psalm 73.

“When my soul was embittered, when I was pricked in heart, I was brutish and ignorant; I was like a beast to you.” Psalm 73:21-22

I cannot get this verse out of my mind. I read it again the other the night, and it jumped out of the page as if it was alive (that was my attempt to be a creative writer.. I am not.. so now I will go back to writing in a way that sounds like I am intelligent.)

Anyways…

Seems like a ridiculous verse to start a blog post with, right?

Except if I look at my life a year ago, that verse describes me perfectly. My soul was bitter. I was angry at just about anyone that crossed my path. I was more than pricked in heart. It took everything I had to just get out of bed in the morning. I knew many of my loved ones were suffering more than I was, and I hated not being able to help them. I felt useless. That uselessness led to guilt and overwhelming anger.

I was so angry with God that I became brutish. I acted ignorantly. I acted out of cruelty.

I couldn’t sit in corporate worship for longer than 5 minutes. I snapped back at people. My language was terrible, and I was too angry to even care. I remember numerous times crying out that God had abandoned us.

The lies were so blatant. But anger had taken over, and the Truth was hidden from me.

“Nevertheless, I am continually with you; you hold my right hand.” – Psalm 73:23

Nevertheless.

Definition: “Even though I hated God. Even though I rejected Him. Even though I hid from Him. Even though I cursed His name. Even though I acted like a fool. Even though I turned my back on Him….

He remained with me.

Not only did He remain, but He held my hand through it all.

“You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory.” – Psalm 73:24

My God continued to guide me despite my best efforts to go my own way. Not only does He guide me now, but in the end, He will welcome me with open arms into His GLORY. I did nothing to deserve that. In fact, I acted in such a way that I deserve to be shunned from anything resembling glory.

But the Gospel allows me to have hope in restoration.

I could easily be ashamed of my past. Past sins. A season of depression. Intense anger. Despair. I could hide those things from everyone else. I could put up a facade and pretend like I have everything together. I know I could be fake because I have done it.

It is an empty and lonely life to pretend.

So I admit that I am broken. A year ago, I was in shambles. I was a mess. But in God’s perfect and gracious love, He reminded me that the death of His Son was enough. The death of His Son will always be enough.

The Gospel is not a story we hear in church that gets old. The Gospel is the only thing that gives us hope for the next day.

“Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” – Psalm 73:25

I am human. I will fail.

I fail everyday.

But God is my strength.

He is enough.

This past year, God has restored my joy. I have found purpose and identity in ways I never imagined. I have found hope again. As I look back, thankful is not a strong enough word..

“But for me it is good to be near God; I have made the Lord God my refuge, that I may tell of all your works.” – Psalm 73:28

I don’t honestly know who reads this blog, but I would like to think that somewhere, somebody is reading this blog who needs a little bit of hope. I pray this post will be a small opportunity for me to live out that last verse, and tell whoever about the works of God.

There are a lot of people who pretend to be something they aren’t. I work and live in a society that is excellent at this… It is a scary thing to excel in being fake. Many of us have deceived ourselves. We think that we find joy in the daily tasks of our lives. But God alone strengthens the soul. My point is that you have no need to be ashamed. Not of sin. Not of depression. Not of anything.

God has redeemed you. By His grace alone you are saved. The Gospel is not a church story. It is life. And it is a reminder I need everyday. So many are going to church and living their lives, but they are really dying inside a faithless existence.

I pray those people will seek God’s grace today. I pray those of us who know God’s grace will be reminded of the power and hope found only in the Gospel.

 

performance.

I don’t even know where to start.

I have not blogged in so long that I have about 45 posts swirling around in my mind, and no concept of how to put anything down on paper. I miss writing. I miss teaching the Word. I miss sitting still and just being.

I don’t know how to stop.

