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 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.
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.
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 lights were low, the room warm and full of people. I closed my eyes while music and voices swirled around me, my heart swelling with emotion. We were back—together at last—singing carols in anticipation of Christmas. We’d just begun one of my favourites. This year, after many months of restrictions and isolation, its words seemed especially poignant.
‘Long lay the world in sin and error pining . . .’
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Didn’t that describe the journey we’d been on? Regardless of our viewpoints, we’d all suffered loss and heartache—so much waiting, disconnection and wondering.
‘ . . . Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.’
This testing had brought for each of us a fresh awareness of our flaws and need of rescue.
‘A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices . . .’
Goose bumps tingled over my skin as I lifted a silent prayer. Oh, yes, Lord! Our world is weary. We desperately need Your hope.
On through the verses we caroled, our voices rising in measure with our passion, till we neared the crescendo. ‘Fall on your knees . . .’
And there it was again – that tug on my spirit. Every time we sang, ‘Fall on your knees,’ I sensed God’s whisper, Don’t just sing the words. Do what they say. Kneel.
I opened my eyes, scanning the room. People in our church didn’t often kneel. Everyone was caught up in the joy of worshipping together—did I really want to distract them? Wouldn’t they think I was weird?
The pull grew stronger. I breathed deep. Okay, God. I will.
As the words came around again, I lowered myself to the carpet. Closing my eyes once more, I rested my hands on the back of the chair in front of me and continued singing, ‘O night divine, O night when Christ was born.’
My surroundings seemed to fade and I saw myself in a starlit stable, kneeling on a bed of straw. The scene reminded me of a Christmas card I’d seen many years earlier, where Santa knelt at the foot of a manger, his hat in his hands, head bowed before the sleeping baby. That card made such an impression on me, the image was still vivid in my mind.
This time, though, it wasn’t Santa lowered in reverence. It was me. If I opened my eyes, I knew everything around me would look the same as before. So, I didn’t. God was showing me something and I didn’t want to miss a moment.
From my position on the stable floor, I leaned forward and peered into the manger. There He was—Jesus—tightly wrapped, his head covered with dark hair, his tan face glowing with the sheen of new birth. This object of our worship, Who came to offer hope to a world in crisis, was the Son of God—co-creator of the universe, more powerful than any earthly or spiritual ruler. Yet here He was—a baby?
I knew the story. We all knew the Christmas story. Jesus came as a baby. But on this day, I felt it. It became real to me. And I wept.
Jesus looked exactly like any other newborn. So tiny. So fragile.
This mighty one had given up all His splendour, all His elevation above earthly concerns, to become the most vulnerable of humans. Easily crushed. Completely dependent on others to sustain Him.
How could that be? What love must have compelled Him to be reduced to such a state?
In that moment, something shifted inside me. All the hardships of my year—all the challenges I’d been wrestling with—suddenly looked very small. If Jesus could humble Himself in this way, and later lay down His life to rescue me, how could I offer Him anything less?
I wiped my eyes as the song came to an end and stood once more, my heart at peace.
Lord, I’m yours. Whatever you want, I’m willing. You are worthy. Help me to follow you.
I don’t know what lies ahead for me. I don’t feel any stronger than I did before. But I am comforted. Because I know that whatever comes, Jesus gets it. He’s already walked the hardest of roads—and He knows the way through.
‘In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:
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Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death— even death on a cross!’
My plan was to pray over the long list of verses and thoughts in my diary ready to create an author post. But I found my eyes drawn to the last topic in my short list of blog ideas, ‘Overcoming in Defeat’. I stared at the words, acutely aware of their relevance for the season we’re in. Pulling out my journal from July— where the original ideas were recorded—I read and was stirred once again.
I had been mulling over Paul’s instruction in Romans 12:21 ‘Do not be overcome by evil but overcome evil with good.’ The idea sounded inspiring—but how did it work?
As I mused, I had written, ‘Lord, doing good when we’re treated badly doesn’t feel like overcoming. It feels like defeat, like bowing to the evildoer.‘ I was thinking of some painful conflicts I’d faced in the preceding week.
Almost immediately, I sensed God’s response. ‘So it was with the cross. My son’s death had every appearance of defeat and injustice. He was condemned via an unfair trial, placed in the hands of prideful, demon-driven zealots, treated with utmost brutality, betrayed and abandoned by most of His dearest friends. He even felt forsaken by Me—His Father, who sent Him.‘
It was true. I could see Jesus in my mind—accused, betrayed, dragged away like a criminal, ridiculed and beaten by supposedly God-fearing people, then enduring a slow, agonizing death in front of a jeering crowd. He had the power to crush those who attacked Him, yet He forgave them, yielding to His Father’s will. To any onlooker—even Jesus’ closest friends—it appeared the enemy had soundly defeated Him.
