January 15th. With one final sweeping curve I departed Launceston’s outskirts and accelerated down the long, black stretch of the Midlands Highway. The engine hummed and morning rays stretched their glowing fingers over lush paddocks. A flock of cockatoos, snowy white and pale sulfur, winged gracefully over a clear blue canvas, their raucous squawking bringing a smile to my face. Funny birds! Thank you, LORD.What a gift! He knew how much I revelled in watching birds soar—so triumphant, so free!
My eyes dropped to the silver tailgate of Mark’s car just ahead of mine, memories rolling through my mind like an old home movie. Another day two years before. Three Browns; two cars. Mark in his car, Esther and I together, our cat in a cage on the back seat. Long hours, many hours passing bustling suburbs and iconic country towns on the road of adventure into a new season. There was grief in that journey—two of our children had stayed behind—and our hearts bled as the distance between us grew. Still, we took comfort in the three we were as we prayerfully ventured forth. My daughter and I sang, swapped stories and talked through our emotions, wondering what God had ahead.
Photo by Dylan Crandell Photography
Now there were two Browns. And I was driving alone.
God, I can’t believe I’m doing this! Again! A sob swelled in my chest, rising like a mounting wave, clogging my throat and pricking my eyes with tears. This time, when God’s call came to move, our youngest—fresh out of school—chose to stay behind. And I wasn’t ready!
Jesus died.
The words came as clearly as if spoken aloud, reverberating through my aching heart and pausing my lament.
Jesus.Died.
‘Oh, God!’ I whispered, inhaling sharply as I pictured Jesus hanging on the cross. ‘You get it! Your Son died!’ I swallowed, tasting for the first time the pain God endured when He sacrificed His son so I could know Him. Unlike Jesus, my daughter wasn’t dead. She was well, settled in a lovely, peaceful home with good company, and enjoying her first taste of independence. We would only live three hours apart. Still, my mama heart ached.
The cross image faded and another formed: Mark and I standing on a platform in dark suit and white silk gown, eyes closed, heads high and faces aglow, singing, ‘When I Survey the Wondrous Cross’. I drew in a long breath and exhaled through pursed lips as I watched the scene unfold, stunned by the purity—and naivety—of my devotion in that moment. Did I understand then how costly obedience could be? It felt like a lifetime since that day. Could I sing that song now with the same conviction?
Another deep breath, a lowering of my shoulders and I began. Eloquent words of wonder, reverence and surrender penned three hundred years ago carried from my lips, each inscribed on my soul as I voiced them. Jesus—the Prince of glory—died! He bore the weight of all myfailures and the punishment I deserved, surrendering His body, soul and spirit to suffering beyond my comprehension. Jesus knew how painful obedience could be. He knew! And He was with me in my grief.
I reached the crescendo, my heart weighing each word as they poured from my lips.
‘Were the whole realm of nature mine, that were an offering far too small. Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.’
There it was—perspective. Even if I owned the whole world, it would not be enough to repay God for His gift to me.
Photo by Duncan Sanchez
CT Studd’s words rang in my ears,
‘If Jesus Christ be God and died for me,
then no sacrifice can be too great for me to make for Him.’
What option did I have? Jesus had given His all for me. How could I not surrender my life in return?
I sang the last line again—and again—nodding slowly as I stared down the highway into an unclear future. ‘Yes, LORD. You are worthy.’
His response was immediate. And just as I have led you this far, I will hold you all the way. Your family too. All is well, darling. And all will be well. Trust Me. I’ve got you. All of you. And I am working all this for good.
‘If anyone would come after me, they must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.’
Matthew 16:24-25
‘In all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.’
I woke early and spent a little while praying and journalling before ambling to the kitchen to spend a few moments with my daughter before she left for school. She packed a salad for her lunch; I tidied the kitchen and emptied the dishwasher. And we talked—about her day, about my day, about anything and everything that came to mind. I treasured these times of easy conversation with my adult children, even more so now we only had one left at home. When I returned to the bedroom, my heart was full.
So was my mind.
After our random ramblings, it was difficult to bring my thoughts back to that place where God was my sole focus. Yet, as I remained quiet His loving words began to flow, offering gentle counsel and welcome comfort—words too rich to keep to myself.
This is His heart for us all, dear reader. So please take a few minutes to read and let them soak into your soul.
‘Be still, My precious one. Be still. Still in body. Still in heart. Still in mind. Let your breathing slow. Let your thoughts slow.
Know that I am God—reigning over all things and all people. Able to work good, even in the most unlikely situations, through the most unlikely people. Find your strength, your peace in the assurance of My constant presence. And let your heart be at rest.
I am the I AM.
The one who has always been and always will be. Your Creator and Sustainer. The one who keeps air whooshing in and out of your lungs and blood flowing through your body, carrying life-giving supplies to every cell, every system. The one who tells the sun when to rise and the clouds when to water the earth. Who dictates the turning of the seasons—even the seasons in your life.
Trust Me.
I see you. I delight in everything about you, for you are my creation, my treasured possession. Yes, I see your worries and those concerns that make your shoulders sag and your head hang down. I see those areas of weakness and struggle and failure.
Lift your eyes again to my face. I love you . . . even now. I see the whole span of your life and there is much yet to come. Do not get bogged down in the challenges of the now, thinking this is all there is.
Look to me.
Feel my pure love and surrender to it. Let go of fear and control. Be that soft, pliable clay in my hands. And I will continue to transform you, bringing freedom from old ways and leading you in my way of life. Don’t worry about what your life will look like in the days to come. At each step along the path I will be there, providing all you need for that moment.
Fix your eyes on me and everything else will shift into its right perspective. Even your physical body will settle. This is the place of true rest—abiding in me, remaining in close connection, relying on me as your Source and your Guide. Drink My living water and all will be well with you. I alone am the Satisfier of your soul.’
*If you want to read more of God’s ‘Heavenly Whispers’ to me, you can find me on social media at @susanbrownauthor21 on Instagram and Susan Brown Author on Facebook.
If you’d like to use these whispers as a Christian meditation, I’ve posted a live video on my Facebook page. ❤️
‘I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content.’