Spring Break was the biggest blessing for me. I was able to spend most of it with someone I love deeply. I was able to spend multiple days with no agenda, and no need to plan. I didn’t have to write a lesson plan or coach a volleyball practice. I could sit in silence if I wanted. I could sit by a bonfire and laugh or take a walk in the park.

It was a beautiful time of rest.

Then 5:15am came this morning. The alarm clock was ringing. I was grumpy. And life was back to my norm.

I was back to moving non-stop. I love what I do. I know the Lord has given me a gift of teaching and a love for high school students and ministering to them. But if I keep up the pace I am living right now, my whole body might shut down. Literally.

You see, I am a performer. I always want to be better. I wanted to be the best athlete. I want to be the best teacher. I want to help everyone. I would drop just about anything for anyone. Except I often have a hidden agenda.

I want to make much of me.

I want my friends to need me. I want the pat on the back. I want the approval. I want the awards. I want to have the answers. I want to have a plan. I want things my way. I want control.

It is a lonely and disappointing journey to be on.

But this week taught me a lot. Lessons that have been on my heart for a long time surfaced.

I was created to make much of God. We all were created to make much of God.

God set apart the Godly for Himself (Psalm 4:3). I am not God. Despite my best efforts to take control, I am the worst person to be in control of my life. I am a sinner. I am imperfect. I fail. My best performance is like dirty rags to my God. I cannot live up.. ever.

And yet God LOVES me. I mean a love so deep that I cannot fathom. A love with so much grace that it makes my heart jump. He has shown me that grace in so many ways. I turned my back on God this year. I was angry about the circumstances in my life. He gently restored me, and then blessed me with gifts too great. He humbled me with His love and brought my back to His throne.

I exist to make much of God.

There are a lot of questions about the future in the air for me right now. I guess in some ways, that will always be true. But God is calling me into faith like never before. Faith that says God alone will provide. I am out of answers. But God isn’t.

Performance will fail. The grace of God gives life. Nothing else matters.

I hope I fail.. because then I see the work that God can do. I want to be a part of that story.

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” Psalms 73:26

 

winning and losing.

I am competitive. I like to win at everything. Yes, everything.

I am convinced that I have been this way since I was 3.

• I once cheated while playing trashketball in a high school history class because I wanted my team to win the review game. Clearly, it didn’t matter, and I needed to grow up.
• I broke my grandmother’s toe while playing soccer in my entry way when I was about 8.
• My grandmother also had to teach my how to play fair because I would try to change the score when she was beating me in volleyball. I think I was about 8 then as well.
• I once solo blocked an opposing player, then walked back to the service line and stared her down. I proceeded to ace her three times in a row without cracking a smile. That is embarrassing.
• While playing a video game with a friend, I knocked the controller out of his hand as he tried to kick the winning field goal. I ended up winning in the next overtime.
• I could show you countless pictures of my intensity when I played volleyball, but I will not.
• If my parents ever met somewhere with two different cars, they would race home. I loved it. So not safe.
• My soccer coach wouldn’t let me score more than one goal per game until I let every other girl on the team take a shot. It was so annoying because some of my teammates were just bad.

Now that I read some of those odd examples, I am a bit ashamed of how much winning took over my life. Even though I stopped cheating to win (that was mostly an 8 year old thing), I still viewed loss as complete failure. Loss was unacceptable. I received love based on my ability to perform, and when I couldn’t win, I did not accept love.

When I had surgery me senior year of high school, I spent two weeks at school in a wheelchair. My friends decorated my wheelchair including a bell that I could ring to get people out of my way. Still, what I remember most is how few people looked at me while I was in the chair. It wasn’t until I wore my letter jacket that I received attention. Suddenly, I was an injured athlete, and that made my wheelchair “acceptable.”

I instantly realized how love based on performance will always leave us wanting.

This semester, I have had the greatest privilege to not only student teach, but also coach on the best volleyball team in the state.

Yes, they really are the best volleyball team in the state. Or they were..

