maranatha Music ( lyric Video ) Pls. support the artists (youtube.com)

            Now, back to the princess of Snowdenia!

            She cannot lay down her load as she wakes up each day with a broken heart and especially this week when she climbs into her royal coach and journeys to the place called Hospital for the Small for her very long stay—longer than she can count sleeps. Parents, grandparents, other family too, doctors, nurses, and more will come to her aid.

            This week and beyond in your particular kingdom in the universe, as this little princess comes to mind, will you join the prayer army of tall and small on the princess’s behalf? For her parents, sibling, grandparents, doctors, nurses, and all who attend to the needs of this tiny royal one?

            Will you ask the King—Maker of all and mighty Healer—to help this family with the anticipation, nervousness, fears, worry? For it’s not easy to place their child in the hands of others. Yet sometimes they must, even if it’s oh so hard.

            On behalf of the princess and all her royal subjects, thank you for carrying this very difficult load to the King, Healer of broken hearts—and for faithfully doing so for more sleeps than you can count.

 

“Come, my soul, with ev’ry care, Jesus loves to answer prayer;

He Himself has bid thee pray, therefore will not turn away.

 

Thou art coming to a King, large petitions with thee bring;

For His grace and pow’r are such none can ever ask too much…”

 

(from the hymn Come, My Soul, with Every Care by John Newton, c. 1779, public domain)

 

#heartwarrior #openheartsurgery #HLHS #Fontan #brokenhearts

#GodtheHealer #Bible #childrenshospital

#parentingchronicallyillchildren

 

Photo credits:

*D&M Snowden—

**Cori Ausenhus

(used with permission)

---

 [SH1]

Life Underneath the "Cotton Ball" Clouds

            This has been a stormy season in the mid-region of the country. In one such storm 178 tornados were verified, one EF1 coming through south of our town and damaging properties.

            When those storms passed, our son went out to bring in the mail and came running back into the house. “You gotta come outside. Hurry!” exclaimed this very special young man who never hurries much about anything except what totally excites him.

            Weather phenomena. That does and always has. The Asperger’s in Min obsesses on it—that and other things.

            So, we kicked back the feet of our recliners and journeyed outside to see what we thought might just be something ordinary. After all, our son’s weather excitement isn’t based on the extreme. The tornados already passed…so maybe a rainbow?

            I couldn’t’ve been more wrong.

            He called from the road pointing over the roof of our house, “Come over here!”

            I reluctantly pulled my oxygen tubing further out the doorway, walked to the road, and turned around. “Wow! That’s incredible!”

            There before us was a fulling carpeted sky with what looked like cotton ball clouds.

            “They’re mammatus clouds,” Min said. “They mean a storm is coming.”

            “But the storms’ve passed,” I said. He must be confused. These fluffy almost imaginary looking clouds? “They look like they could’ve popped out of the pages of a Dr. Seuss book.”

            “Or like there’s a stork with a baby bundle on one of them, like in Dumbo. I’m going to get my closet ready just in case it’s storms and not a baby elephant.” Min headed into the shelter we call home.

            Back inside I plopped in my recliner, grabbed my laptop, and searched mammatus clouds. Well, what do ya know,” I commented to hubby. “The kid’s rightish. I don’t know about those formations meaning more storms-a-comin’, but it does say they’re dangerous and pilots are warned never to fly through them. Who’d’thunk such cute clouds do that!”

I will not fly up-up so high

Into a cotton-bally sky!

(“pilot” trying to sound Dr. Seussy)

 

            “I told you,” a voice down the hall yelled. “They are like cumulonimbus clouds.”

            “Yeah, it says here they ‘indicate especially severe turbulence’ because of those.” Well, I’ve learned my meteorology lesson for the day!

            That set me to thinking. Are there times I thought something was fine when danger lurked within? And, have I always thought ahead before stepping into difficult situations? Do I know how to get out of jeopardy and choose to do so?

            Answer? Sometimes, but not always. I’m gullible.

When a danger I don’t see,

This can bumble-humble me.

(blunderer trying to sound Seussy-ish)

 

            I’m now well into my senior years of life. You’d think I’ve got decisions mastered by now, but this gal’s not only nearsighted but shortsighted at times too. Yes, I’ve come a long way, but perhaps I’ll never fully grasp soon enough that everything appearing okay may not be so.

Though my “sky” looks bright and cheery,

Caref’ly “fly!” It might be dreary!

(writer who’s not as clever as Dr. Seuss)

 

            But there is hope—always! You see, we have a God Who, through His Holy Spirit, “taps us on the shoulder” and warns His children. So, some of my blunders are actually times I may not pay attention to those “taps.”

            Oh, how I need to go to the Father and seek Him daily! Do I blunder every day? No, but—if I ask God’s help before my feet hit the floor in the morning, then it’s guaranteed I’d do better in this department—because I do love the Lord and desire to please Him.

            And He knows this. It’s His desire as well, and He totally loves me…even when I walk into danger when I could’ve avoided it.

            Here’s the thing: When it’s not possible for me to recognize danger before I’m in it (that can happen too), God knows. Thus, I must not only seek His help daily but also trust Him fully all the minutes of my life.

