When God shows up...

I sat in the corner watching the doctors and nurses buzz around the small periodontist room as they examined Destiny and prepared her for oral surgery. 

It's 2020, COVID-19 cases have nearly reached 1M in Texas. Everywhere people wear masks. Every business has a health protocol sign about social distancing, proper hand hygiene, and face coverings...it's the year of disconnect, isolation, and hiding. 

However, there are people who continue to foster meaningful connection, love for a neighbor, and face to face relationship (even if the lower half of the face must remain covered). And the team in that periodontist room were more than connection, love, and relationship...they were a miracle.  

Destiny is a survivor of human trafficking. (If you want to learn more about her story and how we got connected, go here: https://resolvemagazine.org/2020/02/24/raising-goats-chickens-and-compassion/). She grew up impoverished and with limited access to dental care. When she was fourteen years old, she was kidnapped and driven to another state, locked in a home with other girls, and forced into prostitution. During the time of her trafficking, she received neither dental nor medical attention. If anyone ever wonders why we refer to these people as "survivors" it's because against all odds, they survived. 

Destiny didn't just survive lack of medical care, she survived countless rapes, violent abuse, and drug addiction. She was struck in the mouth a number of times, thrown around, and left for dead...but she didn't die. She survived. 

It's been a long road and after nearly a decade since her kidnappers/traffickers were incarcerated, Destiny continues to make strides toward full recovery and restoration.

As a result of the physical trauma done to her, Destiny had several broken teeth. Over the years, the broken teeth began to decay, causing constant pain. Her past trauma remained her present trauma: broken, decayed, diseased...never escaping the evil done to her. 

Over the years I have known Destiny, she routinely got abscesses in her mouth, particularly where bits of her broken and decayed teeth began to crumble off, exposing the root. She would manage to find a dentist to prescribe antibiotics, ridding her mouth of infection, but not addressing the "root" of the problem (a little dental joke, for you). In reality, she just couldn't afford to fix her mouth.  

Recently, Destiny called and asked me to accompany her to a dentist she found who was offering free exams. She had another abscess and was very anxious about another exam. Furthermore, she knew this dentist would outline (yet another) treatment plan she wouldn't be able to pay for. After the exam, I was called to join her in the billing office. Without going into details or her history, I explained that Destiny was unable to start this plan due to financial hardship. And even if she had the finances, getting to the office for the dozens of visits outlined over a 2 year time period was a whole other challenge. She doesn't have a vehicle, public transit is limited, and I live over an hour away...The staff was polite and gave her brochures for Care Credit and dental insurance, trying their best to convince us dental restoration was possible for only $10,000-$20,000... 

We both left feeling discouraged: her mouth was a hot mess and there was no way to cover all the expenses.   

We sat for a while outside her apartment, praying and talking about how to save money for the dental work. I encouraged her to at least try to get the dental insurance and apply for Care Credit (Destiny applied for dental insurance and credit but was denied both). I began making calls, searching for other dentists/periodontists to at least get a second opinion. Additionally, I figured if we DID save the money for all this, I wanted it to be spent paying a doctor I trust/like.

I shared about Destiny's dental project with a few people, asking for prayer and brainstorming ways to raise money faster. One of my staff had gone on a dental mission trip a few years ago and reached out to the pastor who gathered the docs to go. A few weeks later, she connected me with a periodontist, Dr. W, who agreed to review Destiny's case. 

On a Friday, I had a phone conversation with Dr. W. His schedule was full, but he agreed to see Destiny on the following Monday after his regular business hours. After several x-rays and a thorough exam, he pulled me aside and said,

"Destiny's mouth isn't all bad...yes she has broken teeth and decay, but I can tell she is taking very good care of her mouth. Because I see the evidence of her doing excellent teeth care at home, I am going to do these procedures..."

I began to explain how we planned to pay for the surgery, implants, bone grafts, crowns, fillings, cleaning etc.... But Dr. W said, "Let me see what I can do..." and he turned to converse with his office assistants.

Dr. W was booked out past Thanksgiving for oral surgery (He is a prominent periodontist in the area). Glancing back at us, he said, "We normally do surgery in the morning...but I all ready asked my staff and they are willing to stay late...can you come in this Wednesday afternoon? Also, I am going to give Destiny my services...all that will be left is maybe the cost of materials..."

