Good morning, dear reader!

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for taking the time out of your morning to join me here.

I was flipping through an older journal of mine. Just thumbing through memories. Events, happy days, and . . . hard ones.

As I read, I was touched to see just how much God cares about me, even in those hard and dark moments.

I wanted to share a small vignette written in the middle of a struggle with faith. I wrote this entry almost two winters ago, and it kind of reveals the trust issues that I was having in my Christian faith.

I think at some point, we will all encounter dark questions like,

• Is God really in control?
• Can His promises be trusted?
• Does He see me?
• Does He even care about me?

I know that in my case, I was embarrassed about these questions because, in my mind, they sounded so. . . whiny (they were, but God was so patient towards me, just like in Job’s case.) My doubts weren’t coming out of a heart of entitlement but out of a heart of pain and fear—a spirit of unbelief.

Unbelief is a human frailty that leads to all kinds of sin: quitting on God, tempting God, grumbling, complaining, bitterness. . .

But sometimes, we are sincerely at our wit's ends. In these times, we cry out our ugly doubts–and He tenderly shows up! He shows up and demonstrates that He is faithful, good, and full of lovingkindness.

Side Note: Have you ever taken the time to savor and absorb all the different facets of the attribute of Lovingkindness?! That’s our God! A God of lovingkindness!

While this passage may seem dark, I assure you that God was faithful and tender to me through it all. He bore all my heart cries, working it all for my good.

I hope this journal entry encourages you to trust the Lord beyond the trial.

I want you to remember that we have a God Who doesn’t ask us to stuff our emotions, but He is a sensitive God Who invites us to cast “. . . all your care upon him; for he careth for you.” (1 Peter 5:7)

“March 11, 2023

In every soul, there are diverse terrains. Isobel Kuhn opened her book By Searching by describing a location called the Misty Flats. Hannah Hurnard’s adorable character Much-Afraid [the books By Searching and Hind’s Feet on High Places were very influential at the time] ventures through many of these “soul landscapes.” [Like the Forest of Trial and Tribulation]

And if I had to describe my “soul surroundings”. . . I would call my environment a Cypress Swamp.

It’s eerie, disorienting, and still.

The Swamp is full of quicksand pits. I’ve fallen into countless of these–may be my next step will land me in another. . .

It’s hauntingly lonely. Through the thick and heavy mist, I can hear warbled memories of past glory days, but now I only hear them as taunts replayed of what it “used to be like.”

The quicksand pits are actually pits of mistrust. Every time I fall in, I emerge disheveled, covered in reeking, cynical distrust of God and His goodness

Last night, I had a moment of clarity.

This swamp is also the most fertile ground on which to build trust.

Trust is not my strong point, but over the past year and a half, it’s become a key interest of mine.

Trust does not result from time in the fragrant garden or the free-spirited fields. If I claim that I trust the Lord in the pleasant spaces, I’m only saying that I’m resting in God’s abundance.

But when my course shifts and I wake up without the garden’s abundance; that’s when I can begin acquiring faith. When God’s intimate presence is no longer “felt,” and I find myself in the middle of the Cypress Swamp–now is the time that trust carries its heavy meaning.

Trust defies certain lines of logic, feelings, and circumstances.

What happens when I don’t feel like my prayer will be heard, when I don’t feel like God cares, and when my life unravels?

Despite every fact, feeling, and circumstance–I am called to trust. Maybe it means that I need to ignore some of my thoughts or feelings, especially the ones that are whispering to me that God can’t be trusted.

When all these senses alert me that God is no longer good or that He is no longer in control, I must turn my face away and towards trust.”

Victory wasn’t entirely won that night or the next. But this realization stirred me to trust deeper and steady myself through God’s goodness. Victory was eventually won after repeated moments like this.

This passage was most likely written on a day when I cried out to God, saying, “No more, enough! I can’t trust You anymore.” And like the tender Father that He is, He picked me up and strengthened me to take another step by faith.

My days in the “Swamp,” as I called it, were moments that God became up close and personal! He wasn’t a God that was a-far off, watching me grope around in the dark.

No!

He was a God who took the time to hold my hand through the fog, led me to a dry spot to “cry it out,” and gave me new mercies every morning and strength for the journey.

I called this season a Cypress Swamp because I felt like I was just trying to survive spiritually. I didn’t feel “safe” or “at ease” or “comfortable.” I felt lost and abandoned! I felt I needed Jesus to teach me how to walk like you would teach a crawling infant. I felt like I needed Jesus to say everything twice because I was positive my ears were playing tricks on me.

But in the swamp, I learned that Jesus catches me when I fall and is attentive to my tears and pain.

I knew He cared–not because He cared about Daniel in the Lion’s Den or Joseph in prison. . .

No, I knew Jesus cared because He cared about Mariah in the Cypress Swamp.

With Love,