            Maybe, as I grow even older, I’ll become less likely to mistake fluffy, imaginary-looking “clouds” as innocent and question if there’s need to “take cover.”

 

Simply trusting every day, trusting through a stormy way;

Even when my faith is small, trusting Jesus, that is all.

 

(Refrain) Trusting as the moments fly, trusting as the days go by;

Trusting Him whate’er befall, trusting Jesus, that is all.

 

Brightly doth His Spirit shine into this poor heart of mine;

While He leads, I cannot fall; trusting Jesus, that is all. (Refrain)

 

Singing if my way is clear, praying if the path be drear;

If in danger for Him call; trusting Jesus, that is all.” (Refrain)

 

(from Trusting Jesus by Edgar Page, 1876, public domain)

 

#mammatusclouds #storms #Aspergers #pilotflightrisk #Godknows

#trustingJesus #prayer #avoidingdanger #HolySpiritprompting

 

*Photo credit: Carnage Thomsen

Mom's Keys

             That day was like any other gotta-do-errands day.

            Mom drove, and I occupied the passenger’s seat. One more errand. A stop to buy something yummy at the bakery, then we’d head home. Not far. Less than 2 blocks away. Mom pushed down the left turn signal, hesitated, and turned across traffic toward the small row of stores.

            Crash! Glass and metal strewn about!

            In an instant we were sideways and stopped, blocking the southbound lane of our town’s main thoroughfare. We weren’t hurt. Shook up, though, for sure!

            But maybe we were hurt because—well—everything changed that day.

            Mom never drove again.

            Maybe “everything” didn’t change that particular day. Perhaps it was more like 5 years earlier when Mom’s ophthalmologist said she’d likely go blind, then did in one eye. She drove after that, which was permitted…

            …but her confidence died that day. And the car keys? Parked. 

            After that, Dad became her “designated driver,” taking her to the grocery store, work 3 days a week, and anywhere else she needed to go. When my sister became a licensed driver, she and Dad took turns.

            Then my sister headed to college. Dad regained his “designated driver” status until this kid—me—learned to drive.

            But Mom never surrendered all her keys—just the car’s.

            You see, back when Mom’s eye doctor told her she’d likely become blind at some point, Mom decided, then and there, she’d learn to do the things she loved most with her eyes closed—1) typing and 2) playing the piano, those topping her list.

            Oh, there were times she pecked out the wrong letters on those manual typewriter KEYS and had to erase or mark out errors on stencils for the weekly church bulletin, etc. But she learned to be a super-fast typist with few errors.

            Then there were the 88 piano KEYS. Mom played beautifully. She never credited herself with being an accomplished pianist, but that she was, never having many lessons. After all, her growing-up years hit when times were hardest, so she mostly taught herself.

            And when that ophthalmologist dropped Mom’s dooming news, no way would she surrender that keyboard! She practiced scales daily. Not flawlessly at first, but eventually—eyes closed—she mastered them all—every key signature. Arpeggios too. And more. Much more.

            Some would say Mom was stubborn. Her sisters did! I like to think of her as determined with reason. For she taught me an important life lesson in our home with keys tapping—whether on typewriter or piano.

            Okay. So, the car keys might’ve been stationary, but that didn’t stop Mom.

            Now, whenever I feel I can’t go on with the difficulties I face, I think of our mom. She didn’t quit! Sure, it was hard. She may’ve thought of quitting, but I don’t recall her ever voicing that.

            I do know she clung to God’s promises, which she read daily in her devotional time. Truly her faith was the real KEY to her success.

            What I gleaned most from our mom: Even when something seems impossible or at least very challenging, keep trying. She did and succeeded.

            Mom never went totally blind, although in another couple decades she lost a lot of vision in her “good” eye. But, even then, she kept on—knowing very well how to type and play piano because…

            …she learned to do those eyes closed. And funny thing is, she often had them closed when practicing at home until very close to the end of her 68-year life, when she couldn’t close her eyes to the cancer that took her.

            Would you believe Mom played the piano at church until 7 weeks before she died? Yep. She even talked her oncologist into releasing her from the hospital early because “my kids and grandkids are coming to visit, and I want to be there to play.”

            As much as Mom taught me about overcoming what might seem impossible at times, I know One Who totally exemplifies this—my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

“…with God all things are possible.” —Matthew 19:26b NKJV

            If ever you face humanly overwhelming challenges, know you can turn your circumstances over to God. He’s the only One Who can do what seems otherwise impossible.

“Behold, I am the Lord, the God of all flesh. Is anything too hard for Me?”

—Jeremiah 32:27 NKJV

 

“Faith, mighty faith, the promise sees and looks to that alone;

Laughs at impossibilities and cries: It shall be done!

And cries: It shall, it shall be done!

And cries: It shall, it shall be done!

Laughs at impossibilities and cries: It shall be done!”

 

Here’s the melody if you wish to sing along!

(If you do, you’ll find yourself singing it over & over.)

