The Mustard Seed, Faith, and My Unbelieving Loved One

Published on by Christine Wyrtzen1 Comment

“What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it? It is like a mustard seed.”  Mark 4:30

“If you just had faith the size of a mustard seed, then your miracle would happen.” Does this sound familiar? The implication was that our faith, coupled with a few spoken words of Scripture, would always produce the miracle we sought. If nothing happens, our faltering faith was to blame. Oh, what pressure!

Does standing on Scripture move mountains? Yes. Can standing on Scripture bring my unbelieving loved one to faith? Yes. But that person still has the freedom to embrace or reject Jesus. So why exercise faith ? Because I don’t know what he will choose. Every situation needs the power of God’s Word brought to bear against an enemy who fiercely opposes the advancement of His kingdom.

My unbelieving loved one never makes a decision about God in a spiritual vacuum. Every soul, before salvation, is contested territory. The enemy distorts whatever Scripture they know. He resurrects painful memories, reopening old wounds and whispering that God is to blame. The Gospel is life-saving, yes, but it reaches the unbeliever against a backdrop of relentless spiritual opposition. How desperately needed are the prayers of saints who wield Scripture as a sword!

When I speak the Word over someone who needs Jesus but has not yet bowed his knee, I am appealing to heaven to fight the battle I cannot fight in human strength. I’m asking Him to silence the enemy’s lies and quiet the turmoil within that person’s soul. I’m pleading for a sacred clearing, a season when the voice of the Shepherd can be distinguished from the clamor of deception. I am praying that the Gospel may be heard with a clarity that spiritual darkness has long obscured, while also knowing that the decision to embrace Christ remains his own.

If I do not sow the seeds of Scripture, I’ll never know what might have changed through exercising faith in prayer. I’ll miss the miracles of watching mountains move. And for every mountain that remains, for every loved one who refuses Christ, I must remember that God’s faithfulness has not failed. Faith was not futile, Scripture was not impotent, and my investment was not in vain. Jesus Himself warned that the road to life is narrow and few find it. His words leave me with a sobering mystery, not a reason to abandon prayer.

And lastly, among those who have yet to find that narrow road are souls still waiting for someone to speak the words of life over them. I must never confuse an unanswered longing with a wasted act of faith.

I leave all mysteries with You, Lord, knowing that You take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but call them to turn and live. Keep me faithful in the warfare, surrendered in the outcome, and unwilling to stop sowing seeds of life. Amen

When Silence Feels Safer

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I will speak of your testimonies before kings and shall not be put to shame. Psalm 119:46

Here is yet another message about speaking up, about the courage to tell the truth when silence feels safer. Throughout history, kings and powerful leaders have sometimes been confronted with God’s wisdom through the words of someone they considered beneath them. Often, the messenger was despised. But not always. Sometimes, a humble voice pierced the defenses of a hardened heart.

Am I willing to be that messenger, knowing the odds? Can I be assured of a gracious reception? No. Only God knows whose heart is ready to listen. Yet the blessing of speaking His truth is not only reserved for the one who hears it. Something sacred happens within the messenger, too. Words once withheld because of fear begin to find their freedom. With each act of obedience, I am transformed from one who trembles and retreats into one who trembles but advances.

To whom have I surrendered the power to silence me? It may be an intimidating parent, a domineering team mate, a controlling church elder, or even a family member who has somehow gained authority. Whoever makes me afraid to speak truth has been given a throne in my heart that was never theirs to occupy. And just because someone has grown comfortable avoiding truth does not mean God intends to leave that comfort undisturbed.

Lastly, the psalmist declares that he will not be put to shame. His audience may certainly try to humiliate him. They may dismiss his words, question his motives, or wound him with their contempt. But the approval of God makes the disapproval of man survivable. Accusations may fly, but they need not take root in a heart anchored in the Father’s pleasure. The peace that follows obedience is something no earthly potentate can take away.

Courage to speak hard words does not come naturally. Teach me to tremble before You more than I tremble before them, and to find my courage in the warmth of Your approval. Amen

When You Would Swear It’s All Over

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When Lamech had lived 182 years, he fathered a son and called his name Noah…  Genesis 5:28-29

At four different points in my life, I have known the depths of despair. Each time, circumstances seemed so hopeless, so entrenched, that I could not imagine life ever changing. There was too much wrong, too much evidence that any kind of resurrection was impossible. God appeared powerless, and I feared He would not intervene to rescue me.

What I couldn’t see then was that God is never out of options. He never surveys the ruins of a life, wondering how He might resurrect what has died. He is never caught off guard by human brokenness, nor does He scramble to assemble a last-minute miracle. What looks like an impossible ending to me has never threatened His ability to write another chapter.

Before the birth of Noah, the world was sinking into lawlessness. As evil consumed the earth, who could have imagined that redemption was still unfolding? Had I lived then, I might have wondered whether God’s promises to Adam and Eve had finally been swallowed by the darkness.