My brain operates like a train: once I start riding a thought, if something changes the route or causes the train to come to a screeching halt (or wreck) I take time to regather my wits... This gift from Dr. W was a generous collapsed bridge: My train was trackin', calculating the trajectory of this dental project, when all of the sudden, what I planned to be was no more...like the track vanished and all the energy behind the plan fell into some abyss...As I watched the train careen and disappear, I felt totally incapable of expressing my gratitude. I was overwhelmed, abundantly beyond demolished by this generosity.  

We set the time and I drove Destiny back home. Neither of us could believe what was happening. 

Wednesday afternoon, we arrived at Dr. W's office for surgery. He had reached out to a dentist friend, Dr. Mary Kate Peters, who came over for a dental exam for Destiny's teeth that needed fillings. She was extremely kind. Later, Destiny told me, "I have never met a doctor as nice as her...she was so kind and she talked to me so nice." Dr. Peters, like Dr. W, wanted to gift Destiny dental care. Again, gratitude for their generosity overwhelmed me...

Then more overwhelmedness (no it's not a word but it should be): Nobel Biocare implant company donated $3500 of materials for Destiny's dental reconstruction. Then CRN Dental Lab donated about $3000 of material...

And then, when I picked up her post-op prescriptions I handed the pharmacist my card to pay, but she said, "Ma'am, these are all ready paid for..." 

The day after surgery, I called Destiny to see how she felt and remind her to take her medicine. She answered the phone, crying. I asked if she was in a lot of pain. "No...they sent me flowers...Dr. W and his staff sent me flowers...no one has ever sent me flowers..."

And then I could finally respond to my train crashing into oblivion: I joy cried with Destiny and we thanked God for provision and care. Because that is all you can do when God shows up.  

Together we go on...

I experienced early childhood trauma in the form of abandonment. My father was incarcerated for the first time when I was around 2 years old. I don't particularly remember my first experience visiting him in prison, but I remember visiting the prison regularly. My uncle and aunt went with my mother and my brother and I during the first visit. It is their recollection of the event that tells me how traumatic the entire experience was not only for me, but for the whole family.

Now that we are all a little older and wiser (nearly 40 years older and wiser), and the proverbial "fruit of the tree" of my dad has proven itself best if avoided, it's time to go back and process my deeper hurts with God. 

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 says, "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ."

The Corinthian letters were an exchange of letters between the Apostle Paul and the church in Corinth. The Corinthian church had questions and Paul entrusted Chloe to deliver his replies back (hence the seemingly dissociation of subjects Paul covers...) In the letters, he admonishes, exhorts, encourages, and gives pastoral guidelines for the best conduct of the church in that culture. 

For us today, one timeless truth is: WHO GOD IS. In fact, at the end of EVERY study of scripture, that is what we MUST ask ourselves: What does this passage teach me about God? 

Sure, think about yourself, but first, think about God. What is God teaching you about God?

Second, RECEIVE that teaching. For example, the passage quoted above (1 Cor. 1:3-4), I KNOW God is the "God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles," but I struggle to receive that comfort in my HEART. 

Pause. Did you know scripture defines humans as "heart/mind, soul, strength," (Deu 6:5, Mt 22:37, Mk 12:30, Lk 10:27 to name a few...). The Hebrew of "heart and mind" is a collective word, lebab. Soul is nephesh and refers to a living/feeling/breathing creature. M'od is physical strength, so a rock or tree can have m'od. However, no rock or tree possesses nephesh like a feeling/breathing creature and not every feeling/breathing creature has lebab. 

So, we humans are more than thought, more than emotions, more than body...we are collectively lebab/nephesh/m'od... with the whole being greater than the sum of the parts.

And there are certainly times we have a disconnect of our elemental parts. Like when my knowledge doesn't sink into my soul where the core of my being is fundamentally transformed through the reality that GOD IS LOVE. God is my comfort, but do I actually invite Him to comfort me?

No. Not really...not all the time at least. 

And now that I am processing with the Lord my hurts and wounds I thought were healed, I am learning to receive His comfort. 

Because the reality is: I am not comfortable being comforted. 

But if I am going to serve and love others with the love that God serves and loves me, I must welcome His comfort. I must welcome Him first into my life so that His presence in my life will overflow into the lives of others....

I have found a remarkable thing: the more I lean into my Good Shepherd, the more I let Him care for me, do work on me, than I am not overwhelmed or crushed under the burdens that once crushed me. I am not speaking about lament nor denying that traumatic things happen...I am speaking about the strength and ability God gives to allow us to endure. 