We lost. It was a big upset. One where the opposing teams’ fan storm the court and you remain stunned weeks later. It is a loss that I won’t quickly forget, but I know my players will always remember.

But I don’t care about those girls because of how many volleyball games they won.

I care deeply about those girls. Period. End of story. Wins and losses don’t change that.

I potentially coached my last practice with this team today. I have no idea if I will ever get to sit on the sideline with them again, but I am thankful for every moment I had with them. Even the loss.

I am thankful because it reminded me that I exist for a purpose far greater than a state title. I am thankful because the role gave me the opportunity to be a mentor and an influencer. I am thankful because I got to see how much the Lord has changed me over the years. I am thankful because I have been given the opportunity to show that real love is not conditional. It is not based on performance or money. It is a love based on the grace of Jesus Christ. Even if they don’t yet understand that, it is a love that always remains.

Those kids will go on to do great things. Every one of them will be leaders in some capacity. I hope that my time with them was not just about winning and losing. I hope that I was a leader that they would choose to follow. And mostly, I pray that I was a leader who pointed them to Someone greater than me.

I might not have a state championship ring.

I do still have 20 girls that I will always care about, and I pray I led them well.

 

faith.

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” – Hebrews 11:1

Seems simple enough.

Except that anybody who has tried to live out faith that genuine has likely struggled. Or at least, I can confess that I struggle to find faith.

I am a realist. I look at the tangible things right in front of me in order to determine a calculated response to just about everything going on in my life.

I am practical. I am unbelievably analytical.

I confess that sometimes I pride myself in this. I think that I know it all, and if I don’t know it, then I believe that I can analyze until I figure it out. I am decisive because I have already thought through most things by the time the decision comes.

I seem to think that I know a lot about God. I confess that I often find identity in my ability to answer a question about spiritual leadership, or truth, or whatever else I might be asked in regards to Scripture and my beliefs.

But when it comes to faith, I struggle. I seem to think that I know a lot about my God, yet I can’t stand when I don’t know what He is doing. When I don’t know the next move, I conclude that I might as well do it myself. Then there are no surprises.

But without faith, I really know nothing at all.

I am thankful for the lesson the Wilson family taught me about faith recently. When every doctor said they would not have a baby, they kept praying. They never spoke bitterly of the years and years that they waited to get pregnant. They simply continued to have faith that God had not made a mistake.

Here I am holding their son, Mack, on the day he was born. A perfectly healthy baby boy.

I admit that tears came to my eyes as I held him and told him over and over again that he was the answer to years and years of prayers.

For the Wilson family, it wasn’t about what was practical. They didn’t complain about the struggles they were facing. They remained a family of faith. And now whenever they look at Mack, they can be reminded of the God that was so gracious to give them such a beautiful boy.

And I learned maybe the most significant lesson of my life.

Without faith, what I know is useless.

“The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost.” – 1 Timothy 1:15

Again, I choose to have faith that the grace of Jesus Christ alone saved me from the sinner I am.

He is worthy.

 

circumstances.

I am back to the blogging world. I apologize for my hiatus.

I left camp and started student teaching and coaching volleyball at a great high school.

As I started these new roles, I was quickly sucked into a life of long hours and tough commitments. I study the game of volleyball. I know more about high school volleyball rankings and players than you would care to know. I have even found myself dreaming about volleyball. (I would like to note that I have yet to dream (or think) about math outside of the classroom, but I do admit that I enjoy teaching).

I love what I do. I love every moment that I get to be on a court working with a player. I especially love the tough conversations after a practice or a game where a high-school girl approaches me for advice. I love the ability that I have to influence people in my position. I love the way the girls have responded to my positivity.

For the first time in a long time, I love every minute of what I am doing.

I have been overwhelmingly thankful that the Lord finally made it clear to me how He designed to use me at this time. I know the game of volleyball well. I know the inner-workings of the club world. I know the drama. I know the pressure to succeed. I also know the lack of Godly men and women in the sport. I know the yearning that these kids have for a role model. I have the opportunity to be that role model. I am thankful for the ways that He continues to bless me with opportunities that seem to just fall in my lap. I could not have made some of these things come together better if I tried.

