Exodus 16: 1-12

1 They set out from Elim, and all the congregation of the people of Israel came to the wilderness of Sin, which is between Elim and Sinai, on the fifteenth day of the second month after they had departed from the land of Egypt. 2 And the whole congregation of the people of Israel murmured against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness, 3 and said to them, “Would that we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate bread to the full; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.” 4 Then the Lord said to Moses, “Behold, I will rain bread from heaven for you; and the people shall go out and gather a day’s portion every day, that I may prove them, whether they will walk in my law or not. 5 On the sixth day, when they prepare what they bring in, it will be twice as much as they gather daily.” 6 So Moses and Aaron said to all the people of Israel, “At evening you shall know that it was the Lord who brought you out of the land of Egypt, 7 and in the morning you shall see the glory of the Lord, because he has heard your murmurings against the Lord. For what are we that you murmur against us?” 8 And Moses said, “When the Lord gives you in the evening flesh to eat and in the morning bread to the full, because the Lord has heard your murmurings which you murmur against him - what are we? Your murmurings are not against us but against the Lord.” 9 And Moses said to Aaron, “Say to the whole congregation of the people of Israel, ‘Come near before the Lord, for he has heard your murmurings.’” 10 And as Aaron spoke to the whole congregation of the people of Israel, they looked toward the wilderness, and behold, the glory of the Lord appeared in the cloud. 11 And the Lord said to Moses, 12 “I have heard the murmurings of the people of Israel; say to them, ‘At twilight you shall eat flesh, and in the morning you shall be filled with bread; then you shall know that I am the Lord your God.’”

Ruth 2:19-21

19 And her mother-in-law said to her, “Where did you glean today? And where have you worked? Blessed be the man who took notice of you.” So she told her mother-in-law with whom she had worked and said, “The man’s name with whom I worked today is Boaz,” 20 And Naomi said to her daughter-in-law, “May he be blessed by the Lord, whose kindness has not forsaken the living or the dead!” Naomi also said to her, “The man is a close relative of ours, one of our redeemers." 21 And Ruth the Moabite said, “Besides, he said to me, ‘You shall keep close by my young men until they have finished all my harvest.’”

Reflection

Wilderness … an uncultivated, uninhabited, often inhospitable region. Also, an area where people themselves are visitors striving to not remain. But do we always engage the journey with expectation as we tentatively step along with slow advance, and do we crane forward with anticipation to better hear and respond to a voice crying in the wilderness. In my experience, no. Transition is often difficult even when wilderness travel is somehow avoided. However, hardships explode beyond our realization when we discover we’re traveling within the grasp of wilderness. If birds are chirping, ears are unhearing. We’re so absorbed we’re numb. In fact, our senses focus on the solitude with the horizon endlessly spanning ahead. Notably, our Savior experienced wilderness immediately following His Father’s proclamation, “This is My Son. With Him I am well pleased”. Quite the sharp transition from the Holy Spirit just previously descending on Him like a dove. Israelites grumbled through wilderness circuitously advancing toward the Promised Land. Their trek ensued following miraculous events culminating in walking on a dry pathway through the Red Sea. Quite the sharp transition from walking between walls of water held back by the Hands of God.

Naomi’s wilderness slowly collected around her with the passing of her husband and her two sons. No wonder she excused her daughters-in-law to return as widows to their immediate families, exclaiming, “Have I more sons in my womb to raise as future husbands for you?” Yet one returned and one remained. Ruth’s devotion to this wilderness journeyer remarkably demonstrated a steadfastness for experiencing the process together. What an incredible gift of presence as she stepped into a new role as placeholder for Naomi’s deceased sons and husband. Through God’s design, she provided sustainable resources for herself and her widowed mother-in-law. Perhaps this act of devoted love provides a forecast of Jesus joining His disciples’ wilderness journey on the road to Emmaus. As they walked along discussing the day’s events that all hell had broken to pieces targeting their anticipation that He was the Promised Messiah. “And their eyes were opened in the breaking of the bread”, offering to them both human and Holy Sustenance.

Sam and I grew up together through elementary, junior high, and high school. We experienced adventures through athletics and Boy Scouts, through family cookouts and working with livestock on our respective ranches. Then we graduated from high school and entered life, separated by geography and careers. Reunited through tragedy, Sam showed up at my parent’s home on the afternoon following my mother’s death. And he stayed.

As others arrived and others departed, he stayed. He didn’t offer special words. He did provide a hug which I welcomed, and I sobbed on his shoulder. He didn’t bring food. He didn’t awkwardly attempt conversation or imply he knew “how I felt”; no one did. He simply stayed – for hours – remaining, in no hurry to leave. His act of devoted love mirrored the gift of presence lived out in countless Biblical illustrations, culminating through our Savior’s presence with forlorn disciples. And His Gift of Presence exists today, through any wilderness journey. He knows firsthand about temptation, feeling forsaken, and walking through wilderness. I always receive unspeakable benefit from love expressed through devoted presence. We sometimes feel another’s voice crying in the wilderness when so numb we’re deaf. And don’t we all hold experiences preparing us for the gift of presence, Formed in the Wilderness, for others?