But somewhere in a primitive dwelling, a baby cried. His name was Noah, meaning rest or comfort. While wickedness multiplied and judgment drew near, God brought a child into the world. Not an earthquake. Not a thundering declaration from heaven. Just a newborn whose significance would remain hidden for centuries. Through Noah, God would preserve the human family and the lineage through which the Redeemer would come.

God was not absent from the darkness.This is what I must remember when despair whispers that nothing will ever change. God is never inactive simply because His activity is invisible. When I cannot conceive of a rescue, His providence is already reaching beyond the boundaries of my imagination.

I keep looking for earthquakes, for unmistakable displays of divine power. But sometimes, while I’m waiting for God to shake the heavens, He begins His deliverance with the cry of a baby.

In every place someone is fainting today, let them declare that You are the God of beginnings. Amen

How God Looks At Black Sheep

Published on by Christine Wyrtzen3 Comments

The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham. Matthew 1:1

We are tempted to gloss over the genealogies in Scripture, but Jewish readers would have slowed down. Matthew was not beginning with filler. He was opening with credentials. Before Jesus preached a sermon, healed a body, or called a disciple, Matthew anchored Him in Israel’s long story. He was the promised Son of Abraham and the royal Son of David. God had not forgotten what He promised centuries earlier. Jesus did not simply appear out of nowhere. He entered a real family line, carrying generations of history with Him.

What arrests me in Matthew’s account is the presence of women. It’s unusual enough to make me pay attention. Their stories are not polished. Tamar’s is tangled with injustice and scandal. Rahab had been a prostitute. Ruth was a foreigner. Bathsheba’s name is not even given; Matthew calls her “the wife of Uriah,” leaving David’s sin exposed in the family record.

And then comes Mary. Jesus’ genealogy is not a pristine hallway lined with spiritual trophies. It is a family history marked by failure, outsiders, sorrow, sexual brokenness, courage, and mercy. Perhaps that is exactly the point.

God did not wait for a spotless human story before entering it. He threaded redemption through what was fractured and finally stepped into the bloodline Himself.

Lord, redeem what I cannot undo, heal what I did not cause, and let grace have the final word over every chapter of my story. Amen

The Rebirth of a Song

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There she will sing as in the days of her youth, as in the day she came up out of Egypt. Hosea 2: 15

When was the last time you sang because you were happy? Believe it or not, for some, the memory goes all the way back to childhood. They remember skipping down the road, making up a song as they went, unaware that life could ever become heavy? “That child lives no more,” you say. Adult life has a way of silencing songs.

Abounding joy can become such a distant memory that we no longer believe ourselves capable of it. Sometimes we live inside consequences of our own choosing. Decisions made when we were young became roads we can not easily leave. Perhaps there were warning signs; perhaps there weren’t. There have been moments when we’ve looked at the years ahead and quietly wondered how our soul would survive them.

Other prisons arrive without our permission. An accident changes a body forever. A child is diagnosed with leukemia. An aging parent disappears slowly into Alzheimer’s while we care for the person who no longer remembers our name. At some point, the question changes from When will this end? to Will I ever feel like singing again?

But God has always known how to find His children in wilderness places. He knew the terrain of my life before I ever walked through it. There are chapters He did not prevent that I still cannot explain, but there is not one chapter He is unable to enter. And perhaps this is what redemption finally means ~ God does not necessarily give me back the untouched person I once was. He creates something deeper.

The joy God restores may carry scars. It may know what betrayal costs, what grief feels like at three in the morning, and how long a wilderness can last. Yet somehow it sings again because God proved Himself faithful inside what nearly destroyed me. God spoke to me while in wilderness places. He said, “I see you. You are not lost. Your sorrow is not the end of your story.“

Perhaps the child who once skipped down the road is not gone after all.

Lord, if sorrow has buried my song, call it out of the grave. Amen.

Suspicious and Defensive

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“It is you, O priests, who show contempt for my name.” But you ask, `How have we shown contempt for your name?’ Malachi 1:6

Defensiveness runs in my bones. When someone is upset with me, my instinct is often to prove my innocence. It takes humility to stay quiet when someone names something in me that I don’t want to see. “I’m sorry” can be one of the hardest things to pry loose from my proud interior.

What happens when God brings sin to my attention? What defense could possibly stand? He is holy. His vision is undistorted. He knows the architecture of my heart better than I do. To argue with His verdict is not strength. It is arrogance aimed at my Creator.

Why was I afraid, earlier in life, to ask forgiveness from the very One who longed to give it? Probably because I did not yet trust Love. As long as I remained suspicious of Him, I could not afford to be wrong. I protected myself with self-righteousness. My fear of losing His love made honesty feel too dangerous.

Only love strong enough to survive the truth heals shame. I will lay my soul open without bargaining, hiding, or editing what He already sees. And perhaps this is the strange beauty of sanctification: I begin with “I’m sorry.” God answers, “You are forgiven.” And finally, relieved of the exhausting work of defending myself, I can finally say, “Ok, You can have all of me.”