I am deeply thankful.

Yet, I also realize how easy it is to become thankful simply due to my circumstances. How many times am I thankful because of what is happening right now? The better question is, how many times do I refuse to be thankful because I don’t like any part of my circumstances?

But His Word says to “rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18). It does not say to only rejoice when life is great. It doesn’t say to give thanks when you are receiving all the gifts you have wanted.

It says to do these things always. In all circumstances.

I hope the Lord continues to remind me that He alone is the Provider. He alone is the Comforter. He alone is the Healer. He alone is the Giver. I pray that I will praise Him and not the provisions, comfort, healing, and giving.

I pray that I will be reminded that the love of my Savior is not evident in my circumstances, but is evident in His death on the cross.

His death on the cross is the only statement of love that will ever really matter. It is the only love that remains true in all circumstances. I am thankful for the Lord’s forgiveness of the long season of my life where I refused to give thanks. I refused to believe that His love was enough. I pray that as I move forward, I will always choose to believe that love that surpasses all understanding.

 

all I want.

Before every week at the camp where I work, we listen to the Robbie Seay Band song “All I Want” while sitting on the floor of the gym. Bunga writes about it in his blog. About 30 minutes after, we open our gates and jump with more joy and energy than you can imagine as we welcome our campers.

But for 4 minutes and 8 seconds, we sit still and just listen to a song.

This past Sunday, I was angry as I listened to the words to the song.

“All I want is my frustration, to be replaced with signs of spring.
And all I want is confirmation, that you’re gonna see me through, see me through this thing,

And all I want, all I want, is you.”

I was angry at circumstances that I could not control. I was angry at the depth of pain I was carrying around. I was angry that I couldn’t fix myself or the people I loved.

As I sat there, I realized that I couldn’t honestly say that all I wanted was God.

Instead, I wanted comfort. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to not jump for 10 seconds so my shins wouldn’t feel like death (sorry for the extreme). I wanted to talk to my mom and dad. I wanted to talk to the Kirks. I wanted to be wanted by someone else. I wanted immediate satisfaction (and I was willing to do that in a variety of ways). I wanted a time machine to take me back and have a do-over for the semester. I wanted to just not cry for once in worship. I wanted to go on a date, or at least have someone consider asking me on a date (how about that for vulnerability). I wanted to not carry responsibility. Ultimately, I wanted things my way.

I did not want God.

I am thankful that I have worked in the ministry of Pine Cove for as long as I have. Pine Cove forces a wedge between you and your sin. It is a place where confession is both welcomed and expected. It is a place where people will not settle to let you choose depravity.

On Sunday, I wanted to run back into sin. I wanted my way. I wanted little to do with God. On Monday, I told my best friend these things. On Monday night, I confessed it all to my leadership team. On Tuesday, I cried as I struggled to find words for where I was. Then, on Tuesday night, I taught the Overflow campers about the truth that God does not abandon His people. I taught them about being a follower of Jesus. I taught them about faith. More importantly, I taught the truth that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is the only thing that saves us. The Gospel is the only thing that comforts us.

I taught in the midst of my pain. Here is a picture of the sunset happening as the campers followed me around camp as a part of the Club talk.

Mind-boggling.

God in his overwhelming Grace gave me this night, and this picture to help me remember this night. As I taught the very words of God, I was able to remember that my God saved me. He chose me when I was still a sinner. He adopted me. He loves my deeply. I have no idea what that tangibly means, but I KNOW it is true.

I mean look at that sunset that He gave me and those at camp that night. A little glimpse of His love.