Prayer

Creator of All Things,

Growth exists even in, perhaps especially through, inhospitable regions we are chosen to travel. This growth can occur nowhere else and serves us opportunity to share a love, so inexpressible words fail. We glimpse dimly, often through tears, a piece of the walk suffered by the Man of Sorrows for us and others. Thank You. Amen.

Isaiah 43:2

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.

Reflection:

Have you ever felt the need for a hard reset, not just in your body, but in your soul? For years, I have been quietly drawn to the Camino de Santiago—nearly 500 miles, five weeks of walking. I’ve read about it, watched films, and carried it in my heart, imagining myself on that road, even though I couldn’t explain why. I understand now why so many pilgrims begin the Camino without answers, trusting that meaning will meet them somewhere along the way. When that path remained out of reach, God met me on another one.

Over several years, I found myself saying yes to long walks and long bike rides—a 26-mile march through White Sands, twice; forty miles over two days, three times; and more than 230 miles on a bike across Missouri. At the time, none of it felt holy. It was just hard, and hot, and quiet, and long.

I didn’t know why I kept doing it. I wasn’t strong or fast. I just knew I had to train and show up day after day, putting one foot in front of the other. Ten hours on your feet gives you a lot of time to think. Eventually, thinking gives way to listening.

Somewhere in those miles, the wilderness stopped feeling empty. It became a place where distractions fell away, where weakness was exposed, and where God felt closer than words. The road became a kind of prayer that was steady, repetitive, and honest.

I didn’t know I needed to be reset, but I did. God was forming something in me long before I could name it. The meaning didn’t arrive all at once. It rarely does. But looking back, I can see it now: endurance was being shaped, trust was being learned, and faith was being strengthened in the quiet. And when I finally came through, I felt different—stronger, calmer, more rooted, and more aware of His presence guiding every step.

I carry with me daily that long season of my life, and I am so grateful to everyone who cheered me on and waited for me at the finish line.

Where might God be meeting you in a wilderness season right now? What disciplines or daily rhythms might He be using to prepare you? Is there an area of your life where endurance is being formed before clarity is given?

Prayer:

God, thank You for meeting me on the road when I didn’t know what I was looking for. Thank You for the wilderness places that form us before they explain us. Teach me to keep walking, to trust the slow work of Your hands, and to believe that You are preparing me—even when I can’t yet see where the road leads. Amen.

1 Kings 19:1-8

And Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, also how he had executed all the prophets with the sword. Then Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, “So let the gods do to me, and more also, if I do not make your life as the life of one of them by tomorrow about this time.” And when he saw that, he arose and ran for his life, and went to Beersheba, which belongs to Judah, and left his servant there.

But he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a broom tree. And he prayed that he might die, and said, “It is enough! Now, LORD, take my life, for I am no better than my fathers!” Then as he lay and slept under a broom tree, suddenly an angel touched him, and said to him, “Arise and eat.” Then he looked, and there by his head was a cake baked on coals, and a jar of water. So he ate and drank, and lay down again. And the angel of the LORD came back the second time, and touched him, and said, “Arise and eat, because the journey is too great for you.” So he arose, and ate and drank; and he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights as far as Horeb, the mountain of God.

Reflection:

During the recent cold front (the one with the snow and ice), I spent some time back home helping my parents on their ranch. I have always loved cold weather, and I spent almost the entire weekend outside, soaking up the beauty of nature covered in ice. In the midst of frozen paradise, God sent me a subtle reminder. One of our heifers had her first calf on a Friday. We watched the calf try to nurse, but he was kicked off or trampled each time. Saturday morning, we checked to see if he had made any progress. His mama was still kicking him off the udder. The calf was weak and shivering. In many ways, this calf resembles Elijah. He was left to die until we came to save him. Dad and I caught the calf and bottle fed him three times a day, returning him back to his mom after each feeding in hopes she would care for him. After the third day of pulling the calf to be bottle fed, he was finally able to nurse his mom. Now, “Little Pete” is strong enough to run and play with the rest of the calves and is getting care from his mama.

Much like Elijah, our calf needed to eat to prepare for his journey ahead. His body was shutting down, preparing to die when we found him. He didn’t want a bottle; I had to force feed him several times. But as the hours and days passed, our Little Pete grew stronger and was able to continue on his journey, eventually reuniting with his little calf friends. In the same way, Elijah needed God to find him, encourage him, and give him strength to continue on his journey to Horeb.