Psalm 131:2 (NIV)
‘Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith’
Hebrews 12:2a (BSB)
‘Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare.’
I lie across our already-made bed, golden sunshine pouring in the full-length windows, bathing me in its warmth. It’s nine o’clock on Sunday morning. Preparation for our lunch guests is done and we’ll soon be leaving for church. Yet my soul yearns for stillness. I let my eyes slide closed for a few seconds and breathe deep and slow, then flick through my journal to the first clear space and begin to write.
LORD, I rest in You. Thank You for Sabbath, for Your command to rest and Your ability to slow me down. I praise You!
Reaching for my bible, I turn to Psalm 46 and go straight to the verse I know so well. ‘Be still and know that I am God.’ I pause, drinking in the words—be still—and feel my heart, my mind, my whole being winding down. And I marvel that my God commands me to pause and rest in Him. He knows how much I need it.
I shift my gaze back to the beginning of the chapter, eager to understand the context of this command.
‘God is our refuge and strength,
An ever-present help in trouble.’
Ah, trouble. That’s where it begins—when stillness seems the most impossible, yet is the most crucial. I read on, images leaping off the page to strike me with their power. The earth trembles and implodes. Mountains rumble and crash into a wild, foaming sea. I see it in my mind—towering symbols of strength breaking into pieces and plummeting into seething waves. And I hear it—the cataclysmic, deafening roar of disaster.
Then comes verse 4.
‘There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.’
Photo from Pexels
And I am drawn into the eye of the storm—that quiet, anchored place of security in God. Through my faith in Jesus, God now dwells within me by His Spirit. So I will not fall. He will help me at break of day.
I get to verse 6 and I am tossed back into the chaos, this time on a continental scale. Nations in uproar, kingdoms falling. Again, the images are so vivid. Swords clashing, men cursing and raging, blood pouring from countless wounds and smoke rising from burning remains, obscuring the view of bodies crumpled on the ground and muffling their wails of desperation.
It’s loud and awful and beyond comprehension.
Then God lifts His voice. And everything is reduced to silence.
And all, including me, are brought back to this one truth:
‘The LORD Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.’
The LORD Almighty. The LORD All Mighty. Wars may come, rulers may rise, but the LORD determines their end—all over the earth. And He takes every weapon of warfare in hand, rending them powerless.
He says, ‘Be still—everything and everyone. Cease! See and understand that I am God. There is no other. I reign over the nations. I reign over the earth. No matter what chaos may come, I will have the final say.’
‘And I am your fortress,’ He says to me. ‘Take refuge in Me and I will surround you with My strength.’
I glance at the clock then rise from the bed and go, hope burning in my chestand new confidence in my stride.
Sunday morning. I stretched my hand across wrinkled sheets on my husband’s empty side of the bed, opening one eye just enough to make out the time on his bedside clock. 5:50am. Ugh! Not exactly a slow start on my so-called day of rest. At least I wasn’t the first one awake in our house.
I flopped onto my back, air whooshing from my lungs. Another day—a different day. Yet my pulse throbbed in my ears the same way it had every other morning that week. Maybe my heart was trying to keep pace with my rushing stream of thoughts, like a frantic mother chasing her runaway toddler. I switched on the bedside lamp, its pale, yellow light filling my corner of the room, and covered my eyes. LORD, I’m so tired.
For a while I lingered there, wavering, longing to pull the covers over my head and sink back into a dreamless slumber. Yet my soul was parched and panting, desperate for fresh water. I pulled two extra pillows from the floor and sat upright, propping them behind me, then gathered my bible, journal and pens. Closing my eyes, I inhaled slowly, praying, Thank You, LORD. A new day. Eyes open, I turned to a fresh page in my journal and began to write.
‘Sunday 24th July, 2022.
6am.
LORD, I put my hope in You. You are my strength and my song.’ Those words were sincere—an expression of faith. But on that morning, none of them felt real. ‘Father, my heart is downcast,’ I wrote. ‘My body and emotions are weary.’ I paused and sighed, my shoulders drooping. ‘I look to You—my help and my strength—and lay before you all my struggles . . .’
Out through my pen and onto the page the words flowed, psalm-like—an inky, itemised confession of every battle and every negative emotion that weighed so heavily on my heart. Three months earlier, my husband and I had begun a season of intensive training—a fast-paced, schedule-cramming blend of paid work, online study, manuscript writing and course creation, all while preparing our family for a massive interstate move. As lovers of slow time and simplicity, we found the pace exhausting.
‘LORD, I’m not sure I can keep doing this.’
I pressed my lips together in a grim line as I stared at the words—so confronting, but true. My endurance and hope were waning—fast.
Busy seasons in our past had taught us that working non-stop was not sustainable. Yet here we were, doing everything we knew we shouldn’t—spending long hours, late hours glued to our computer screens, hijacking family mealtimes by ‘talking shop’, and prioritising productivity over time with friends. And under the surface simmered all the unanswered questions about our upcoming move, adding further to the weight of our load.
The cracks were starting to show. Special events I’d normally enjoy had become ‘disruptions’ to my task list. I felt an alarming disconnection from our children—and at times even my husband. Some nights I lay in the darkness, my whirring mind, ringing ears and aching head all screaming, ‘Stop!’ And the breathlessness I’d battled during our last major move was rearing its awful head again.
We had reached the halfway mark in our online course, so the pace would slow in three more months. I was looking forward to that. But right now, my view of the finish line was obscured by so many hurdles, those three months looked more like three years.
This was not how we wanted to live. We knew life was better with balance and breathing space. And yet . . . conviction rose in my spirit. ‘And yet I know You’ve called me to it.’ That one detail made all the difference. Yes, my body and soul were groaning, yearning for a return to easier days. But God was in this demanding season—we knew He was—which meant He must have a purpose in it and a way for us to walk through it. Didn’t He always?
Even while we loathed the busyness, our spirits were soaring in gratitude for all our Father was doing. These were exciting times—times of growth and equipping, ready to launch into new things. I nodded as I wrote, ‘God, I belong to You. My life is in Your hands. You are my God and I know You are good. Please fill me with Your Spirit and renew my strength in Your presence.’