I was scared to teach a group of people who looked up to me when I knew how much I was struggling. Yet, as words were coming out of my mouth, I realized that the only reason I was worthy to teach them was because of the Gospel. The Gospel is not changing. The Gospel is not wavering. The Gospel doesn’t leave or waver with my emotions. It is constant. Jesus is constant. Even when I don’t want Him to be.

The fact is that I am a sinner. My life is darkness. My life is despair. My life is full of sin. But then Jesus came. Jesus came and died for me while I was still wallowing in the blood and darkness of my sin. He died. God put His full wrath on His Son so that I would find life.

My eternal destiny is secure. I am saved because He died.

It is not more complicated than that. It is the reason I exist.

Even when I don’t want Him.

God redeemed me again this week. He redeemed me as I taught others about redemption. How ironic.

 

struggling with God’s sovereignty.

I have not been a huge fan of God’s sovereignty lately. The reality is that I know that God is sovereign. I know that He is above all things and knows all things. I know that there is absolutely nothing that takes Him by surprise.

To be honest: that has annoyed me most of this semester. Annoyed is a nice way of putting it.

I lost somebody that I cared deeply about this semester. Since that day in February, I have felt deep pain. It has been harder to watch those I consider family feel an even deeper pain. I have felt sad, guilty, angry, bitter, nostalgic, and much more. Sometimes it seems like all of those emotions are fighting for supremacy, and I have not even scratched the surface of how to deal with these emotions.

Those emotions lead to frustration overall, and I have needed a place to displace my frustration. Therefore, I have found frustration with God’s sovereignty. I don’t like knowing that this death that sent shockwaves through those I call family did not surprise God. I guess I want God to be just as surprised as me. Sometimes I feel like his sovereignty makes Him detached because He already knew to begin with.

God’s sovereignty should be comforting. Instead, I interpreted His sovereignty to mean that He had chosen to turn His back on us.

That could not be farther from the truth.

This morning I was reading the story of Lazarus’s death in the book of John. I have read or heard the story more times than I can count, yet this morning it hit home.

Lazarus is sick. He is a close friend of Jesus and so his sisters send for Jesus knowing He can prevent his death. It is clear in Jesus’ response that He is very aware of all of the details that are about to go down. He is sovereign. He is fully God, and he knows that the death of Lazarus is inevitable. He also knows that ultimately He will raise Lazarus from the dead so that “the son of God may be glorified through it” (John 11:4).

Jesus already knows the end. Once he knows Lazarus is dead, he travels to where he is buried. It is clear that Jesus knows that He will restore life to Lazarus. I would think that since Jesus knows the final outcome, the situation would weigh very little on Him.

Instead, when Jesus sees the mourning of Mary and Martha (Lazarus’ sisters), he weeps.

Jesus wept – John 11:35.

It is the shortest verse in Scripture, but it is the most significant to me right now. Our pain pains God.

Our God is sovereign, but that does not make Him less compassionate.

Our God is sovereign, but that does not make Him less loving.

Our God is sovereign, but that does not make Him more distant from us.

Our God is sovereign, and we need His sovereignty in order to experience stability, comfort, and direction in the worst of situations.

God’s sovereignty gives us hope. It first gives us the knowledge that our God is still at work. He is still moving and using. He did not design these moments of deep pain. They are simply a direct result of the fall of man in Genesis. While the moments in our life nearly cripple us, our God is unmoved. That is why we can follow Him, because no situation makes Him less God. God is constantly at work redeeming His people. In all circumstances, He remains at work restoring us.

I need restoration. And today, I received great comfort in knowing that my God knows my pain even better than I do. He is maybe closer to me than ever before. I pray He is closer to my family than ever before.

Through His death, I have life. I need life. I need hope.

I am thankful that my God is sovereign, and I choose to follow that God today. In that God alone, I find strength for tomorrow.

Amen.

 

loss for words.

If you are a follower of this blog, then you have noticed the length of time I have gone between posts. Over a month. I think that might be a record.

I am having an extreme case of being at a loss for words.