In nature and the wilderness, we are exposed. Little Pete was found in the cold, quiet wilderness, where he would become another victim, succumbing to the cold. Elijah was found in the wilderness: exhausted, isolated, and ready to give up. Yet, the wilderness was not where either of them was abandoned. It was where they were found by God. God found Elijah under the broom tree and sent an angel with food, rest, and gentle encouragement. God found that little calf through us and gave him what he needed to survive. In both stories, provision came before purpose and strength was restored before the journey continued.

Our wilderness could look like exhaustion, discouragement, illness, grief, or confusion about what comes next, different tribulations for us each. But Scripture reminds us that the wilderness is often where God meets His people most intimately. When we feel fragile and forgotten, God is still working, still feeding, still preparing us for what is ahead.

Little Pete didn’t stay weak forever. Elijah didn’t stay under the broom tree forever. And we won’t stay in the wilderness forever either. Sometimes, the wilderness is exactly where God finds us and where He begins to restore us for the journey ahead. Other times, we are like Little Pete, too weak to feed ourselves, too tired to keep going, and too overwhelmed to even want the help that would save us. Elijah was a prophet of God, yet he reached a point where he wanted to give up. God did not scold him. He did not rush him. He fed him, let him rest, and gently reminded him that his journey was not over.

In the same way, God gives us strength through moments in the wilderness. He feeds us through His Word, through people who love us, and through moments of quiet grace we may not even recognize at the time. We may resist at first, just like the calf resisted the bottle, but God patiently strengthens us until we are able to stand again. Little Pete’s story is a reminder that weakness is not the end of the story, but is often a reflection of God’s hand in our journey. When we feel fragile, abandoned, or unable to go on, God is near, sustaining us for the journey ahead. Just like Elijah, and just like that little calf, we are not finished with His plans for us.

Prayer

Dear Heavenly Father,

Thank you for meeting me in my own wilderness. Please continue to have your hand in my life, feed me with your word, and strengthen me when I am weak. Amen.

Psalm 46

1 God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. 2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea, 3 though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult. Selah 4 There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High. 5 God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved; God will help it when the morning dawns. 6 The nations are in an uproar; the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice; the earth melts. 7 The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah 8 Come, behold the works of the Lord; see what desolations he has brought on the earth. 9 He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire. 10 “Be still, and know that I am God! I am exalted among the nations; I am exalted in the earth.” 11 The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah

Reflection:

“Choose a line or short passage that serves as an example of figurative language and illustrate its meaning. You may draw images or create them using computer graphics. Be creative!” These were the instructions for our son’s recent English assignment. While a task like this terrifies my non-creative self when it relates to Shakespeare, finding figurative or descriptive language in Psalm 46 is less challenging. We can imagine what it would look like if “the mountains fall into the heart of the sea” or if God “breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the chariots with his fire.” If we want to imagine a different setting, verse 4 paints a lovely picture of “a river whose streams make glad the city of God.”

Somehow, I always manage to find beauty in the chaos of nature. A lone flower stands strong after a tornado; the colors in a thunderstorm sky are magnificent; the flames of a forest fire are powerfully illuminating. But when I consider the daily chaos of modern life, I often struggle to find anything remotely beautiful. A photo montage of daily chaos would show scenes of difficult, late night conversations at the kitchen table, parents torn between their children’s activities and the demands of work, and vehicle repairs that get more urgent each day. I could probably draw a fire, a storm, or even the heartsick love depicted in Shakespeare. But how do you draw hurt, confusion, and exhaustion? And how in the world could beauty be found here?

This year’s Lent devotionals invited us to write about how God meets us in stories that are unresolved or still unfolding. These instructions gave me the freedom to admit that I haven’t always managed to find beauty in our modern, chaotic life. Sometimes days are just hard, and they don’t seem like anything that an artist should draw. But…. God is there. The very beginning of Psalm 46 tells us that “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” He is ever-present. We don’t need to say the magic word, or click our heels, or go on a treasure hunt. He is there. In the mess, in the confusion, and in the dark, He is there. He says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” I remember learning at Reba Ragsdale’s funeral that she liked this verse about being still. This surprised many of us, because Mrs. Reba was rarely still! But I have no doubt that she was absolutely certain of who God was. And I am confident that she knew He was ever-present in all stages of her life. I admired Mrs. Reba since the day I met her, and I was privileged to witness the beauty and hope that she brought to many people and places. Her memory, and repeated reading of Psalm 46, help me feel God’s ever-presence. I may not find beauty in the chaos every day, but I am absolutely sure God is there.

Prayer:

Dear God, please be near us. When we feel like the mountain we are standing on is falling into the heart of the sea, please help us feel your presence. We seek your peace and your protection. Thank you for being our fortress, our refuge, and our strength. Amen.