I sit with God. I seize quiet moments to lament the lamentable and rejoice the joyful. And together we go on...  

Saturday Morning Bull

Saturday morning the dogs started barking. Really barking.

They patrol the front acre of the farm, keeping raccoons, possums, skunks, and coyotes out of the chicken barn and other critters out of the garden. They are great dogs and I knew from their bark, they were sounding an alarm. 

Occasionally, a coyote will linger in the early morning along our fence line, eyeing birds and goats, but between our llama and dogs, the farm stays virtually predator free. 

As the dog barking intensified, I was forced out of a comfy position in bed to investigate.

No coyote. Just a huge angus bull standing right outside our front gate. 

Our farm, Simple Sparrow, is on the inside of a “T” intersection. A quarter mile south is a highway and a quarter mile west is a toll road with 80 MPH speed limit. I feared this bull would bolt and make his way into traffic, risking numerous lives including his own.

We have neighbors who raise angus cattle and as a small farming community I could narrow down possible owners of this bull. It either belonged to Mr. Marvin who lives next door (and by next door I mean ½ mile to his front door) or to Mr. Daryl, who lives more or less across the road. 

All these deductions came to me as I rushed to get a bra on under my pj shirt...no time to change...out the front door fully supported girls, in pjs and sport sandals...I anticipated this would require some running around, I just didn’t know how much.

I got a hold of Mr. Marvin who said, “Ain’t mine...I don’t have a bull.” He hung up and I watched him drive around in his pick up, proceeding to close all the gates around his pasture and property. I understood he didn’t want this bull getting in with his cows...and he didn’t offer to help so I took that as a sign I was on my own. 

Crap. 

I didn’t have Mr. Daryl’s number. He’s a bit of a recluse and doesn’t live at his ranch full time. He has multiple properties where he keeps his herds and one is hours away...what if he was there? I called a neighbor who had his contact and asked her to get a hold of him.

Meanwhile, Mr. Bull and I are checking each other out. You never know what kind of temperament a bull will have with you. Even if they seem docile, they could turn on you in an instant. But I was more concerned about this big guy running onto a busy road and killing a family in their car than trampling me to death at my gate. 

Next I called my Uncle Greg, rancher for life...and really he should have a doctorate in bulls...or at least bullsh*t…

"Uncle Greg! There’s an escaped bull on my road, what do I do?!”

“Open your gate and coax him in...that’ll keep him safe until you find the owner.” Uncle Greg really does have good sense.

When I have a loose goat or pony, shaking a bucket of oats always brings them back to me. So I figured the bull may appreciate an oat breakfast too.

Ran down to the barn and back to the road with a bucket of oats, convinced this ringing of the dinner bell would bring him in.

Nope. 

He ran farther away from me, my gate, and closer to the toll. 

Crap.

Mr. Marvin was still closing gates and now he wouldn't even pick up his cell as I desperately called for help and advice. I thought Mr. Marvin could maybe bring his cows to the pasture by my house so at least the bull would be enticed by the cow ladies to get into my gate. But that wasn’t going to happen. 

I had been out of bed for maybe 10 minutes by this time. Still no coffee btw. 

And this damn bull was running STRAIGHT for the toll road. What else could I do?

I called the sheriff.

“Hello, sheriff, sorry...this isn’t an emergency, but it could be...there’s a bull running for the toll road off 107...I think it’s Mr. Daryls but I don’t have his number and I’ve tried to get this bull into my gate for safety but EEKKK! He’s on the toll! The bull is on the toll!!!!”

*pant pant*puff*puff*

I was running now...on phone with dispatch, trying to keep a visual on that bull, bucket of oats rattling in my fist. I was giving dispatch all the details and apologizing for breathing so heavy in her ear. Mr. Daryl then drove up behind me.

“Mr. Daryl! The bull is on the toll….*pant*sucking air*puff*...He’s not Mr. Marvin’s…”

With full and steady breath, Mr. Daryl replied, “Well, I had 3 bulls yesterday and now I only have 2...so I reckon he’s mine.”

Mr. Daryl drove through the ditch to get onto the toll. Meanwhile, 3 sheriff vehicles drove by and a few others blocked lanes from the other direction. 

I was still on foot.

