Hagar said, “Let me not look on the death of my child.” And as she sat opposite him, she lifted up her voice and wept. And God heard the voice of the boy, and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven and said to her, “What troubles you, Hagar? Fear not, for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is. Up! Lift up the boy, and hold him fast with your hand, for I will make him into a great nation.”  Genesis 21:16-18

Hagar held her nearly dead child in her arms. His voice was weak, his body dehydrated and starving, and there was no water or provision anywhere in sight. Death was close enough to feel. Yet Hagar would not quietly surrender to what appeared inevitable. She cried out to the God of Israel. Where had she learned to do that? From the very household that had now forced her into the wilderness. Oh, the irony.

I have cupped my hands around things, and people, that appeared to be dying. Dreams. Health. Ministry. Faith. I have stared at circumstances where hope felt almost foolish, where every visible option had disappeared and loss seemed to have already written the ending.

Hagar, the least likely teacher, shows me what to do there. She cried out, she listened, and then she obeyed. God told her to lift up the boy and “hold him fast” with her hand. She could not know that centuries later Ezekiel would stand before an entire valley of bones and watch the breath of God turn skeletons into an army. But Hagar was already learning something about this God. Death does not intimidate the One who holds the breath of life.

And God kept His word concerning Ishmael. The boy dying beneath a desert shrub lived, grew, and became the father of a great nation. What looked like an ending in Hagar’s arms was still carrying a future she could not see.

Will God hear me when I take what is diseased, perhaps even dead, and lift it toward heaven?  Because there are things I am still holding before God this way. I do not know what He will resurrect, what He will restore differently than I have asked, or what He will ask me to release. But I know this: despair does not get to pronounce something dead while God is still speaking.

I’ve laid some things down prematurely.  I’m picking them up again.  You defeated death and long to breathe over all things expired.  Amen

For thus saith the Lord, “Thy bruise is incurable, and thy wound is grievous.” Jeremiah 31:12

Truth and love are never separated in the heart of the Gospel. God speaks to me this way, and as His child, I am called to speak this way to others. Truth can cut deeply, but when carried by love and tenderness, its purpose is not injury but restoration. How many have claimed to be “truth tellers” in the name of Christ while leaving wounds that lasted for decades? Even a seasoned believer can be brought low by reckless words spoken without grace.

The deepest wounds left by words must eventually be answered by a stronger Voice. I must be willing to disown hurtful words and no longer have them define me in any way.  n prayer, I can bring those old verdicts to the cross, renounce their authority, and refuse to let another person’s anger, accusation, or distorted perception continue telling me who I am.

But what do I do with the intent behind the words, the contempt, rage, or desire to wound that I felt when they were spoken? I bring that to Jesus too. I ask Him to separate me from everything that came attached to those words, to cleanse the wound of its poison, and to leave only what is true. Jesus will deal with the spirit that came with the words and cleanse me from all their effects. Their words do not get the final say. Jesus does.

For each of us who has sustained damage from someone’s words, I must isolate the words, reflect on them, examine the damage and then talk to Jesus about it all. 

“Lord, nullify the effects of those comments under the power of Your shed blood.  Take these words from my mind and my heart.  Remove the arrows that wounded my soul so deeply.   Make it as though the words had never been spoken.  I forgive the person who spoke them and give up my right to take revenge.  I put this person in Your hands for You to rule righteously.  Arise on my behalf.  Hear my prayer.  Hold me, breathe over me, write Your living Word on my heart and mind. I stand today on Your promise.  “The Sun of righteousness will arise with healing in his wings.”  Malachi 4:2   In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen

But let him ask (for wisdom) in faith without any doubting, for the one who doubts is like the surf of the sea driven and tossed by the wind.  James 1:6

            Few Scriptures have been more misunderstood than this one. It’s been taken out of its context and turned faith into a force by which we try to secure the outcome we want. I see something I desire (perhaps something God has done beautifully for someone else), and decide that if I can summon enough faith, surely He will do the same for me. When nothing happens, I interrogate my faith. I chastise myself for wavering, stiffen my resolve, and try to believe harder. If I am surrounded by people who misunderstand this passage in the same way, they join me in my chorus. “You just need more faith.”

But James is talking about wisdom. The faith of verse six is not faith that God will give me whatever outcome I have imagined. It is faith in the character of God, the One who has promised to give wisdom when I ask for it.

To ask without doubting means that I refuse to let His silence frighten me into taking the reins. I’m not to ask God to lead me while quietly keeping one hand on the rudder, just in case He takes too long.

Human wisdom can be impressive. It can be intelligent, persuasive, and eloquent enough to fill auditoriums. But it is painfully limited. I can only interpret what I can see.  And I see through the narrow window of my own history, wounds, desires, fears, and beliefs. God sees what preceded this moment, what is hidden inside it, and what waits beyond it. He knows every consequence I cannot foresee, every intersection I do not yet know exists. He alone knows the rocks beneath my feet.  He knows if they will hold, and He knows where the ledge only looks secure.  I want God to answer my questions, but sometimes He begins by questioning me. I want to know where I am going but He wants to expose what I might carry there if He does not heal me first.

Give me the courage to believe Your promises more than I believe the pressure of this moment. Amen

For you, brethren, became imitators of the churches of God in Christ Jesus that are in Judea, for you also endured the same sufferings at the hands of your own countrymen, even as they did from the Jews.  I Thess. 2:14

I love movies, especially those that capture the best of the human spirit. Long, drawn-out sagas are my favorite, though my husband, Ron, insists that watching grass grow is more exciting! I remain undeterred. Nonetheless, I am encouraged to see a few of the main characters work through their challenges and beat the odds.  Why?  Because it reminds me that I’m not alone.

That is why fellowship is so important. I’m not talking about idle chatter that too often happens around a pot-luck supper. This is a cheap substitute for what God had in mind.  I can call it ‘fellowship’ but I’m certain that every time I think I’m doing it, God winces and draws in His breath. Communion with other believers demands more of me. I must let others close enough to know what hurts, where faith is fractured, and what I am carrying that has become too heavy to carry alone.

Paul knew how to encourage the persecuted Thessalonians.  He reminded them that the Christians in Judea were also facing hardship.  They were not alone.  Hearing that, they were strengthened. Think about it ~ Sometimes knowing that someone else has survived the road you are walking also gives you courage to take another step.

This is one reason God’s family is so necessary. I eventually meet someone who knows something about my particular grief. Cancer. A hostile workplace. A wandering child. Betrayal. Spiritual abuse. We tell our stories and discover that shame loses some of its power when trials are brought into the light and carried together. 

Solomon said, “Two are better than one… If either of them falls, one can help the other up.” I would add something from my own experience. If one falls into unbelief, the other can remember God for them until they are able to remember Him again.

Like you, I have things weighing on my heart today. They feel personal and isolating. But I remember that I am not walking an untouched road.

Lord, help me be humble enough to let others carry me when I’m down and tender enough to carry them when their own faith fails . We are tangible evidence that You have not withdrawn Your presence. Amen