Monday, August 22

While I'm Waiting

"In hope [Abraham] believed against hope, that he should become the father of many nations, as he had been told, 'So shall your offspring be.'

"He did not weaken in faith when he considered his own body, which was as good as dead (since he was about a hundred years old), or when he considered the barrenness of Sarah's womb.

"No distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised."

~Romans 4:18-21

Abraham chose to trust in God's Word more than he trusted the evidence before his eyes; he chose to lean not on his own understanding, but to trust in God with all of his heart. Abraham made this choice because the unseen God was more real to him than the things which are seen.

It is also interesting to note that Abraham's faith grew strong "as he gave glory to God." Abraham gave glory to God-- praised Him for His goodness, thanked Him for His blessings, and attributed his success to God-- all while waiting in earnest hope for God's promise to be realized. This was what strengthened Abraham's faith, his trust in God-- thanking and praising God for the gifts of the present while waiting for the promise of the future.

May God grant me the strength to praise Him for His goodness and thank Him for His blessings today that I may strengthen my trust to believe in His promises for my future.

Monday, August 15

Steady as the Seasons (Turning Over New Leaves)

The winds are changing--
A bitter wind blowing in and
Rearranging everything certain.

And with this descent of
Another Autumn
A million leaves have scattered
To mask the familiar.

But in time the winds will be changing--
A fresh wind bringing new
Life to the uncertain.

And with the rise of
A novel Spring
A million leaves will flourish
To paint the unfamiliar.


I can't decide if I like this or not. I'll read it through once and feel like it captures what I'm feeling almost perfectly. Then I'll re-read it and decide that I really ought to give up all attempts at poetry because I only ever disappoint myself. I feel like when I write, I'm always on the very brink of something deeply profound, and yet somehow I've missed the boat completely. Maybe someday I'll come back to it and make some changes. Maybe I won't.

In any case, it seems hopeful. And hope is what I'm clinging to these days.