That morning God reminded me of an important truth—what we perceive isn’t always reality.
The gruelling process Jesus endured had a purpose far beyond what anyone could see at that time. What looked like defeat was, in reality, stupendous victory. Through His suffering and death, Jesus disarmed the very powers that were trying to destroy Him, making a public spectacle of them. And He opened up the way for us to be forgiven, set free and welcomed into the family of God. Victory indeed! None of those breakthroughs could have come without Jesus’ humble willingness to walk in obedience.
My notes from God’s revelation continued,
‘Every time you choose good, there is a victory in your spirit and your character. Each time you submit to Me and lay down your desire to do things your own way, I build muscle into your character and grow you in authority for greater victories.
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Eating the best of the land (as promised in Isaiah 1:19) isn’t just about material, tangible experiences. It’s about the heart, the spirit and the spiritual realm. So be willing and obedient. Follow the way of the cross. It will be worth it.‘
This concept is foreign to our success-oriented world. Our bibles are laden with living examples. Think of Joseph—a slave and a prisoner—made second in charge under Pharaoh; of Gideon—the least of the least—who led God’s people into conquest; of David—the shepherd boy with a sling and a stone—who defeated a terrifying giant; of Rahab—a prostitute—who had her pagan family rescued from certain destruction and was welcomed into the lineage of Jesus.* Then there was Jesus—the Son of God—who made Himself nothing, taking on the role of servant to His subjects and surrendering His life in the most gruesome of deaths. His humble obedience led to ultimate exaltation, higher than any other—forever .
There’s always more to the story than what we see. Always.
If we’re seeking to walk with God and doing good as He directs, His victory will come. We may not always see the full result of our obedience, but we can be confident of this—God will fulfil His purpose, in our hearts and in our world. So, let’s press on, choosing willing, trusting obedience. Jesus is with us—and He knows the way.
Triumph comes via the low road.
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‘Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider Him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.’
Hebrews 12:2-3
*You can read more about these overcomers in the following passages.
For a moment, I teetered on the edge, wondering what would happen if I let depression take hold. I was justified, wasn’t I? Wouldn’t anyone be low in my position?
Three years ago, our family uprooted and left our home state of twenty-five years to move north. While we relished being closer to my family and living near the coast, the process of establishing our career paths and forming new friendships was slow, hampered further by the 2020 lockdown.
Once COVID restrictions eased, we dusted ourselves off and ventured forward again, keen to build on the small foundations we’d already laid. Doors of opportunity began to open and our sense of belonging was growing when, wham! Our second lockdown hit. This one lasted much longer and its impact reverberated all the way to the laws of our nation. This time, along with rules and restrictions a clear message was proclaimed, challenging our ideas about what matters most and dictating the way we should view and treat people. Like the ripples of an earthquake, we felt its effects as key aspects of who we were as Australians began to shake.
Normally, I’m an upbeat girl, ready to believe the best of people and hold hope of better days beyond a trial. It’s rare for me to find myself in a place so deep and dark, I can’t see any way out. Lately, though . . . well, it’s been tough. I won’t go into detail beyond saying there are significant changes happening in my sphere and I’m facing heartbreaking loss in several areas, particularly relationships. When I see the people around me also struggling, my grief is multiplied.
We didn’t see this upheaval coming, nor can we see where it will take us. Almost every day the information seems to change. If ever there was a time to be confronted with our powerlessness, it’s now. We cry out to God and use the strength He gives to make the best of our situation and support others. Sometimes, though, the constancy of the battle wears us down and its length stretches us far beyond what we think we can bear. Hope fades and the gloom becomes so heavy, it immobilizes us. That’s where I found myself on the couch that day—staring into a darkness so thick, it seemed as if it could swallow me whole. Oh, God.
Then, softly, like a light shining through the fog, I sensed an echo of my own words from a couple of months back:
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels
‘The hardest of times became the high points in my life because of what God did through them.’
Those were words of hindsight, reflections on the darkest seasons in my journey. Through trauma, anorexia, relationship strains, burnout, life-threatening illness and tragic loss I’d felt God’s loving presence so close, known the wisdom of His counsel and seen His goodness poured out, even in the littlest details.
The hardest of times can become the best of times? Could that really be true in this situation?
Surely not this time, God. This is too big, too hard.
His response? You have a choice.
I paused, breathing deep. I did, didn’t I? I could let myself be pulled into the vortex of despair, or I could choose to put my hope in God and believe He would turn all of this—somehow—for good. Sitting up, I rubbed my hands against my legs and released a slow breath. I knew my emotions were shaky, far too weak to leap all the way from hopelessness to instant joy. I had a journey ahead—and from my former times of struggle I knew the steps I needed to take:
Photo by Hudson Hintze on Unsplash
I asked for help
I picked up my phone and sent messages to my connect group leader, my church prayer team and a bunch of close friends, telling them how low I was and asking them to pray.