Faith, Mighty Faith, the Promise Sees (youtube.com)

 

(lyrics from a work by Charles Wesley, 1700s—tune from 1480 England—public domain)

 

#mother #keys #driving #blindness #typewriter #piano #cancer

#determination #allthingspossiblewithGod #CharlesWesley

Our Moldy Mess

 

            Last month our home went through a health diagnostic test to discover if my lung disease “trigger” lived within our own walls. Yup, to our shock and dismay!

            MOLD! An icky, filthy, dirty 4-letter word!

            We suspected some hid beneath our kitchen sink, but we had no idea it lurked in the attic, crawl space, and every room of our small ranch home.

            We own quite a SICK HOUSE!

            As grateful as we are to those who’ve reached out in sympathy, expressing they can’t imagine what it’s like going through this; I’d like to clarify what our moldy mess is, what it could be, and what it’s not.

            Yes, it’s an ordeal, a rather large bump in the road, a big inconvenience. Things like that, but not the end of the world (although our world is heading in that direction).

            It might be testing from God to see if we stay faithful and trust Him, or it just may be mold in our house that must GO! It also might be an attack from the enemy. He's "about that creative," but he'd like to hit us harder than this (I think). He has in the past.

            One caring fellow said, “This must be the worst thing you’ve ever been through!”

            Um, no. And thank you for putting that into perspective, sir. It made us come center on evaluating the awfulness of our sick house.

            We’ve been through much, much, much worse! And THOSE events? Likely persecution and spiritual warfare. Mold in our house? Neither, we don’t think. After all, there are so many terrible things that could’ve befallen us and haven’t. And, in light of the real persecution going on—particularly with Christians worldwide—how could we even THINK this holds a candle to what those tortured souls go through day in and day out?

            We’re away from our home. Yes. We are weary and worn. Yes. We don’t know what we’ll face task-wise when we reenter our home. BUT this is still just a very large bump in the road and inconvenience.

            So, thank you for your expressions of care and sympathy, but please know God will help us through this, just as He does with bigger challenges and smaller ones too.

            God is good; He is God.

            Now, may I share how God is working in our moldy mess situation?

            After the home health diagnostic test, our wallets lightened significantly.

            Next step? Get a hefty clean-air machine medically approved to meet my lungs’ needs. Done. Check. At that point, our bank account was crying real tears. At least I know I was. (Maybe I was just hearing myself whah-whah and thought it was coming from the bank.)

            Next? Hire a mold remediation company, so we did. Done. Check. Now we’re talkin’ mega-bucks, folks! Not only emptying our wallets but digging for buried treasure too (a super tough task in our very rocky, hard, Ozark soil).

            Brian and I married in 1978. We were both full-time missionaries at that time (still are). One of the commitments we made to God after our pledges to each other was the George Müller Principle. Is there such a thing?

            Okay. It doesn’t have that formal of a title, but it’s this: As did George Müller in the establishing of orphanages in 19^th century Bristol, England, we would also—Ask God alone for our needs. No begging or pleading to others. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills, and His Holy Spirit would guide those who are able to give.

            Now, that’s a good principle, but here we were facing a bill that could be nearly as costly as buying one of our previous homes. Still, our belief—ask God alone. So, we did and shared in our missionary prayer letter that we’d be going through the mold abatement and God would supply. (That may have borderline broken the George Müller Principle as he didn’t even tell people the needs—just prayed.)

            God is able.

            It actually wouldn’t have mattered if the bill were $2K, $20K, or $200K because we had nothing. It was totally up to God to do this.

            We needed ½-down to set the date for mold abatement to begin. We didn’t have it yet. Unlike most contractors, the fellow said not to worry. He knew we’d have it in time.

            What a blessing to hear that!

            BUT, lo and behold, by the actual day the workmen showed up at our door, we had ½ —supplied by God through numerous people who sensed His leading! What a praise!

            As I write this, we’ve entered week 2 of this process, during which time we’re away from home. (No entry until it’s done and certified healthy!) God continues to send funds as we check our mail.

            Here’s the thing: God not only provides for our needs and always has, but He delights in doing so. Why? He so greatly loves us and, in this case, is concerned for my health as well as hubby’s and our son’s. I still cannot totally wrap my mind around the extent of His love and watch-care of His children.

            If you’re facing a huge need—or even a small one—and you’re one of God’s children, know without a doubt your Heavenly Father already has a plan for a good outcome. Sometimes His answers come quickly, sometimes slower, sometimes in a different way than we plan…

            …but GOD IS ALWAYS ON TIME. You can “take that to the bank!”

            Do you have a story to share how God met a need in your life? I’d love to hear it! And I have lots of time to read your replies while we wait in our home-away-from-home during this inconvenient bump in the road.

 

He Owns the Cattle on a Thousand Hills by John W. Peterson (1979)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0z128eDJ6wo

 

He’s Able by Paul E. Paino (1958)

He's Able He's Able (youtube.com)

 

#mold #lungdisease #sickhouse #moldabatement #Godwillsupply #cattleonathousandhills

#tellGodyourneed #Heisable #GeorgeMüller #answeredprayer