Now slogging through muddy pastures in my pjs and sport sandals, still gripping the handle to my bucket of oats. It had rained the previous night, a huge thunderstorm...that’s probably what spooked the bull and he jumped the fence. Every step through the fields made me taller as the traction on my sandals caused the mud to cling and cake. I was carrying a couple pounds of pasture on the bottom of my shoes by the time I caught up to the sheriffs, Mr. Daryl, and Ferdinand (what I decided to name the bull in my heart as I tromped over a mile in muddy pastures).

Mr. Daryl had cut Ferdinand off the toll road and back in the ditch. Herd animals will move along when “pressure” is applied. If the animal doesn’t know you, applying too much pressure (that is getting too close too soon) can cause them stress. They can charge, kick, or run away. If you have multiple people (say, a handful of sheriffs, a rancher, and a women glumping through wet pastures in her pjs with an oat bucket), you might could maybe just apply the right amount of pressure to coax a bull into a gate a half mile down a road.

We strange crew of Ferdinand rescuers carefully applied pressure and walked him down the toll road ditch. All lanes of traffic were now blocked and vehicles stopped as we moved along...everyone watching. One sheriff vehicle even drove backwards on the northbound side because 107 was to the south.

Slow and steady...no sudden movements.

Due to closed gates and barbed wire fences on Mr. Marvin’s property, I had to go around and through pastures, open/close gates as I went, all the while keeping an eye on Ferdinand and doing my part to apply pressure on my side of the bull. 

When we got close to 107, Ferdinand took off running again, but this time towards the pasture I was in. It was only me on that side and I had to *run as fast as* I could to cut him off and prevent him from juking back onto the toll road.

*(It's important that I interject my "run as fast as" is a classic mom-run style. Four kids does a lot of anatomical reworking on the body...so does eating tacos, but I prefer to blame the kids...and I know the term "juking" not because I have ever actually juked necessarily, but because my sons all play football and I hear the athletic words while I sit on the bleachers and eat my tacos...so back to the juking bull and the running mom...)* 

What happened next, you can put on the headstone at the burial of my pride and dignity: “Woman mom-running with bucket of oats, rattling and jostling about in soggy cow pasture, while in pjs and muddy sport sandals, wipes out. Praise Jesus, she was at least wearing a bra.”

It was glorious. I lost all control of body but my brain still thought it had control. The bucket went flying. I think my feet went in all directions at some point. My hands flailed, groping for some invisible thing in the air to catch me. The landing was soft. Soft and wet. And slippery.

And I had an audience...typical of pride and dignity deaths. A sizable audience of sheriffs and drivers observing the whole undignified event from the dry and not muddy setting of their vehicles.

And Ferdinand. Who was still on the move.

So I got up, gathered my oatless bucket and continued the pursuit! Class act. 

Once back onto 107, I applied pressure to Ferdinand to coax him along the fence line. Daryl's wife drove up to block the road in the other direction. Together, we got Ferdinand safely into my gate! 

SCORE: 1,000,000 pts.

Ferdinand was clearly stressed. We needed him to calm down before trying to load him in a trailer back to his pasture. As I walked around the outside of my house, giving Ferdinand space, I heard a knock from a window above my head. It was my husband, Eric. He was smiling and waving. He’s an electrical engineer and he bought me our farm because I am the farmer. He, no doubt, enjoyed the whole show from inside the house.

Loading Ferdinand went off without any issue. Mr. Daryl, his wife, and I built a cattle chute with cattle panels out my front gate. I put a halter on our mini horse, Kacy, and lead her around by Ferdinand. She is a very calm and gentle animal and her presence had a fantastic calming effect on him (if you’ve ever watched the movie “Ferdinand” you may recall the emotional support goat...well Kacy played that part well...). Ferdinand followed right behind her and I lead them both into the cattle chute pen. Imagine, a MINIHORSE (who comes up to my hip), leading a full grown angus bull (who is TALLER THAN MY FENCE). Both were treated to oats before Ferdinand was loaded to go home. 

As I recounted the discovery of Ferdinand to Mr. Daryl, I mentioned how Mr. Marvin said it wasn’t his bull and proceeded to close all his gates and left me to adventure solo.

“Well, that bull coulda been Marvin’s,” replied Mr. Daryl, “but he’s too cheap...I outbid him at auction this week…”

Suddenly, I realized why Mr. Marvin hadn’t helped: his pride and dignity had died too. 

I also realized the value of wearing a bra... 