Acts 27:13-26

13 When a moderate south wind began to blow, they thought they could achieve their purpose; so they weighed anchor and began to sail past Crete, close to the shore. 14 But soon a violent wind, called the northeaster, rushed down from Crete. 15 Since the ship was caught and could not be turned head-on into the wind, we gave way to it and were driven. 16 By running under the lee of a small island called Cauda we were scarcely able to get the ship’s boat under control. 17 After hoisting it up they took measures to undergird the ship; then, fearing that they would run on the Syrtis, they lowered the sea anchor and so were driven. 18 We were being pounded by the storm so violently that on the next day they began to throw the cargo overboard, 19 and on the third day with their own hands they threw the ship’s tackle overboard. 20 When neither sun nor stars appeared for many days and no small tempest raged, all hope of our being saved was at last abandoned.

21 Since they had been without food for a long time, Paul then stood up among them and said, “Men, you should have listened to me and not have set sail from Crete and thereby avoided this damage and loss. 22 I urge you now to keep up your courage, for there will be no loss of life among you, but only of the ship. 23 For last night there stood by me an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I worship, 24 and he said, ‘Do not be afraid, Paul; you must stand before the emperor, and, indeed, God has granted safety to all those who are sailing with you.’ 25 So keep up your courage, men, for I have faith in God that it will be exactly as I have been told. 26 But we will have to run aground on some island.”

Reflection:

Have you ever been in a storm of your own making? Yep, me too! These words from Paul sound like my mom. In Acts 27:13-26 we read the storm is bad, the ship is falling apart, the men are scared, they don’t see stars or the sun for days, they throw their provisions over board, they are losing hope and Paul says, “Men, you should have taken my advice not to sail from Crete; then you would have spared yourselves this damage and loss. But now I urge you to keep up your courage, because not one of you will be lost; only the ship will be destroyed.”

I was in a particular storm of my own making and said to my mom, “If I could go back with 10% of the knowledge I have now, I’d do things differently.” Mom replied, “You mean all of the things I was telling you?” See? just like Paul! Sarcasm runs deep in my family, but so does the reminder of where our hope comes from. Our hope comes from the Lord!

In storms my mind often gets noisy and I don’t know what’s reliable or true. I don’t know what action to take or when to be still. I can’t seem to think straight or quite the spinning stories in my head. A spiritual practice I turn to when I haven’t seen the stars or the sun and the ship really is about to sink is to write down helpful scriptures on note cards. I carry these cards with me, use them as book marks, I leave them around the house in places I often sit (the breakfast table, etc..) and read over them, often. I take them on walks and in the car. Some are so coffee stained you can’t see all the words. A recent card I made is from Exodus 14:14: “The Lord will fight for you, you only need to be still.”

Prayer:

Lord, I ask that during difficult times you would give me wisdom, that you would guide me and fill me with fruits of the Spirit. Help me to remember Jesus, to remember his life, his example, help me to remember his sacrifice on the cross and help me to remember the hope that came with his resurrection. Forgive me when I get distracted, get discouraged, and lose hope. When the storm comes, help me to fix my thoughts on your word and in doing so help me to renew my trust in you. Amen.

Genesis 1:1-5

1 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. 2 Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. 3 And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. 4 God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. 5 God called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.

Reflection:

When most of us think of chaos, we associate it with complete disorder and confusion. Amid chaos, we often feel uneasy, anxious, fearful, rushed, and uncertain. Yet when we remember that God formed the heavens and earth from what was previously formless and empty, we should be reassured that no matter how dark, messy, and chaotic our situations seem, God has a plan to use those troubling times for good.

Out of darkness he created light first. Why? What does light do? For one thing, it symbolizes God’s presence, holiness, truth and life. From the beginning, God wanted us to feel His presence, revere Him, and seek truth and life during times of chaos. As humans, unfortunately, when chaos reigns, we tend to give into the negative emotions and start overthinking all of the dire possibilities. What if we flipped the script and rather than overthinking all of the negatives, we started overthinking all of the positive possibilities? If we lean on God and turn to Him for answers during chaos rather than filling our thoughts with social media, rumors, and negativity, might we learn how to use chaos as a catalyst for change or some form of “dynamic response”?

When I think back over some of the more chaotic times in semi-recent history, I remember the chaos brought on by 9/11. Fear, uncertainty and confusion filled everyone. At the same time, stories of heroism, patriotism, and appreciation began to emerge. In my family, we were worried about my brother-in-law who was flying back from Germany that day. His plane (along with 37 other commercial planes) was diverted to the little town of Gander, Newfoundland. After hours onboard, the passengers were released, and the town hosted these “plane people” and offered them food, shelter, and excursions until flights resumed. The schools shut down, and the students pitched in to help where needed. To thank the community, passengers and airlines set up scholarship funds for the children of Gander. Through this chaos, strangers helped each other and became friends, compassion was shown, and kindness was rewarded.