I felt my heart begin to settle—as it always did when I surrendered. My gaze shifted to the previous page in my journal, where the day before I’d copied a contemporary translation of Psalm 23:6.
‘So why would I fear the future?
Only goodness and tender love pursue me all the days of my life.
Then afterward, when my life is through, I’ll return to your glorious presence to be forever with you!’
(The Passion Translation, Psalm 26:3)
David’s bold declarations fuelled my flickering flame. Why should I fear the future? God was with me on this journey, eager to do me good. With Him by my side, I always had a reason to be confident. Even now.
Below the verse I’d written some notes from further study, then recorded in red the words I sensed God speak.
‘So, I am pursuing you now with my goodness and kindness. Hunting you down, running after you, ensuring you have all you need for each day. Look, see and give thanks and you will see more and more.
Don’t focus on areas that seem to be depleting. Fix your gaze on My face and expect to be satisfied in and by Me each day. I will always supply what you need as you seek to walk in My purposes.’
‘Look, see and give thanks and you will see more.’ I reread those words, underlining them, then flicked back a couple more pages, hunting for more red writing. A few entries earlier, I found, ‘My gifts are there for you every day. THANKSGIVING opens your eyes to see them.’
‘Ingratitude is an eye disease every bit as much as a heart disease.’ (emphasis mine)
Did I have an eye disease, I wondered—a distorted view that magnified the negatives and was blind to God’s gifts in each day? If I did, something needed to change.
The following week, unprompted, a mentor gave me this counsel: ‘Thanksgiving is vital to keeping your heart in a place of rest and sensitivity to God in this busy season. As you choose to give thanks, He’ll show you how to live by His grace.’
There it was again—thanksgiving. I’d already started scribing a few short lines of gratitude each day. But God was calling me to more, urging me to stop and really see. So, when our church began a 30-day fast, I chose to skip breakfast and spend longer in prayer. This gave me more time to reflect and thank God for His blessings. And as I did, I noticed the weight I’d been carrying begin to lift.
Then came the morning I woke at 3am. For an hour, I lay still and quiet in the silence, wondering if I’d drift back to sleep. Finally, I saw my opportunity, climbed out of bed and shuffled to the lounge with my books.
‘Thursday 11th August, 2022
3:55am.
Lord, I am yours. Thank you for your faithful love and readiness to teach me your ways. Keep working in my heart and mind and body, leading me through in your grace, truth and rest.’ Joy bubbled inside me, despite the early hour. God was doing so many wonderful things. Now I had extra time to record them. I moved my pen to a new line.
‘I’m thankful for . . .’
I began listing all the ways our family had been blessed in recent days, pausing between each point until another memory came to mind: a sunny rental home for an adult child; protection from injury in a car accident for another; some promising job interviews for our uni graduate; the warmth and generosity of our local mechanic when a car broke down; my husband’s loving support and listening ear when I was feeling low, and more.
Once I’d covered that angle, my thanks continued to flow: my lovely, capable osteopath; some new opportunities for book sales; the daily challenges and opportunities of my work role; the wise words and loving prayers of my mentor, and my lifeline—the Bible.
The longer my list grew, the more I recognised God’s faithful care. By the time I finished, an hour had passed and I’d filled a whole page of my journal with reasons for gratitude. And my heart felt lighter—even a little bit hopeful. God was moving—protecting and providing, moulding us and directing our circumstances ready for the changes ahead.
Time didn’t always allow me to write such long lists. It was a few days before I wrote my next, shorter one. Several more slipped by before I wrote another. Over time, I developed a habit of writing a list most days. Sometimes I gave thanks for ‘basics’ like warmth, shelter, a comfortable bed, clean water and a kitchen full of food—luxuries we enjoy while so many people in the world don’t. On other days I wrote in awestruck detail of the way the practicalities of our move—large and small—were coming together. Worry and weariness began to fade, driven out by the light of hope, and I noticed a new spring in my step. God loved us. He was good. Just as He was faithful now, so we could expect Him to continue to lead us through.
A year has passed since that pivotal time and I’m still writing lists—sometimes in my journal and often aloud as I tell others of God’s generosity and kindness. On my birthday in June, my husband described me as a woman who, ‘notices and celebrates every little thing’. He couldn’t have given me a greater compliment! On this path of thankfulness, I’m learning to see the good in every situation. And to understand that David’s words in Psalm 23:6 are more than just lovely poetry. They are a living reality. Every day, God passionately pursues each of us, ready to show us His goodness.
The question is, are we stopping long enough to notice?
‘Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life . . . ‘
Psalm 23:6
‘Those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint.’
I couldn’t help but giggle when the message from my husband appeared on my phone.
‘You are hereby cordially invited to an evening stroll at the beach
Friday 2nd September 7pm.
Fish and chips will be served as part of the festivities.
Dress: warm.
Please RSVP to this address within 24 hours.
LM.’
Cordially invited for fish and chips? Ha! And the signature, ‘LM’? That was a code name from our early days as a couple—a reminder of a time when our relationship was fresh and new. This invitation breathed fun, escape and romance. But would I accept?
For five months Mark and I had been studying, planning and writing in preparation for some new ‘God-ventures’. We spent many evenings and most Saturdays on our computers, often in the same room, yet so engrossed in our individual tasks, we rarely talked. When we did chat, it was usually about our projects or some other family issue we needed to address. We both relished the growth and momentum in this new season and were grateful for what God was doing. But after five months at the same hectic pace, the intensity was taking its toll.
What we really needed was some light-hearted fun. But breaking out of task mode didn’t come easily. When Mark’s invitation came, my happy thoughts quickly gave way to reasoning. I don’t really want fish and chips.I’d rather eat something else. Maybe we can get Thai—but that’s not so easy to eat at the beach. By Friday, I’ll probably be too tired to go out and it’ll be dark and cold at the beach. Maybe we can just do something at home like we usually do. . .
My thoughts spiralled downwards until I felt a stern inner rebuke. Stop!Just stop!