I am never at a loss for words. This is a whole new thing for me. In fact, I talk too much. The other night at dinner, I was described as chatty. I found myself quite funny, but that is besides the point.

The point is that for me, a loss of words typically points to something more. I write in order to process. Typically when I write and/or teach, things become suddenly real and applicable. But lately, I have been unable to write, and I think that is a telling sign of how my semester has gone.

This semester has been one defined primarily by loss for me. I have experienced pain deeper than ever before in my life. It is impossible to put words on that pain…

I have also watched others experience pain even deeper than mine. In fact, much deeper than mine. I confess that for years I have tried to have the answers, but this semester, the pain they have experienced has been so great, that it has left me speechless. My words bring no comfort. In fact, I don’t even know the first word to say.

This has occurred in several situations this semester, and it has left me feeling isolated and helpless…

But…

“…the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” — Romans 8:26

What a relief.

Because I have put my faith in Jesus Christ, I possess the Spirit of the Living God. I cannot mess that up. Christ has purchased me with His blood. I am free. I possess the Spirit of adoption, and I cannot lose my adoption. I also did not earn my adoption. I am loved with a perfect love. I have a dad in heaven that will never leave. Ever. I need that. We all need that.

Through faith, the Spirit dwells within me. And that Spirit intercedes on my behalf.

He intercedes when I am so exhausted that I feel hopeless. He intercedes when my friends are in the midst of physical and emotional pain and I am clueless as to how to help. He intercedes when I am too scared to ask for His grace. He intercedes when I have nothing to give. He even intercedes when I ask for the wrong things or when I don’t ask at all.

When I am at a loss for words, the Spirit within me steps in and intercedes with groanings deeper than my words could ever penetrate.

Praise the Lord. I can breathe. I don’t need the words when I have the groanings of the Spirit.

I don’t have all the answers. I will never have all the answers. I am not expected to have all the answers.

But I know that my God does have the answers. And he is interceding on my behalf, and for those whom I love.

My God does not abandon His people.

When I am unable to use words to define the place I am at, I feel as if I am floundering. I feel as if I am a duck on the water. I look calm on the outside, but underneath I am frantic.

But the Spirit dwells within me even when I feel like I am floundering.

God’s love and His adoption of me as His daughter does not rest on anything that I do.

So I am thankful to be at a loss for words, because then it means that I can rely on nothing but the interceding of the Spirit. And that is a beautiful thing.

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” — Romans 8:28

 

sense of humor.

God has a sense of humor.

I sometimes don’t think it as funny as He probably does, but hey, that is not the point.

Anyways, I am slowly writing about every place we traveled while in Israel. I am writing what the Lord did on my heart. I have every intent of binding it into a book as another reminder of what the Lord did in my life. (Note: the last post was a little piece of what I am writing).

Anyways, as I sit here tonight, I was in the process of writing about a place called Arad. While in Arad we talked about syncretism. Basically, worshipping two things that DO NOT belong together. Think toothpaste and orange juice. Yep, that is unfortunate, right?

Anyways, we were asked this question while in Arad: What are you bringing into God’s temple that does not belong?

The first thing I wrote down was control.

I want things to get done my way. I like things to be done quickly. I see things very black and white. There is right and wrong. I hate to admit that I always think I am right…Bummer. Sadly, I am also very capable of masking my controlling tendencies with Jesus and make it look noble, but it is still idol worship. In fact it turns to legalism. I am obedient with the intent of trying to manipulate God to work my way. It is disgusting and degrading to very character of God. It is rooted in disbelief. I think that I know better than God. My control definitely does not belong in God’s temple.

As I started to move onto the next point about how I want to fix everything, my computer decided to throw a fit.

Well, really only Word decided to throw a fit. If you have a Mac, then you know how frustrating the “rainbow spinny wheel” can be? (Yes, that is a technical term and the wheel is still spinning as I write this)

That wheel turns as if the computer is thinking, but after about 30 seconds, you know it is a lost cause. Word is frozen. A reboot is necessary. So not cool.