More recently, we experienced the strange and chaotic Covid-19 pandemic. While temporary shutdowns became more permanent and we learned to interact with masks on and six feet between us, we also found life slowed down. In the midst of chaos, families began to eat meals together again, parents became “homeroom” teachers to their children, neighbors connected during outdoor gatherings, time spent in nature became the safest vacation option, and while the threat of a deadly virus remained, we found hope and community in new ways. We learned to attend church virtually, to meet via Zoom, and to appreciate hugs and face to face interaction once they returned.

Positives result from chaos, too, and when we trust in our Creator, peace replaces fear and anxiety, and we can relax in His presence. This quote by John Mroz perfectly states that idea: “Peace is not the absence of chaos or conflict but rather finding yourself in the midst of that chaos and remaining calm in your heart.” What can you do today to remain calm in your heart and bring peace to others in the midst of chaos? What chaotic creation are you discussing with God today?

Prayer:

Dear God, during times of chaos, please be my vision. Help me use times of uncertainty to lean on You and seek to understand how best to respond. When I am confused, guide my actions and guard my tongue. Fill me with Your peace in the midst of it all. Amen.

Mark 4:35-41

On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion, and they woke him up and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” And waking up, he rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Be silent! Be still! Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” And they were filled with great fear and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and sea obey him?”

Reflection:

In November 2018, my wife Karan and I were invited to go on a trip to Israel with our former church group from Pflugerville. It was an amazing experience, beyond what I could have ever imagined. One of the highlights for me was a trip on the Sea of Galilee in a boat that was built much like what was used in Jesus’ time.

The “sea” is actually a freshwater lake with high hills on each side. It was a calm, sunny day and we stopped at one point and our pastor read the story about the storm from Mark’s gospel. I thought about the calm water that day, trying to image a storm coming up. We were assured that the hills on each side of the lake funneled storms basically down the middle of the lake and they could come up at any time and can be very frightening, even to this day. I was happy that it was a calm day for us!

At many locations we visited, we were told that this is “mostly likely the place” or “this is the place scholars believe is probably where this or that gospel story occurred.” But on the Sea of Galilee, it was the exact place where Jesus and his disciples experienced the chaos of a sudden fierce storm. The scripture says the disciples were afraid for their lives, but Jesus was calmly asleep in the boat. It was in the real chaos of the storm, the real fear of the disciples, that Jesus was silently asleep. When they wake Jesus and say, “don’t you care if we drown,” it is very much like times in our chaotic lives when health fails, finances strain, prayers seem unanswered, or current news reports and social media posts feel overwhelming. In those times we may be asking “Jesus don’t you care about all this stuff I am going through?”

It is interesting that when Jesus wakes up, he does not fight the storm, but he rebukes it and the storm subsides. Rather than saying “Thank you Lord”, the disciples say “Who is this that can do these things?” This story is about revelation—the revelation that Jesus may seem silent at times, but that he is the one who can silence the chaos, even an actual storm.

Let us use this Lenten season to learn to turn to Christ in the midst of the chaos that is inevitable in our daily lives. The disciples experienced the physical presence of Jesus with them. As we move through Lent toward the day of resurrection, we have faith in that same presence of Jesus that is with us today.

Prayer :

Gracious God, Teach us in this Lenten season to trust your presence more than our own perception. Help us to remember that in the chaos of our lives, you are in the boat with us, always calmer than we are. Speak peace into our lives as we seek to follow and serve you. AMEN.

Habakkuk 1:2-5

“2 O LORD, how long shall I cry for help, and you not hear? Or cry to you ‘Violence!’ and you will not save? 3 Why do you make me see iniquity, and why do you idly look at wrong? Destruction and violence are before me; strife and commotion arise. 4 So the law is paralyzed, and justice never goes forth. For the wicked surround the righteous; so justice goes forth perverted.

5 ‘Look among the nations and see; wonder and be astounded. For I am doing a work in your days that you would not believe if told.’”

Reflection:

“Hindsight is 20/20.” How many times have you wished that foresight could be just as clear as hindsight? Our comfort movies, shows, and books all tell us stories that we know so we can take comfort in something happening the way it’s supposed to. We like to know the ending before we begin, but we can’t often have that.

Every semester, I find myself scrambling the first few weeks of class and questioning how I could ever adapt to all the new things in my life. So many things demand my attention that I feel caught in a web of responsibilities, waiting for the world to realize that I have no idea what I’m doing. Classwork piles up, research falls behind, the weather goes haywire, the calendar gets filled, relationships are strained, my prayers get desperate, and somehow it’s all supposed to work out. Through the chaos of a million thoughts shouting for attention, the only truth I know for sure is that God has never failed, not in the history of the world, or my life. Still, l just want to know the plan for the present sometimes.