What was I doing? When did I get so fussy? My husband was asking me out on a date! A cute, simple date like we enjoyed in our early days, when we were besotted bible college students living on a tight budget. Back in the days when he was LM—‘Lovely Mark’—who picked fragrant roses from the garden on campus and wrote beautiful notes for me, signed ‘LM’. Lovely indeed! In those days, I wouldn’t have cared where we went or what we did, as long as we were together.
Go, and be thankful, I felt God whisper. Take this opportunity and enjoy!
Of course. I could choose to lay down my preferences and receive what Mark had so thoughtfully planned. The only way to receive the gift being offered with an open hand was to loosen my grip.
Firmly rebuked, I nodded and typed a quick reply:
‘Thank you, sir, for your kind invitation.
It is my honour and pleasure to accept. Xxx’
Friday rolled around, along with an ominous bank of grey clouds. While the sky darkened, we rugged up in thick jumpers and track pants and climbed into the car with our teenage daughter. We dropped her at youth group, bought our dinner at a local take away then drove to a headland overlooking the ocean. The wind was crazy-wild, roaring so powerfully up the slope that our car shook and shuddered under its force. It was too cold for a walk so we sat in the car—warm and cosy—munching on golden fish and chips and watching seagulls zip and slide on the howling gusts. Mark reached out the window with a chip and we watched one of the birds flap frantically just to get in position to snatch that morsel from his fingers. We laughed, we talked and our uptight minds began to unwind. And as they did, we remembered—who we were and where our love began.
The conversation drifted through our early memories—the days we went cruising along winding country roads in Mark’s big, old station wagon just to have time on our own; the evenings we bought lamb souvlakis from a little shop in Launceston then sat by the Tamar river, savouring quiet conversation and watching the moon’s reflection ripple on the water. Those were beautiful times when we dreamed of all the adventures we’d share once we were married. Our hearts were full of hope and anticipation.
And now, here we were, twenty-six years on—parents of four, soon-to-be grandparents—still dreaming and adventuring with God. Our voices grew soft and our words full of wonder as we remembered the ways God had led us through every predicament and breakthrough, every heartache and victory, through all the years between the days of LM and the present.
God’s presence and peace were so real, our car felt like a holy place.
Sometimes in marriage, it’s only by stripping away all the layers that build up around our relationship that we can strengthen our foundations.
We both felt it then—that shift in our hearts. Suddenly our long to-do lists and the busyness that had dimmed our joy seemed like no big deal. God hadn’t changed. Just as He had seen us and our children through all the years past, He would be enough for us in this new unfolding—whatever it held.
Our God was good. We could trust Him.
That night, what began as a simple date grew into something much more powerful. A time of celebration. A time of prayer and fresh surrender. A time that carried us home revived in hope and gratitude for the relationship we shared—a gift from God, made strong by His grace.
She didn’t have the look of a seasoned hitchhiker. Aged in her thirties and wearing baggy shorts, a t-shirt and thongs, she turned toward us momentarily, revealing a face lined with worry as she lifted her thumb.
Mark glanced at me, his eyebrows raised, as we drove past. ‘Should we pick her up?’
‘Yep.’ I nodded, checking my watch. ‘We’ve got time.’ My husband knew I was wary of hitchhikers. But something in this woman stirred my compassion. If we left her behind, I was sure I’d regret it.
Stopping for this stranger wasn’t part of our plan for that evening. It was our 27th wedding anniversary and we’d been following our usual tradition of celebrating all day. We’d walked the Zigzag Track at Cataract Gorge with our teenage daughter, picnicked on a blanket in the shade of a spreading tree, then taken a cooling dip in the river that flowed behind our house. All we wanted to end the day well was a quiet dinner for two at a special restaurant.
That final part of our plan had already faced some challenges. Vague as we were from moving interstate only two weeks earlier, we realised that morning that we’d forgotten to book a table. Being a Friday in the peak of summer, free tables were going to be hard to find. So, as we walked, lunched and even swam, our conversation kept turning to the dinner problem. Again and again, we scrolled through websites and made phone calls, only to keep coming up with the same answer—no room.
The afternoon wore on, the scorching heat began to wane and we still hadn’t found a solution. After our swim, we showered and dressed ready to go out, then sat side by side on the couch—one armed with a phone, the other with a laptop. Dining out was a treat reserved for days like this and we weren’t ready to drop the idea. Not yet. There had to be a place for us somewhere, surely.
LORD, You know where it is. Please show us, we prayed for the umpteenth time.
We broadened our search, researching cafes and vineyards up the river—they had closed at 3pm. We looked at more restaurants in and around Launceston—all were fully booked until late. My thoughts drifted, picturing where I might set up a special table for us at home—we’d done that plenty of times before. But on this day, it just felt wrong.
Finally, at quarter past six, we discovered a restaurant in a new hotel on the edge of town. Mark phoned. They had room for us! We booked a table for 30 minutes later, kissed our daughter goodbye and set off on the 20-minute drive.
Now, here we were, performing two U-turns so we could pull up behind the lady on the highway. As our car slowed, she turned and looked at us, her eyes narrowed. I climbed out of the car and offered my best smile and friendliest voice. ‘Hi! Would you like a ride?’
She hesitated, her gaze moving between us, then nodded and walked the few metres to climb into the back seat. ‘Thank you.’
I lowered myself into my seat and turned to face her, my smile still fixed in place. ‘I’m Sue. This is Mark.’
‘Hi.’ She spoke quietly.
Mark glanced in the rearview mirror. ‘We’re heading through town. Where would you like us to drop you?’
She named the area and Mark pulled onto the highway.
‘Thanks for picking me up.’ Her words sounded strained.
‘That’s okay.’ I kept my voice bright. ‘It’s pretty hot out there.’
‘Yeah, it is.’
‘Had you been walking for long?’ Mark asked.
‘I went to visit a friend.’ She took a breath. ‘I was there for a couple of hours and everything was fine. Then he got angry and started yelling at me. I don’t even know why.’ She was silent for a moment before more words spilled out. She told us her friend had started acting strangely—like someone she didn’t even know. When she tried to calm him down, he wouldn’t listen. Then he became more aggressive. ‘I wanted to help him but, in the end, I just opened the front door and ran. I had to get out of there. It wasn’t safe anymore.’
