Category Archives: Hearing from God

Words that Pack a Wallop

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Many of you blog readers have asked, “Do you ever run out of ideas?” Since God owns GettingThroughThis.com, the answer is, “No.”

God running out of ideas? Ludicrous.

Although the blog words are written on a plastic keyboard, God is the one behind them. I attempt to translate his idea into cyberspace words while he chooses the “so what” moment and Scripture. In other words, he generates three-fourths of each post. I love watching him bring it together, sometimes talking to him out loud. “Oh, you’re right about that, Lord.” Or “Good one!” Or “I never noticed that.”

This blog site began when Linnea, another family writer, urged me to start it. Her blog was up and running (www.KissYourMiracle.com), and she was finding it satisfying to encourage young women.

“Just try it, Mom,” she said. “You’ve always hoped God would use your writing for his purposes, and a blog will put it out there.”

She and Adam set it up, taught me to use it, and joined me in naming it. I remember my first post back in August of 2009. It was after midnight as I tried to summon the courage to push the “publish” button, my index finger shaking over the keyboard. The World Wide Web? Really?

But God and I had talked it over thoroughly, and I couldn’t refuse the opportunity. With one click, www.GettingThroughThis.com was born. A month later Nate and I heard the words “terminal cancer,” and the site was ready to update concerned friends. Later, as grieving began, the blog was a place to sort it all out at the end of each difficult day. Recently it’s been a place to heal and to watch God faithfully keep his promises.

But you, blog reader, are very important to the site and to me. First thing in the morning, you’re on my mind. I’m also bringing you to God in prayer off and on throughout the day, knowing he’s answering with one-on-one attention. In the nearly 5000 comments you’ve left on the site, you’ve also been a blessing to me and every other reader. It’s a world wide relationship.

Recently I’ve been handed a brand new writing opportunity (a book for Discovery House Publishing) that will take much of my time in upcoming months. Since it’s a steep climb for a 65 year old to learn something new, I’ve decided to cut my blogging from 7 days to 4-5 each week and won’t be posting on weekends for a while. This wasn’t an easy decision.

Some have told me they’d rather die than sit in front of a blank computer page each evening to write 500 words. For me it’s pure pleasure, sometimes even worship. My humble little blog bonds me to the Lord in a unique dependency that’s addictive. He and I meet because of my need for him, and the fact that he’s co-written each of 661 posts makes me love him intensely, not just because he’s rescuing me from floundering on my own but because I can’t wait to hear what he has to say each day.

So, the Lord and you and I will continue to meet here most days of the week. Because there are absolutely no words that pack a wallop like his.

“The words of the Lord are flawless, like silver purified in a crucible, like gold refined seven times.” (Psalm 12:6)

 

Just Heavenly!

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When I was a little girl, Mom forced my sister, brother and I to take piano lessons, just like most young children. I remember quite a few skirmishes with me on the piano bench refusing to practice and Mom in the kitchen saying, “You’re not getting off that bench till I hear you play!”

By 5th grade, I begged to go another musical route: the violin. If Mom would just let me take violin lessons, I’d practice without arguing. Really! Every day!

She didn’t give in until 7th grade. The junior high school had an orchestra, so she negotiated with me. “If you’ll join the orchestra and practice like you say, then OK.”

Poor Mom. She sprung for a violin and hauled me to Evanston every week for a 30 minute lesson, but fairly quickly the practice problem resurfaced. In the end, after two years of lessons and more conflicts than Mom could stand, she sold my violin out from under me announcing, “You’re done.”

But not quite. When Birgitta turned 4, she began begging to learn the violin. I ducked her pleas for quite a while, but when her best friend Ellen began begging her mom, too, we compromised by letting the girls split lessons, 15 minutes each.

I wasn’t prepared when my childhood longing to play the violin engulfed me once again. I rented a violin and took lessons by auditing Birgitta’s lessons. I practiced faithfully for nearly a year, performing a duet with my daughter in the family Christmas program. But she quickly left me behind in her abilities, and once again it became difficult to practice. (Surprise, surprise.)

I didn’t re-rent the violin and haven’t played since. Birgitta, on the other hand, studied for 10 years, wowing us all with her beautiful music. Ellen is still playing.

Yesterday in church we were treated to a performance by a trio of sisters, a pianist, a cellist and a violinist. As they played “To God Be the Glory” with flourish and force, my love for the violin surfaced immediately. I closed my eyes, longing to climb right into the music. Oh, how I wished it wouldn’t end.

Later they played “How Great Thou Art” with the same incredible style, the violinist’s shoulders dipping in commitment to the music, her ponytail swinging. Something deep in my soul responded not just to the violin music but to the Lord, and I started to cry. Wanting to breathe in the notes, I ached to make them mine. The craving was intense, unexplainable in words.

But God understood perfectly and let me know. He whispered, “This is what heaven will be like for you.”

And it took my breath away.

Now I know why I never stuck with practicing. No matter how hard I tried, I knew it would never sound like that. But some day…

“As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God.” (Psalm 42:1)

Rock Solid

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The Bible has some appealing things to say about God steering our steps. This, of course, is a spectacular life-perk, since God’s future-vision is always 20/20.

A while ago I gathered verses together that spoke of this phenomenon and typed them up. Because I’ve made so many missteps, focusing on God’s lead is important to me. I pondered how I might keep these written promises in the forefront of my mind and asked God if he had any ideas.

He did:

“Before Drew lays down your tile,” he said, “write My promises on the floor. You’ll be standing on them every time you step on that slate, and I’ll remind you of what’s written beneath it.”

Drew was scheduled to start slathering mortar the next morning, so as usual, God’s timing was perfect. I magic-markered my favorite passages on the floor, claiming each word as my own. When Drew came to those verses, he balked at smearing his dark gray goop over them. Looking up at me, trowel in hand, he said, “But nobody’ll see them.”

“God sees them,” I said, “and has already activated them for me, and I’ve seen them and won’t forget they’re there.” And so he covered them.

When I was growing up at Moody Church, we frequently sang a song called “Standing on the Promises.” One of its verses goes like this:

Standing on the promises that cannot fail
When the howling storms of doubt and fear assail.
By the living Word of God I shall prevail,
Standing on the promises of God.

Each time I step in, over, or on that tile, I’m standing on God’s rock-solid promises made directly to me (and you, if you claim them).

One of those verses written under the tile is Psalm 119:133. “Establish my footsteps in your Word, and do not let any iniquity have dominion over me.” This includes the iniquity of running ahead of God’s lead, stepping left or right off his chosen path for me, or lagging so far behind I’m being disobedient.

I want to move when he says move and sidestep obstacles he labels as such. A life of doing this might not be flashy on the outside, but as I pace along putting my feet into God’s prescribed footsteps, it’ll feel awfully good on the inside.

The floor is finished now, a stunning sight to my stone-appreciating eyes. This particular batch of slate was cut from a cliff in India, no two tiles alike. Since the colors vary widely, Drew put them down artistically, a greenish one here, tan there, navy across the room. The result is a floor tapestry of rock reminding me of The Rock.

So from now on it’s going to be footsteps… on rocks… on rock-solid promises… that cannot fail.

“The Lord says: ‘Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls’.” (Jeremiah 6:16)