When I scored 1,000,000 pts

Putting together the chute

Ferdinand, my love.

Hope

It's kidding season at the farm. The time of year the ground is green and wet. The time of year the spring garden goes in and the radishes out germinate all the other vegetables. The time of year when my dairy goats swell up and we prepare for new life.

Farming calls for hope. I hope there's just enough rain at just the right time to bloom the fruit trees and grow the fields. A good crop means food for all the creatures. It means shalom: peace and prosperity...peace of mind for the farmer who keeps watch to ensure there's enough food for everything and prosperity because enough food means life thrives. It's reciprocal: prosperity brings peace because there's enough. No use fighting or fretting over enough.

Hope is holding onto enough. It's also holding onto not enough.

During kidding season, I station myself on a feed sack on the barn floor. I set up a couple portable pens to ensure all new moms have their own space to birth and bond with their new baby(ies). I am keen to her body; looking and watching for signs of labor. Sometimes I am right...most of the time I am wrong.

Like yesterday, we had two goats deliver and I anticipated more does to drop. One big girl was grunting and grinding her teeth, secluding herself in a corner...all signs baby is coming. All day we waited, we watched...nothing. Got up early this morning, while it was still dark, to check on her. Two black and white kids greeted me outside the birthing pen.

"How'd they get out?" I wondered to myself...

They were another doe's kids. A doe who showed NO SIGNS of labor the previous day.

It's moments like these I laugh at myself. I have no control over life or death. I have no control over timing or events. The plans for creation move forward with or without me and my insightful knowledge of biology.

During the COVID19 global pandemic, we need to hold onto hope. This means we fully expect a good outcome while fully expecting a bad outcome.

Seems impossible, right? Doesn't make sense. But it's true.

The Hebrew word for "hope," tikva, means an "expectation; literally a cord, an attachment" (https://www.blueletterbible.org/lang/lexicon/lexicon.cfm?Strongs=H8615&t=NASB)

We become attached to our expectations. I expected baby goats out of the doe in the birth pen. I expected that if I watched and waited and researched and prepared and knew enough then I'd be ready for what I expected to come.

In life and in the barn, we don't always get what we expected...

Another goat mama had two kids a few days ago. All were doing well. Then, unexpectedly, mom rejected one. We found him near death early one morning. We brought him into the house, hoping to revive him. But it was too late.

So when I sit on the feed sack in the barn, I think about my attachment to my expected outcome. I think about the tension in that cord being stretched out: fully expecting good and fully expecting bad. Loss of life is the worst bad. And I expect it. Little happy jumping goat kids is one of the best goods. And I expect it.

So in light of our global barn situation: are we expecting the worst bad at the same time we are expecting the best good? How do we do that? What does that look like?

For today, the worst bad I expect is everyone I know and love will get COVID19. At the same time, I expect no one I know and love will get COVID19. Am I prepared for both?

Of course not.

Because hope has nothing to do with preparation. Remember, I don't have control. I can prepare as much as I am able. I do my diligence to maintain social distance, wear a mask in public, wash my hands, don't touch my face...that may or may not be enough.

So, what is enough? Shalom. Peace and prosperity. Who gives me peace? Jesus Christ. He is the Prince of Peace. After Jesus Christ was resurrected, He appeared to His disciples greeting them, "Peace be with you." (John 19:20-31).

The disciples had locked themselves inside too...not afraid of a virus but of the Jewish leaders who wanted to kill them. Jesus showed them His wounds. He reminded them of why He came and why He was leaving but assured them He would return. They believed Him. They believed what He told them was true.

Jesus is the Light of the World. Jesus is our hope that this life as we know it is not all there is. There was, and is, and is more to come. As believers, we fully expect God is in control. We have faith that He is all good, all the time. We love God and we love others (Deu 6:5). No matter what comes.

We love God and we love others while we bury our hope. We love God and we love others when we rejoice in life. We love God and we love others in our grief. We love God and we love others in our joy.

We keep going. We keep expecting good and we keep expecting bad. And ultimately we keep loving.

Shalom. Peace be with you.