God puts us in community for our good. When we feel like we’re drowning, He urges us to confide in others, allowing them to lift us with their encouragement and prayers.
‘Admit your faults to one another and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and wonderful results.’ James 5:16 TLB
2. I switched off the noise
Some words I’d been listening to offered hope. Others gave interesting information but stirred up anxiety and despair. I chose to switch off the second set.
When our emotions are too frail to deal objectively with negativity, we need to be vigilant, setting limits to protect our mind and heart.
‘Fix your thoughts on what is true and honourable and right and pure and lovely and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.’ Philippians 4:8 NLT
3. I simplified
I took a step back and chose to simplify what I could—clearing out clutter, putting aside big projects, giving myself time and space to rest.
Weary hearts and minds are easily overloaded. Sometimes we need to slow the pace for a while and just do the basics.
‘There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven.’ Ecclesiastes 3:1
4. I fixed my eyes
Once some of the mental and physical clutter had been cleared out, it was easier for me to define my focus. Again and again, I felt God urging me, ‘Fix your eyes on Me.’ So, again and again, I did. And every time I looked to Him, He brought new perspective to everything else.
No circumstance, person, disease or government determines the course of our lives. Above all, God is in control—and He is a good, loving Father.
‘Be still and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.’ Psalm 46:10
5. I nourished my spirit
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
I spent extra time in God’s presence each morning, journaling and sitting quietly, chewing over portions of scripture and writing down verses He seemed to highlight. Like a starving child desperate for good food, I devoured every word that brought truth and perspective. Through the day I fed on the wisdom of others, listening to sermons and reading articles that built my faith.
God’s word is our food, His Spirit our life-giving water. To gain the strength we need for the path He’s marked out for us, we need to eat and drink daily from His provision.
‘When your words came, I ate them;
They were my joy and my heart’s delight . . .’ Jeremiah 15:16
6. I remembered God’s faithfulness
One day I listed in my journal the many trials of my past, each one so difficult I’d wondered if they would ever end. I remembered what God did, the profound truths He taught me and the way He led me all the way through—making me richer and wiser through the process.
The trials we face don’t last forever. They have a beginning and an endpoint. How we come out of them depends on how we go through them. If we’re willing to yield to God’s refining and receive His guidance on the way, He’ll work it all for good in our lives.
‘Consider it pure joy . . . whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.’ James 1:3
7. I let go
Finally, after dealing with all the other issues, I realised how entangled I’d become in all my imaginings of what might or might not happen. My attempts to figure and plan had woven a tight web around my soul, pinching me with disappointment and despair whenever circumstances didn’t work out as I’d hoped.
God alone could see the future.
Just as He was with me now, He would be with me in the days to come, supplying all I needed at every point along the way. To try to do His job was a waste of time and energy.
So, I surrendered.
I laid down my need to know how God was going to work everything out.
I chose to trust Him, believing He would bring me through and take care of me on the way.
I chose to take one day at a time, fixing my eyes on His face, following His nudges and giving my best to the people around me.
Scrawling that prayer of surrender in my journal brought great release, lightening the burden I’d been carrying and giving me freedom to focus on each day as a gift. It didn’t fix everything—our world is still in turmoil. But I find I’m more able to manage the fluctuations between anxiety and confidence, sadness and thankfulness by choosing to stay anchored in the truth that is stronger than my feelings:
This season won’t last forever.
God’s promises are true.
He is with us and, if we keep our eyes on Him, He’ll show us the way through—choice by choice—for however long it takes to come out the other side.
Photo by Chang Duong on Unsplash
And when we emerge from this battle,
we’ll be closer to God,
stronger in His truth and
more confident in His sufficiency
than we were at the beginning.
‘And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.’ Romans 8:28
His hand felt so tiny, so trusting in mine as we paused at the entrance to the cobbled path. I stooped beside him, our brown eyes meeting, and whispered, “Let’s go on an adventure.”
“Yeah—adventure!” His eyes lit up and his face broke into a broad grin. I giggled as his three-year-old legs began scurrying up the sweeping slope. Matching his pace, I loped easily beside him on my lanky twelve-year-old legs. Arching branches rustled overhead and magpies filled the air with their lilting melody, urging us on. Come and see, come and see.