I can so easily look back at my life and see Christ’s hand holding it all together, bringing me closer to His side through every trial and molding me when I felt lost. But in the moment, I could never imagine what God was doing, and I probably wouldn’t believe Him if He told me. I could sometimes see what God was doing after the fact, how He was forming me through the chaos, but in the moment I’d just be asking, “Why?” Though just as the LORD told Habakkuk to watch and see His mighty provision in the chaos of the nations, He tells us to trust Him in the chaos of our lives. We don’t have to know what’s going to happen; we just have to trust the One who is working through all of it.

Because ultimately faith is not about knowing; it’s about trusting. When Moses stood on the shore of the Red Sea, he didn’t know what God was going to do. When Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego stood before the fiery furnace, they didn’t know if God would save them or not. When Daniel was thrown into the lions’ den of King Darius, he didn’t know what would happen. These faithful men didn’t need to know what the plan was; they just trusted that the LORD would provide. They walked by faith in the One who holds the future; they didn’t need to see it to believe.

So as we continue through the season of Lent in the chaos of our world, remember what it means to walk by faith. We don’t need to know the future or make order out of the chaos around us; we just have to trust the God who’s holding it all together. Look out at the world and be amazed, for God is moving in ways you’d never expect or believe, forming you for His kingdom.

Prayer:

Almighty Father, thank you for the unending faithfulness of your love that you have poured out into this world in ways we could never fathom. Thank you for stepping into our chaotic world and forming new hearts within us to love you more each day. Strengthen our faith, O Lord, that we may see your provision in the past to lift up our present and future to you in faithful submission. Give us the strength to walk by faith and magnify your Name, O Lord. In Jesus’s name we pray, Amen.

Psalm 13 (ESV)

How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me? Consider and answer me, O LORD my God; light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death, lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him,” lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken. But I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. I will sing to the LORD, because he has dealt bountifully with me.

Reflection:

I am learning that God is not only the God of sufferers, but the God who suffers. The pain and fallenness of humanity have entered God’s own heart. Through the prism of my tears, I see a suffering God. We know the suffering Messiah; in lament we encounter the suffering Triune God. Created in God’s image, we come to understand God more deeply when we realize that, in God’s existence, suffering is not foreign. This is a turning point in lament: we learn that to ache over injustice, indignity, or humanity’s agony is not a failure of faith, but participation in God’s own sorrow. Lent invites us to remain when every ounce of our being wants to move on. Psalm 13 teaches us how to stay. It does not rush suffering toward resolution; it lingers long enough for faith to speak honestly. Read it slowly out loud.

The psalm opens with a raw, familiar cry: “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” These words belong alongside betrayal, pain, fear, and the cross. Lament begins inwardly, when defenses fall and God feels absent. This is not weak faith; it is faith telling the truth. To ask, “How long?” already assumes God is listening. There may even be anger in it. I found myself asking it recently—unexpectedly—in an oral surgeon’s office after some failed attempts to insert an IV.

Crying out in pain is a turning point: God does not correct or silence this cry. Jesus himself prayed it from the cross. God does not observe abandonment from a distance; in Christ, God enters it. Divine love is revealed not through explanation, but through presence. God does not hurry suffering. God suffers with us.

Psalm 13 then turns quietly toward petition: “Look on me and answer… light up my eyes.” This is not a demand for escape from pain, but a plea for presence. Lament is filled with such prayers—honest, unpolished, spoken from fear. We stop talking about God and begin speaking to God. Relationships reopen, even while pain remains.

Then comes the risk: “But I have trusted in your steadfast love.” Nothing has changed yet. This trust echoes Jesus committing his spirit into the Father’s hands. It is not triumph, but surrender. Praise here is not Easter joy; it is memory holding the pressure of belief through faith together while wounds are still open.

The Lenten season invites us to stay with Christ at the cross, with those who suffer, and with our own unresolved grief, whether rooted in childhood loss or anticipatory grief for a loved one facing cancer. Hope here is not optimism. It is presence when nothing is fixed.

Lament is where God chooses to be known in pain. Psalm 13 moves from questioning, to pleading, then turns to praise—not because circumstances change, but because relationship deepens. That turning point may come through corporate assembly, song writing, poetry, active imagination, nighttime dreams, or the quiet prompting of the Holy Spirit. When seeking God in your suffering, remember the Triune God who stays, and seek the Spirit’s sustaining grace. Prayer from Psalm 102:

Hear my prayer, O Lord; let my cry come to you! Do not hide your face from me in the day of my distress! Incline your ear to me; answer me speedily in the day when I call!