‘It’s good you left when you did,’ I said. ‘That must have been really scary for you.’
‘It was.’ I heard the tremor in her voice. ‘I was afraid he might follow me, but he hasn’t.’ She lowered her tone. ‘I keep wondering what he’s doing now.’
Mark eyed her in the rearview mirror. ‘Are you worried he might hurt himself?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘So . . .’ I spoke softly, ‘do we need to take you to the police, then?’
She hesitated. ‘Mmm. Yes, I think so.’
While we drove to the police station, she rehashed the story as if she was still coming to terms with it. When we pulled up across the street from the station, I sneaked a quick look at my watch. Our restaurant was only two blocks away. Maybe we could still make it to dinner on time. Maybe. But if we ended up getting there late, that was okay. This woman’s safety was more important.
A couple of minutes passed and the woman remained in her seat, still talking through what happened. I turned to see confusion and pain flickering in her gaze. She paused and looked me in the eye. ‘I don’t understand why he would do that . . . I’m his friend.’
‘I know.’ My heart went out to her. She was so shaken. What could I do to help? She needed peace. The best thing I could do was pray. But would she let me?
At that exact moment, I noticed the necklace she was wearing—a fine, gold chain bearing a beautiful, delicate cross. My heart lifted. Of course I should offer! ‘Would it be okay if I pray for you?’
A look of surprise flashed across her face. ‘What?’
I gave a lopsided smile. ‘Can I pray with you before you go?’
‘Oh. Okay.’
She asked about our church and explained wistfully that she used to be involved with a small, local church group but had lost touch.
‘ Let me pray for you.’ I reached towards her. ‘Can I hold your hand?’
With one swift nod, she grabbed my hand with both of hers and gripped it firmly.
I tightened my grasp in response. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Meryl.’ (name changed for privacy)
I closed my eyes, ready to pray. Instantly, all our struggles about where to eat shifted into perspective, like the fragments of a kaleidoscope coming together to form a beautiful picture. Suddenly I understood. I held my breath, in awe of God’s kindness. It wasn’t a coincidence that we were driving down the highway when Meryl needed help. If the evening had gone according to our plan, we would have passed through earlier or even headed in the opposite direction. But God had set our course according to His timing and His plan. Amazing!
I squeezed Meryl’s hands and looked directly at her, speaking with conviction. ‘God loves you, Meryl, and He watches over you wherever you go. He loves you so much, He even arranged for us to be coming through tonight at just the right time to pick you up. And He’ll keep taking care of you as you look to Him. He’ll never let you go.’
I prayed for her then—with Mark adding his amens from the driver’s seat—that God would fill her with peace, help her feel His presence and give her the courage she needed to tell the police what happened that afternoon. We prayed for her friend too, that God would surround him with His angels, help him get the support he needed and bring his mind back to a more stable, peaceful place. When I finished, we all opened our eyes.
‘Well, I better go now.’ Meryl unfastened her seatbelt and reached for the door handle.
‘Would you like me to come with you?’ By this point, I was happy to join her at the police station if it would help.
She shook her head. ‘No, that’s okay. I can do it.’ She directed her words at both of us before climbing out. ‘Thank you for helping me.’
‘It was our pleasure.’
‘No worries. Bless you, Meryl.’
We watched her head across the road, still cautious but perhaps a little steadier on her feet.
Our prayers continued as we drove the short distance to the restaurant. We arrived only ten minutes late. Our table was waiting, the venue was peaceful and our meal was delicious. But those details paled in comparison to our wonder at the lavish love of God—and the joy it was to play our small part in His work in Meryl’s life.
Most of the time, we view our days according to our plans, our desires, what we think is best. But—much as we might like to think otherwise—the world doesn’t revolve around us. It revolves around God. And sometimes He wants to interrupt our plans for the sake of someone else, so they can be blessed.
I wonder how many opportunities we miss because we’re so focused on satisfying our own cravings or getting through our list of tasks. God wants to lead us by His Holy Spirit, to help us see the opportunities He gives and take our place in His purposes. If we choose to resist His interruptions and reject the opportunities He gives, I have a feeling we’ll miss out on some of life’s most awe-inspiring moments.
‘If you remain in Me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.’ John 15:5b
It was lorikeets that woke me that warm summer morning, their rasping chatter carrying from the tree outside my window. Eyes closed, I rolled onto my back and breathed deep. A new day was dawning. My mind sifted upwards through its sleepy fog, trying to work out where I was, what day it was. Memories began to take shape—our family perched on a grassy bank the previous night surrounded by hundreds of people; bright sparks streaking upwards in the night sky before they erupted into colourful waterfalls. My eyes snapped open. Today wasn’t just any day. It was January 1st—the first day of a new year. And oh, how ready we were for a new beginning! Our hearts had soared with those fireworks, relishing the sense of freedom and normality after six months of stifling restriction. I was glad to leave 2021 behind, eager to start fresh. Sitting up, I propped myself against a bank of pillows, grabbed my pen and journal and began to write.
‘Saturday January 1, 2022
Lord, You’ve brought me through. Thank You!’
I felt my whole body relax as relief flowed through me like a gentle stream, carrying away all the tension and weariness of the previous year. My thoughts poured out through my pen, scribing reflections on God’s strong and tender care. Through all the days, weeks and months when my world looked so terribly foreign—all the upheaval and confusion and uncertainty—He had been my Rock. He was the steady one Who had held me close and led me gently through the rubble of my disrupted—and in some ways dismantled—world. Without Him, I too would have been a crumbling mess. There was only one way to express my thanks.
‘God, I offer myself to You afresh. Please keep showing me Your way and enable me to walk in it. It’s only by Your grace that I can do anything of value.’
Line after line filled with scrawl as I handed over every concern and looked to God for His way through this new year, whatever it would bring. As I slowed, He brought some familiar words from a psalm to mind, which I hunted out then copied into my journal.