Make me teachable when my spirit burns with conviction. Amen

The Tyranny of Misplaced Joy

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If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full. I John 15:10-11

Sometimes, it’s not what I want that gets me into trouble. It’s when my desires, even noble ones, become the center of my life and the source of my joy. I dream of everyone I love embracing Jesus as I do. I want my family to flourish. I desire health for those I love and long life for aging parents. These are beautiful longings, but somewhere along the way, I can quietly assume responsibility for making them happen.

I become a crusader on a mission, investing my prayers, my love, my mentoring skills, even my finances, to help loved ones thrive. But the clock ticks slowly. People don’t change overnight, and while God is at work, they don’t always choose wisely. That’s troubling news if I’ve made their well-being the source of my joy. As they languish, I languish. Their setbacks become my emotional defeats. Joy is conditional. On good days, when things appear to be moving in the right direction, I relax. But with the next crisis, my hope plummets as I wait for circumstances to grant me permission to be happy.

Here’s the thing. Inexpressible joy cannot depend on life turning out as I hoped. I have to find it in the enjoyment of God, not treat His presence as the means of securing the life I want. He is the treasure, even when the life I’ve dreamed of remains out of reach.

In the early mornings, before I rehearse my concerns, I rehearse His goodness. Before I carry my loved ones into another day of anxious intercession, I remember that He loves them more than me. Their stories are not mine to control, and my joy was never meant to be held hostage by their choices.

Release me from the tyranny of outcomes. Amen

Will You Defend Me?

Published on by Christine Wyrtzen2 Comments

In your heart, honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect.  I Peter 3:15

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the times we are called to defend God’s character. Faithless statements are made. We can’t let them go. Insinuations about God being cruel, absent, and unfaithful are voiced. We have to say something, right? I talked about this with the Lord this morning, and then this came.

Nothing defeats evil faster than My love-sick bride.  Her passionate words and vehement defense of My character leave no room for discordant words from My foes.  Do not be afraid to say, ‘Please don’t say that of the One I love!’  Remind the one who disparages my reputation of who I am and whose you are.

I defend you daily from the insults and accusations of your accuser.  You see, we are both fighting for the one we love.

 

Did I Really Hear God’s Voice?

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Then Joseph said to Pharaoh, “The dreams of Pharaoh are one; God has revealed to Pharaoh what he is about to do. Genesis 41:25

God gave Pharaoh two dreams that carried the same message. Why? Joseph explained that the repetition showed God had established the matter. Pharaoh was not being asked to build his future on one obscure impression. God confirmed what He was saying.

Has God been trying to speak to you about something? Perhaps you are stalled because you are afraid of reading meaning into things that aren’t there. Maybe it was a dream, so symbolic that you lack the confidence to act on it. Perhaps a word came during prayer, but later you wondered if it was only your own inner voice. Maybe several “coincidences” aligned so precisely that they felt almost impossible to dismiss.

And still the question remains ~ ‘Did you really hear God speak?’ Until you feel certain, you hesitate to risk anything.

What I have learned is that God is for me, not against me. He is not hiding His will and then watching to see whether I can solve the puzzle. If I sincerely want to obey Him, He is not threatened by my need for confirmation.

So when I sense that He may be speaking and I am stretched beyond what feels safe to me, I ask Him to make it clearer. I admit how small my perception is, how easily fear can distort what I hear. I ask Him for mercy in my weakness.

I think of Moses. God did not require him to interpret a hundred subtle signs. When the cloud moved, Israel moved. When it rested, they stayed. The guidance was mercifully plain. I have known God to do something similar. He has confirmed the same message more than once, sometimes three or four times, each time through a different avenue. One word strengthened another until what felt uncertain began to carry weight. I believe God can steady a child whose heart genuinely wants His voice more than her own way.

Lord, repeat what needs repeating. Confirm what is truly from You, and quiet what is not. Amen

The Resurrection Is Personal

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Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. For by it the people of old received their commendation.  Hebrews 11:1 

When was the last time you heard something so outrageous that believing it felt almost foolish? God tells us that nothing is impossible for Him because He is God, and there is no other. I believe that easily enough in the abstract. But when the impossible enters my own story, unbelief suddenly becomes much more persuasive.

Humans cannot walk on water, yet Jesus did, and Peter stepped out to join Him. A sea does not divide to make a road, yet Israel walked through on dry ground. A leper does not dip seven times into a muddy river and emerge with new skin, yet Naaman did. And a man dead for three days does not walk out of his tomb. But Jesus did.

Faith does not deny what is humanly impossible. What might I be destined to experience if I left more room for the impossible?

Where has unbelief quietly eaten away at my expectancy? Where have I closed the eyes of my spirit because disappointment taught me not to hope too boldly? What have I accepted as permanently broken because I can imagine no earthly way for it to change? Faith doesn’t demand that God perform the miracle I prescribe. It leaves room for Him to be God, with my eyes wide open.

The resurrection changed forever what I am permitted to call hopeless. The same God who raised Jesus from the dead is at work in His children. That does not mean every grave I point to will open in the way I ask. It means no grave, no impossibility, and no ending is beyond His authority.

Perhaps some of what I call realism is unbelief that has learned respectable language.

Give me faith that never forgets who You are. Amen.