Plant Gardens and Eat

Recent global catastrophes have made my heart heavy: bush fires burn uncontrollably in Australia where family and friends live, including care farms Simple Sparrow is connected to...(and if you're reading this thinking, "oh yea, I wanted to donate to help victims of the fire, %100 goes to victims when you donate to https://www.gerf.org.au)

Meanwhile, on the other side of the globe, an Iranian General was assassinated by US Military. I have friends serving in the military overseas, deployed and soon-to-be deployed. I watch as friends in Lebanon are directly affected by this death. In fact, Simple Sparrow was gearing up to go to Beirut to support a mission school before Lebanon bubbled up in revolution last fall (a revolution I applaud and stand in awe of the resilience of the Lebanese).

All I can do is watch devastation and wait. I cannot stop it from coming and I cannot look away (although so many times I want too...).

So I picked up my Bible and started reading through the books of the prophets again. The stories resonate with me right now: the prophets couldn't stop devastation from coming, they couldn't look away.

All they could do was watch and wait.

Habakkuk, Jeremiah, Isaiah... all wrestled with God about human suffering, they lamented (Jeremiah actually wrote Lamentations) and were resolved to WATCH and WAIT.

Watch and Wait. That's hard for me. Like any good American, I have am bred and groomed to get what I want when I want it. And to want "peace on earth and goodwill toward all" seems like a pretty good thing to want...but I must wait.

In my reading of the prophets, I came to Jeremiah 29. To put this in context: King Nebuchadnezzar had defeated Judah and carried off the loot and exiles into Babylon (btw, God warned Israel for hundreds of years that this would happen if the people did not stop doing evil...they were commanded to "love God" and "love one another" (Deu 6) but they continued to harden their hearts and practice evil instead practice good). False prophets assured people the exile would be short lived. It gave them hope, but it was false hope.

I want to pause here for a moment on false hope. I heard a preacher once say, "the soul can accept a hard truth but it cannot accept a lie." Whatever your concept of "soul" is, the point is that the very core of who we are cannot rest in the company of lies, no matter how pretty and comforting that lie is. I have seen pretty lies and false hope repeatedly fruit in my own life and it is rancid. False hope and pretty lies are human driven manipulation to extract an outcome that we think is best. In all our eternal wisdom and intelligence, we humans know what's best (please note the saturated sarcasm in that last sentence). The false prophets didn't want exile. No one wanted exile! But rather than lean into God, trust in Him for strength to endure the suffering, human manipulation and control make people lean more on themselves and other people...who ARE NOT GOD! Because when things are going well, who needs God? When things are going as we want, there is no need for divine intervention because "we got this."

I sympathize with the false prophets. They just wanted to cheer people up. They just wanted to fix everything and make the world a better place...a better place, on their own, without God. Note that without God, the history of their nation was not a better place. The nation of Israel without God, became invaded by other nations and ceased...the people were scattered, exiled to Babylon. And the prophets who spread false hope soon died!

In Babylon, these Israelites were very much like our modern day refugees: PTSD from war (although the Bible doesn't call it out because "post traumatic stress disorder" wasn't defined until 1970s) and struggling to find their identity among strangers. These were leaders, skilled workers and craftsmen (Jer 29:2b) who were accustomed to management and self-expression through their craft. Now in exile, who were they? What was their purpose? What were they supposed to do now?

God via Jeremiah gives them an answer: still be YOU.

"Build houses and settle down. Plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters. Find wives for your sons and allow your daughters to get married so that they too can have sons and daughters. Grow in number; do not dwindle away. Work to see that the city where I  sent you as exiles enjoys peace and prosperity. Pray to the Lord for it. For as it prospers you will prosper."  -- Jer 29:5-7

Still love God and still love one another...seek SHALOM (peace and prosperity). AND ASK GOD for it (not people).

As children of God, our identity is in Him and cannot be taken away. God created us for relationship. He created us to be in community with God and one another to steward His creation (Gen 1:26-30). Christian faith teaches that relationship with God is possible because of the work and ministry of Jesus Christ (John 3:16). We believe Jesus is fully God and fully man, that He came to earth to teach the true character and identity of God to all people. God is love (1 John 4:7-21). Jesus was killed and buried in a tomb. He was dead 3 days before He came to life again. Death had no power over Him that He did not allow. Death is the ultimate devastation. God has power and control even over that!

So as I watch devastation and wait, I remember who God is. He reminds me who I am:

I am a farmer. I plant gardens and eat. I cannot stop suffering. But I can ease it. I can teach how to plant gardens. I can teach how to prepare meals from food the farm grows. I can teach how to farm, how to steward. It's small and it feels insignificant. But it is purpose driven and it satisfies the soul.

Who are you?