Matthew 14:12-14; 18:20

12 John’s disciples came and took his body and buried it. Then they went and told Jesus. 13 When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place. Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns. 14 When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick.

For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them.

Ruth 2: 14-18

14 At this they wept again. 15 “Look”, said Naomi, “your sister-in-law is going back to her people, to and her gods. Go back with her”. 16 But Ruth replied, “Don’t urge me to leave you or turn back from you. Where you go, I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will by my people and your God my God. 17 Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death separates you and me.” 18 When Naomi realized that Ruth was determined to go with her, she stopped urging her.

Reflection:

Lament …. passionate experience of loss often holding expression of grief, sorrow, or wailing; a mournful out-pouring; remembrance of previous loss or losses; sometimes expressed musically through a dirge or a requiem (from Latin – rest).

However, personal lament is quite personal and does not include an immediate time of internal rest.

Lament suggests a time of inexpressible grief from loss. A “lonely” experience. Scripture documents that Jesus frequently withdrew to ‘a lonely place’. When Jesus heard that his cousin John had been beheaded, “He withdrew from there and went to a lonely place. Yet when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. And He had compassion on them and healed their sick.” This act of compassion speaks loudly of Jesus’ holiness. How well do we extend comfort to others when we are seeking comfort for ourselves?

Grief and lament can often lead us to places of compassion. So, do Jesus’ actions tell us our grief is softened as we walk through grief with another? Are we healed through healing?

Ruth’s widowhood shared with Naomi’s losses of husband and sons deeply bonded the two, leading Ruth to choose going with her mother-in-law into the future rather than returning to her past. Ruth and Naomi shared a deep connection that they had with no other.

Life’s experiences tightly bind us.

During my own lament, my spirit searches for an understanding companionship with kindred spirit, not out of hunger for sympathy, but rather needing something more personal, more intimate, even more binding than expressed empathy. Perhaps empathy-plus comes close to describing another person identifying with your new emptiness.

The depth of relationship stems from two (or more) souls gathered together holding common bonds and beliefs. And Jesus promises, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” What powerful assurance of presence and understanding, because He lived human grief and walks beside and inside us with our own. A threefold cord is not quickly broken (Ecclesiastes 4:12).

I walked a mile with Pleasure; She chatted all the way; But left me none the wiser For all she had to say. I walked a mile with Sorrow; And ne’er a word spoke she; But oh! The things I learned from her, When Sorrow walked with me -Robert Browning Hamilton

Lament suggests association with a conclusion, an ending of a relationship, a chapter of lived experiences that remains in the past. Curiously, a New Beginning opens that holds opportunities in her hands for engaging others with a depth only accessible through empathy-plus-kind-of-understanding.

Prayer

Keeper of our souls, You break when we break and cry the tears we cry. When the unspeakable consumes us, You groan with knowing compassion. You live our celebrations and our heartbreak. Thank You for providing understanding comfort. Amen.

2 Corinthians 1:3-7

3 Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. 5 For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. 6 If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. 7 And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort.

Reflection:

Last summer I read The Nine Essential Things I’ve Learned About Life by Rabbi Harold Kushner. Many of the concepts in the book resonated with me, but one in particular stood out: the idea that God does not send suffering our way, but instead provides the strength we need to face the challenges and tragedies we encounter. That perspective has stayed with me, and I find it especially meaningful when reading Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 1:3–7.

In this passage, Paul describes God as “the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort,” who comforts us in all our troubles. I would make the stretch here that the word comfort can also be understood as spiritual strength. Paul is not speaking of a shallow reassurance or temporary relief, but of a deep, sustaining encouragement that comes from God Himself. With that understanding, the passage takes on even greater depth: God strengthens us spiritually in the midst of our afflictions so that we, in turn, may be able to strengthen and encourage others who walk through similar hardships.

Obviously, it would be great if there was no suffering, no pain, no trials. But, that’s just not our reality. How blessed are we though, that our comfort abounds in Christ? That God gives us the spiritual strength to not only face our challenges, but to then share that strength and comfort with those around us who are experiencing similar things? By offering us spiritual resilience and hope, we not only endure, but we grow. And in that process, our challenges can actually become sources of compassion to others.

The more I read these verses in preparation for writing this, the more I began to see suffering differently. Instead of asking only how I can escape hardship, I am invited to ask how God might use it. Rather than questioning why I am facing the struggles I am, I can view it as an opportunity that is preparing me to walk alongside others. This perspective is definitely easier to appreciate or hold onto during times of peace, but I can turn to Paul’s letters during my struggles to remind myself that the comfort I receive from Christ is not meant to stop with me. It is meant to overflow, creating a community marked by empathy, strength, and shared hope.

Prayer:

God, thank you for the strength you give us to endure our challenges and suffering. Thank you for being our refuge and comfort in times of trouble. As we turn to you and grow through our hardships, shape our hearts to reflect your compassion. Help us to encourage, uplift, and comfort others as they walk through their own battles. May we be vessels of the same grace you so freely give to us. Amen.