‘The righteous will flourish like a palm tree,
Photo by Sebastian Voortman on Pexels
they will grow like a cedar of Lebanon;
planted in the house of the LORD,
they will flourish in the courts of our God.’
They will still bear fruit in old age,
they will stay fresh and green,
proclaiming, “The LORD is upright;
He is my Rock, and there is no wickedness in Him.”’
Psalm 92:12-15
I drank in those words like a thirsty desert-wanderer downing cool water. My God was always a God of hope. He was reminding me I could flourish in this new year if, like a plant, I sank my roots deep into Him—my life source. I could stay fresh and green, no matter the season. Hungry to know more, I started researching the meaning of some of the words. To flourish meant to bud, shoot and blossom profusely. Yes, profusely. That means a lot. I longed to be like that—to live a life so full of God’s goodness that the people around me were blessed by the overflow. Yes, I was already blessed and rich in Him, but I knew there was more—and always would be till the day I stood before Him, face to face. Then I would really flourish.
My research taught me that in bible times palm trees, with their long, straight trunks and plentiful fruit, were considered the most beautiful of all trees. And cedars were prized for their exquisite, strong timber and great endurance, often living 600 years or more. Through my faith in Jesus, I was now classed as righteous so this psalm was a promise I could lay claim to. I could be like those trees—precious to God and a blessing to others.
My eyes moved to the word, ‘courts’ and lingered there. What do you think of when you hear mention of the court of God? I’d always imagined a vast room inside a palace, complete with soaring vaulted ceilings, an intricately patterned tile floor and, at one end, an ornate elevated throne. When I looked up the meaning, I couldn’t help chuckling. ‘Court’ was simply another word for ‘courtyard’—a walled outdoor enclosure with bright blue sky as its only ceiling. Of course. Those towering trees could only grow well if they were outdoors. But what did that mean for me? How could I flourish in God’s courts?
I started thinking about the walls that bounded the courtyard. Those walls offered a barrier against the outside world, protection for everything inside them. Likewise, God places boundaries in my life to protect me from harm.
Walls provide a clear marker of limits. Just as we can’t stand astride a wall, so we can’t be half in and half out of God’s plan. We have to be all-in or we’re all-out, fully His or not at all. Sometimes God’s boundaries feel restrictive or don’t seem to make sense, but it’s inside His loving limits that we flourish. If we try to break out, we put ourselves in unnecessary danger.
Walls protect. They set limits. And sometimes they show us where we need to go, almost like they’re the sides of a corridor—hemming us in, as David described. There are times God seems to strongly direct our steps, nudging us into territory far beyond our confidence or experience. Even that new year’s morning as I spent time waiting on Him, He said,
Lay down any agendas or preconceived ideas you have about what this year will look like. It will be quite different to what you expect.
Change seems to have been the theme of our lives for the past four years—and, if anything, the stretch is only increasing. Many times, I’ve taken my eyes off God and instantly been overwhelmed—reduced to a blubbering mess. Again and again He reminds me that the only way I can live in the fullness of His plan (which is what I really want) is to keep my eyes on Him and my confidence in His ability alone. When I dwell in that place of trust, sinking my roots into His fertile soil, my vision becomes clear. God quiets my heart, speaks truth then leads me onward, hand in hand with Him.
My heart was light as I closed my journal that morning. ‘Thank You, Lord,’ I whispered, nodding. I’d been given a fresh reminder that His plan for me in 2022 was to flourish, no matter how the year unfolded. He was my Rock, and there was no wickedness in Him. As long as I stayed close to Him, yielded to His plan and rooted in His strength, I could thrive. To resist His leading and try to go my own way would be to shrivel like a tree in drought.
How is your year shaping up? Are you flourishing? Every day is a new opportunity to yield afresh to God’s plan.
‘Don’t take the bait.’ God’s inner whisper cut through the music and singing that was rising around me. Right away, I knew what He meant.
I was annoyed. Angry. In a huff. My husband had done some things that morning that upset me. Now a torrent of emotions was swirling inside me—festering, gnawing and setting my whole body aflame.
We were at church—my happy place, where I hugged my friends, soaked up life-giving truths and sang with all my heart.
Not today.
Today I had crawled inside my pain, closed the shutters and posted a ‘Don’t Come Near Me’ sign.
It wasn’t that my husband did anything particularly bad. He just did things differently to what I thought he should. And because of that, I concluded he didn’t value me. It was a crazy mental leap, considering his devotion—through thick and thin—over twenty-six years. But I was offended—and that offence had dragged me to a place of mental turmoil.
Offence is one of our enemy’s most cunning ways to lure us off-track. He often blindsides us, striking when and where we least expect it. In this world full of fallible people, we have many opportunities to be hurt. If we choose to hold on to the hurt and carry it around, our peace quickly evaporates, our view of people is distorted, our hearts turn sour and our words become fiery darts, doing damage wherever they land. Worst of all, offence puts a wall between us and God. ‘With the measure you use, it will be measured to you,’ Jesus said.
Photo by Meruyert Gonullu on Pexels
I know this. I’ve seen the damage offence has done in other people’s lives. I’ve told them how important it is to deal with offences quickly. Yet there I was, stewing, and the fact that I knew the danger and was still rehashing my husband’s ‘crimes’ only intensified the burn.
The music built to a climax and I realised the time of singing was almost over. Closing my eyes, I mouthed the lyrics, trying to silence the voice of pain, let go of my anger and forgive. Red hot, the lava inside me kept bubbling. I peeped sideways at my husband. His face was upturned as he sang—eyes closed, his body rocking in time.
How can he sing like nothing’s wrong? I seethed. He mustn’t even realise I’m upset. Doesn’t he care?
When the song ended, we sat down. Folding my arms, I pursed my lips and focused on the guy on the platform—our pastor. His expression was joyful and his speech animated but his words washed over me without registering. My mind was thick in fog.
After a while, some listeners started voicing their agreement. ‘Amen.’ ‘So good.’ A few people even broke into applause at one point.
He must be saying something important. I should listen. I shifted in my seat and squinted my eyes, trying again to concentrate. It was no use. I’d dug myself into a hole so deep I couldn’t even figure out which way was up. I exhaled sharply through my nose. God, please help me.