And when you are someone like me that lacks patience and loves control, it is the perfect opportunity for a freak out moment.

“When did I save it last?”

“Am I going to lose all my work?”

“Cmon Word, get it together.”

“Really?”

Those are the thoughts that immediately started running through my mind.

This situation could not be more ironic. I just wrote that I am an impatient and controlling person who looks to myself before God. And then my Word freaks out. Outside of my control.

How do I respond in these moments? Even something as petty as a computer malfunction. What will define me? Will I walk in obedience only up until the point that it is convenient? Will I allow my frustration to take over?

As I wrote about control, God took the control right out of my hands. I love it.

He works in the details. Tonight He taught me a very clear lesson through my computer.

I can’t just write about letting go of control. I have to actually let go of every bit of it.

 

evidence of a life transformed.

This place marked the place that my face changed.

Yes, my face.

It was the third day of the trip and the Lord was slowly tugging at my heart to stop carrying the weight of Rob’s death around. Because I didn’t see change, I concluded that God had turned His back on us. Thus, I decided to take control. To do it my way…

But when you step into a place as dry and desolate as the desert, life seems to shift back into focus.

As we marched into the Makhtesh, I was amazed at the vastness of this place. It seemed to go on forever. In fact, 38 of the 40 years that the Israelites wandered in the desert were spent in this place.

I was already thirsty. There was no water.

I was already hungry. There was no food.

I had a nice Camelbak with me and snacks waiting in the bus. But the Israelites had flourished while they were here and clearly they had none of that. How?

Simple. God provides. He made the unlivable desert refreshing. He fed His people with manna and quenched their thirst with water.

And still the people were angered at Him.

I am so an Israelite.

When I left for Israel, I was not happy with God. Let’s be real: I was angry. I was hurting. I was watching people I love like family hurt the deepest hurt of their lives.

And there was nothing I could do.

The problem was not with God. I was the problem. I was trying to get answers from God my way. I wanted control. I wanted to be my own sovereign.

So when we studied Numbers 20, I was humbled.

The people are thirsty and there is no water. They begin to grumble against Moses (I can only imagine how many times that happened) and so Moses and Aaron go to seek the Lord and ask for water. They fall on their faces and the Lord appears to Moses and tells him “take the staff, and assemble the congregation, you and Aaron your brother, and tell the rock before their eyes to yield its water” (Numbers 20:8).

At this point, Moses had been obedient to the Lord. He went to the Lord when the people grumbled. He humbled himself by falling on His face. Once he receives instruction, he takes the staff and goes out in obedience.

Then Moses strikes the rock twice.

What’s the big deal? In fact, we know that in Exodus 17, God told Moses to strike the rock (this is when the people asked for water the first time).

But that is not what God told Moses to do this time. God told Moses to speak to the rock. But Moses does what he knows. In his frustration with the people, he strikes the rock. Not once, but twice.

Disobedient.

To us, what does it matter?

To God, it is the difference between Moses entering the Promised Land and not.

Translation: It is a big deal.

God tells us to hear and obey. Sh’ma.

He does not abandon His people. He simply asks us to follow Him. To trust Him. And we cannot trust if we do not have faith.

So the question I had to ask myself in the desert was where does my faith really lie?

In my abilities? In my lifestyle? In my legalism? Do I only trust what I control?

Or do I put my faith and trust in the redeeming, life-giving grace of Jesus Christ?

Even when I have no idea what is next, I must always remember that God speaks in the desert.

My God does not abandon His people. The Promised Land is waiting for all of us. All we must do is believe.

Once I remembered that truth, I was able to let go of the weight I was carrying. Every step became lighter. My disposition changed. My face changed. The joy of the Lord became my strength because I no longer had to muster up the strength to do it on my own.

The desert to me is evidence of a life transformed.

“Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her.”  - Hosea 2:14