John 11:17-36

17 When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. 18 Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, 19 and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. 20 When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. 21 Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. 22 But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” 23 Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” 24 Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” 25 Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, 26 and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” 27 She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”

28 When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” 29 And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. 30 Now Jesus had not yet come to the village but was still at the place where Martha had met him. 31 The Jews who were with her in the house consoling her saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. 32 When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” 33 When Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. 34 He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” 35 Jesus began to weep. 36 So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”

Reflection:

We look around at all those around us, and it’s quite easy to remember that while we are all created in God’s image, we are all uniquely made. We look different, offer different gifts, have different experiences, etc. But, we often believe that ministry is one size fits all, that the way God speaks to you is the same way He speaks to me. I remember hearing testimonies on retreats and mission trips about incredible encounters with God, but leaving wondering, “If I haven’t experienced that, have I truly experienced God to the same extent?”

The stories of Mary and Martha remind us that God is a unique God and meets us where we are, according to who we are. In Luke 10:38-42, we’re first introduced to the two sisters: Martha, the distracted doer, and Mary, the present listener. Fast forward a chapter and the sisters meet Jesus again, this time after their brother, Lazarus, has died. For Martha, the take-charge sister, Jesus engages with her on a theological, matter-of-fact level. But for Mary, weeping and overcome with sadness, Jesus offers sympathy and compassion. Both have undergone the same trial, but Christ ministers to them differently.

Looking back on struggles in my life, I don’t recall God speaking to me with doctrine like with Martha or by weeping next to me like with Mary, but instead through my community. God knows me and knows I learn from the counsel of those who He’s surrounded me with, and that’s where I see Him working time and time again.

Christ knows us and He knows our hearts. He ministers and teaches each of us, recognizing we are each His unique creation. And if we are called to be like Christ, we should strive to do the same for all those around us.

Prayer:

Lord, Thank you for your love that isn’t one-size-fits-all. In times of trial, help us listen to the ways you’re speaking and teaching us individually. As we look to others, we pray for your discernment and wisdom to love each individual the way you would.

Romans 8:18-27

18 I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. 19 For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God, 20 for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope 21 that the creation itself will be set free from its enslavement to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. 22 We know that the whole creation has been groaning together as it suffers together the pains of labor, 23 and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. 24 For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope, for who hopes for what one already sees? 25 But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. 26 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness, for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with groanings too deep for words. 27 And God, who searches hearts, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

Reflection:

Pregnancy was my first big reality check in life that I was not in control … and I like control. It’s so satisfying to choose a goal and then to flesh it out and execute it with a well-organized team, well-communicated timeline, and triple-checked resources. But for me, pregnancy and childbirth didn’t happen that way. I can remember the aches and pains, how much effort it took just to move, and how frequently I had to visit the “facilities” in the ninth month. I remember exhaustion and intermittent pains that came and went, each set seizing my attention as I wondered, “Is it time?” I did my part to prepare. My bags were packed, and I tried every trick I could find to start labor. I whispered encouragingly to the little one inside me, “You can come any time!” But it became frustratingly apparent that I was not the one calling the shots.

Exhausted from a day of contractions but still not sure they were “real,” Kyle and I finally decided to grab our bags and drive to the hospital and find out. It was clear that this baby was in control of my body, and that he or she had worn down all of my planning and force of will. At St. Joseph’s, the hospital staff assured us it was really time, and I felt so relieved to be with professionals who could surely speed this process along. But the hours of labor continued, I had no words left to plead with God, and Kyle was running low on encouraging labor-coach talk. Yet in time, as the sun rose, a tiny baby girl entered the world without incident. I lay back, spent and still, finally at peace, and Kyle and I marveled at what God had done.

Our world feels like it’s in the grip of labor. As Christians, we remind ourselves that God is good and God is in control. We feel a wave of pain at a natural disaster, then a lull of complacency, followed by the next wave of pain at a current event. In earnest prayer, we cry out to God for mercy, for change, for relief. We find ways to volunteer, give, and help. But the news cycle plods relentlessly on, one stabbing pain followed by the next, and weariness displaces the energy in our efforts. The news cycle seems to gain in frequency and intensity like labor, and all that we have left are groans … and we don’t even really know what they mean.

But the Holy Spirit, graciously given by Jesus, takes these groans in their raw eloquence and lays them at the feet of our Father, who treasures each one. And somehow, in the fullness of time, with a shocking lack of control on our part, our Father is weaving them all together in harmony with His own will, to bring about something more indescribably wonderful than we can imagine. This is our hope.

Prayer:

Our Father, take these groans of lament and use them for Your ultimate glory. Amen.