I knew we needed to talk. On my own, I wasn’t getting anywhere. But we couldn’t resolve this issue here—there was too much to say, too many eyes and ears all around us. I leaned forward and pressed my fingers against my forehead, starkly aware that the hand that usually reached over to rub my back was absent. God, please. I’m stuck.
The preacher finished speaking and bread and juice were handed out ready for communion. Through my mind ran the words of Paul, ‘Anyone who eats or drinks in an unworthy manner . . .’
That was me.
I wasn’t ready.
Before taking communion, we’re told to stop and examine ourselves, check our attitudes and see if there’s anything blocking our oneness with Jesus. The Son of God gave His everything for us, enduring accusation, rejection and the most brutal of deaths—purely because of love. How could I insult Him by coming to this sacred time full of anger and resentment?
People around us closed their eyes in prayer and I saw my opportunity. Leaning close to my husband I whispered, ‘Please forgive me for being harsh and angry.’ I still felt upset. But I knew I needed to humble myself and admit my fault. That pride and bitterness was too big a burden to carry.
His response was immediate. ‘I forgive you.’
I flinched. Is that all?Doesn’t he see his own fault in the situation?Doesn’t he want my forgiveness too? Like a spiked barb, offence started pricking me, trying to get a fresh grip on my heart.
Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels
This time I breathed deep and refused to be snared. I’d already missed out on so much. It just wasn’t worth it. If I continued to hold on to offence, it would only cause more heartache.
Like a lion lying down to sleep, I felt my soul settle as the anger began draining away. I was still shaken and sad, shocked by my own intensity and wearied from the battle. But I could breathe. I knew we’d talk later and work through the issues.
It ended up taking a few conversations over the next week for my husband and I to fully understand each other’s perspectives and motives from that morning. Even after so many years together, we sometimes read each other wrong. This reminds us how much we need God’s help to walk with humility, honesty and compassion. God is the ultimate healer and restorer, able to build and strengthen our relationships when our emotions would tear them down.
How are you going in this area of offence? Have you taken the enemy’s bait?
‘Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith . . .’ 1 Peter 5:8-9
Author and speaker, John Bevere, has written an excellent book on this topic, “The Bait of Satan”. Find it here.
High on a hill he stands, king over his kingdom—or so he thinks. His head is erect. His strong horns curve backwards. His tan coat reflects the yellowing afternoon sunlight. He snorts, his shaggy beard quivering. She comes, small of frame with slate grey hair, wearing navy pants and a pink shirt. Swishing through grasses damp from rain she walks, her voice carrying through the air in its sing-song way. Two heads pop up from the grass below, their arching necks lengthening and orange beaks flashing as they turn. A handful of chickens—orbs of white, red and gold—emerge from bowing bracken ferns and scurry up the slope alonside the geese.
Photo by Ellie Burgin on Pexels
Her words flow melodically in an unfamiliar tongue, the same phrase—something akin to, ‘Come here,’ perhaps—being used over and over. Affection rings in her tone. These are her children, the delight of her heart. With rocking gait, she leads them towards their coop, offering food and shelter, comfort and safety. Her words flow like a stream over pebbles until at last the chickens answer with their rhythmic cluck-clucks and monologue turns to conversation—back and forth, her and them. A wayward goose tries to push past and the woman’s voice becomes stern, her words sharp. She waves her arms at the honking bird, quickly bringing her family into order.
Many times, when I hear this ritual begin, I stop whatever I’m doing and watch through our window. A warm sense of delight spreads through me and I can’t help but smile. Though I can’t decipher the words of either woman or creature, their relationship is clear and their dynamics often entertaining.
On a recent afternoon when my heart was heavy, I pulled out my journal and began listing all the reasons I had to give thanks. The woman came to mind and as I pictured her there on the hill, I felt a sudden surge of joy in my spirit as God breathed these words:
That’s like Me with you.
Of course. No wonder it brought me such pleasure.
Like this woman, our God walked in the garden with His beloved ones at the end of the day, right from the beginning of creation (Gen 3:8-9). Always, this has been His heart—intimate connection, reflection on the day, a passing on of wisdom.
Now, through Christ, all of us are invited into that intimacy.
He’s calling us—not only to come to Him at the end of the day but to walk with Him all day every day. Through His death and resurrection, Jesus made the way for us to be in constant relationship with Him through the Holy Spirit.
What is our response to such an offer?
Photo from Pexels-Pixabay35811
Are we like the goose—certain we know better and determined to do life our own way?
We may already belong to Jesus but we’re not always willing to follow His directions. We’re choosey about what we entrust to Him, unwilling to surrender our whole lives to His loving rule.
Are we eager to embrace the rich, full relationship He offers—to bask in His love, find refuge and rest in His presence, to feed on His word, converse with Him and learn from His wisdom?
Are we willing to run to Him and say,
Lord, it’s You I want—nothing else.
Here’s my life.
Make it what You want.
Thank You for Your counsel, Your provision, Your discipline and Your power?
If you’re anything like me, your response to these questions varies from day to day. I’m challenged as I write them. Emotions and circumstances often cloud our view and make us close our hearts, clutching at control. That’s why it’s so crucial for us to fix our gaze on the truth and listen for His song—every day, every moment. Only when we see Jesus for who He really is—the one who surrendered completely to the Father’s plan—are we able to lay everything at His beautiful, pierced feet.
With surrender comes life in all its fullness—the life we were created for—unfolding step by step as we walk with Him.
‘Why spend money on what is not bread,
And your labour on what does not satisfy?
Listen, listen to me and eat what is good,
And your soul will delight in the richest of fare.’
The air was fragrant with the scent of peppermint oil and eucalyptus. I lay under a thick, warm towel, face down. Soft music soothed my frazzled nerves. The therapist’s hands moved along my neck and shoulders, kneading tension from my aching muscles.
Two weeks earlier, my husband and I had trudged through a bout of COVID. While our illness was mostly mild, the fatigue it brought lingered. Six days along, when we were still weak and vague, an email informed us we needed to move—in just five weeks’ time. Though we barely had energy or headspace to keep our household running, house-hunting and packing were added to our lengthy to-do list.
After one week of searching with little reward, I was so full of fear and anxiety, I thought my head would burst. If only someone could come and fix everything for me, like mum so often had when I was young. I noticed my mind running to desperate places, secretly wishing I could run away or go to sleep for a month—anything to escape the battle that lay ahead. The fear that gripped me wasn’t based so much on the chance we might not find a house, though that simmered under the surface. It was more that I didn’t think I had what it would take to survive the journey.
I’ve been through upheavals like this before. Bigger ones, even—like our move 1400 kilometres north from Tasmania three years ago. At that time I saw God lead us so clearly—at every stage I sensed His counsel, encouragement and comfort. This time my mind was so foggy I could barely focus to read my bible, let alone hear His whisper. Even when I did sense what God was saying, I couldn’t grasp hold of the hope He offered.
My body was still unwell. So were my emotions—deep in the slump that sometimes comes with illness. Paranoia, powerlessness, depression and middle of the night panic all had their moments of attack. The littlest trigger set my stomach churning and pain running through my body. I felt like a wreck—a shell of the woman I’d been—completely wrung out. I kept reading, kept praying and journaling, but couldn’t seem to shake off the fear.
On the morning of massage day, I realised I needed to push through and fight. There was no way I could carry on as I was. Mustering all the strength I had, I began speaking aloud God’s promises.
With each declaration, a tiny chink was cut in the fear that had imprisoned my mind. This was progress. But it took so much energy I couldn’t sustain it for long.
‘God,’ I whispered. ‘I can’t do this alone. Please speak. I’m listening.’
Later I lay on the massage table, soaking up every hope-filled lyric in the Christian music I heard. The therapist, a friend from church, started working on my arms, her touch gentle yet firm, her thumbs pressing soothingly on sore spots.
‘God loves you so much,’ she said, her voice gentle. ‘He has a good plan for you.’
‘Thank you,’ I whispered, her words settling in my heart. ‘I need that reminder.’
She went on massaging, silent for a minute before adding, ‘I believe He’s going to give you a new perspective.’
My heart sighed. Oh, yes, Lord. That’s what I need.
She massaged one of my hands then the other, rubbing in small circles along the muscles between my fingers, relieving tension I hadn’t realised was there. ‘He’s going to help you see your situation from His perspective.’
I felt my spirit lift. Let it be, Lord.
That evening a friend checked in to see how I was via messenger. She wrote, ‘It seems like God is stripping away all the control from you so He has total control—a great thing but a very painful thing.’
Photo by Ran Berkovich on Unsplash
I pondered her words after our conversation ended. She was right. After spending years seeking to rest in God’s goodness, I’d slipped into worrying, imagining all the possible scenarios of how things could play out—mostly what could go wrong. The reality was, no matter how much thought or worry I put in, I couldn’t control the outcome. Only God could give us favour with a home-owner among the sea of applicants. Only He could open up a way for us.
When I went to bed that night, I prayed, Lord, please give me a dream—something so vivid it brings lasting change to the way I think. Early the next morning I woke many times, not with a dream but with a sentence I’d once heard running through my head.
‘Do what you can do and let God do what only He can do.’
Do what I can do. What could I do? I could pray. I could ask others for input, look for suitable houses and get our application documents ready. That was all. Suddenly a burden lifted. All I had to do was fulfil my role.
The rest was up to God.
That day I started working on a rental application. It was detailed, tedious and took a very long time. When I lowered myself into bed that evening, I opened my current read to see the next chapter’s title. Perseverance.
Ha ha, God. Perfect timing. Okay, I’m listening.
The pages that followed told the story of a man who always quit when things got difficult. He went through a string of failed relationships and lived a restless, miserable life—until he learned to endure the tough patches.
The next morning as I opened my eyes, another revelation came.
‘This process will be uncomfortable,
but it won’t destroy me.
God will see me through.’
I was struck by a realization as I jotted the words in my journal. My thinking was faulty.
Discomfort would not destroy me, no matter how much it felt like it would.
I had subconsciously agreed with an inner voice that whined, ‘I can’t bear this’. Several times before, that phrase had tripped me up. But I’d never acknowledged its deceptive nature. Only God knew what I could bear, and He would set the limits on how far this journey stretched me. I didn’t need to run or hide or go to sleep for a month. I needed to face and accept this season of discomfort and walk with Him all the way through. He would bring me out the other side. I could endure—if I relied on Him one day at a time.
A few days later, after a long time studying Proverbs, I sat quietly with my journal and felt God speak these words to my heart.
‘Enjoy this process (of house-hunting), knowing there will be a good outcome. Choose to enter fully into what I am doing—even when it doesn’t make sense—and know I’ll work good in your heart (and mind) through it.
When you choose to offer your best to a process you’d rather not be in, I do My best work in you.’
God knew I didn’t want to be in this process. And He was asking me to give my best anyway. He saw the bigger picture and His focus was as much on what He was doing in me as what He was doing for me.
Isn’t that what Romans 8:28-29 tells us? It doesn’t say God works all things together to make our lives comfortable. It says He uses all things—even the really hard things—to mould us into the likeness of Jesus. God’s greatest desire is that we grow into the unique individuals He destined us to be, each walking in His plan—the truly good life. The outcome of the process (though He does provide for our needs, often in amazing ways) isn’t nearly as important as the work He does in us through it.
There’s only one week now till moving day and our house-hunt isn’t complete. It’s been difficult to stay in that place of quiet trust the last few days. What ifs have started creeping in, whispering fear to my soul. Working through the final edits of this post has been helpful. It’s put the truth before my eyes once more. Though this process feels torturous, God is doing something very good.
What battle are you facing right now? And how is God working in you through it? Though this patch you’re in may not seem to hold anything you can view as good, if you seek to walk with Him through it, there will be a time where you can.
PS. Two days after completing this, our rental application for a lovely home was approved. Though it’s too long a story to go into now, we know this is the home of God’s choice for us. And we are oh-so-thankful.
The Resting Post 