Up a winding curve we climbed, away from our parents and picnic blanket—into the land of the unknown. Lush ferns waved their curving fronds, blurring the path edges, and palms stretched tall, reaching for the sky. Our eyes grew wide as we crept through their shadows, intrepid explorers trekking through the jungle. Hand in hand, we scaled smooth stone steps, worn by the tread of countless feet, puffing a little and pausing to rest those tired toddler legs. Spreading trees and orb-like bushes hid our view of the way ahead, adding fire to our curiosity. Sometimes we stopped, leaning close and whispering as I pointed to a delicate flower, a buzzing bee or colourful butterfly. At one point, when my little companion grew so weary he didn’t want to go on, I swung him onto my back and bounced along the path, grinning as he giggled and chanting, ‘Wait till you see what’s up ahead.’ When he was rested, I lowered him gently to the ground and on we marched, eager to finish our course.
Photo by Marco de Winter on Unsplash
My heart thrummed a happy rhythm as vivid images from my own childhood flashed through my mind. Many times, my family had come to these gardens for holiday picnics and birthday celebrations. Many times, I’d run along these paths behind my older sisters, unsure exactly where we were going, my eyes searching for familiar landmarks along the way – the timber bridge arching over the duck pond, the stately Japanese tea house or the wishing well full of shimmering coins. The first time my parents told me I was old enough to explore on my own, my spirit soared. I stood at the edge of the lawn where several paths branched off in different directions, my mind pulsing with the possibilities. Which route should I choose? Where will they take me? And what will I discover on my way?
Time passed, leading to this day. Now I was the older one with a young sibling in tow. It was my turn to share that wonder with my brother, to open his eyes to the thrill of new adventures.
Those memories have left a permanent imprint on my heart. Because of them, I’ve always felt drawn to gardens with tall hedges, winding paths and hidden corners. The memories themselves have been tucked away in a corner of my mind reserved for precious things, drawn out only when I’ve seen old photos or driven past the gardens, which still reside in their place on a hill—until a few weeks ago, when God brought them back so vividly it was as if I was walking those paths once more.
This year—so far—has been one of challenge. I’ve been asked to do things I didn’t think I could and ventured well beyond what I thought was my happy place. My ‘legs’ have grown weary and sometimes I’ve been afraid of what might lie around the corner. Sometimes, I’ve been head-spinningly anxious. Yet, as I’ve pressed on, I’ve marvelled at the way God has—every time—brought peace, blessing, joy and growth through those things I would rather have avoided.
Again, I’ve been reminded of how little I really understand of His ways. Like a little child, I’m not ‘tall’ enough to see very far on the path He has for me. Sometimes I question the value in the direction He takes me and, in my tiredness, want to stop, to turn back or take a shorter, faster route.
But He has a plan. He knows the best way. And challenges are vital to the journey.
This is what He spoke to my heart the morning He revived those images:
‘Continue to trust Me, to put your confidence in Me, to follow My lead and press forward in My plans. It is a great adventure. And just as you delighted in exploring all the winding paths of the gardens in your childhood, so you will delight as you see what I have around each bend for you.
I have many surprises in store, much unexpected beauty. There will be passages that seem long, steep and, at times, even dull. In those I am building your muscle and mind for the parts still to come, teaching you to drink deep from my reservoir.
Hold fast to Me and let Me take you to those unexpected places where you will experience the beauty of My presence in ways beyond what you’ve known.’
Things are not always as they seem. Like children, we are limited in our vision. God sees the whole picture and has good reasons for everything He leads us into. At each stage of our journey, we can trust Him to give us what we need to go on. And when we grow weary, He will carry us, chanting, ‘Wait till you see what’s up ahead’.
Knowing Him, it will be worth the trek.
Photo by Kyler Wilton on Unsplash
“You do not realise now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” John 13:7
“In all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28
“Even to your old age and grey hairs I am He, I am He who will sustain you.
Can you see him? A little boy, six or seven years old—round, dark eyes full of wonder peering out from under a tangled mop of brown hair. He creeps through the darkened city, heart pounding against his ribcage while thoughts ripple through his mind. Can it be true? Is the promised one really here? What will He be like? And will my gift be enough? Clutched tightly to the boy’s chest is a small drum.
Of all the Christmas carols we sing, “The Little Drummer Boy,” though fictional, is one of my favourites. The inner wrestle it depicts is so familiar to me. When I consider the lavish kindness and grace of God, any gift I seek to offer Him seems so small. Yet God finds joy in my offerings, because He sees my heart—just as, in the song, baby Jesus smiled his approval to the boy who wanted so desperately to bless Him.
Six weeks ago, this song was far from my mind. Christmas was over, we’d begun a new year and my thoughts were consumed with preparation for the release of “Skinny Girl”, my very first book. In December, I’d spent many hours poring over the manuscript—editing and re-editing till I was sure the wording was clear. I’d prayed my way through decisions about cover design and texture, page colour, font style, font size and artwork. Perfectionist that I am, getting all the little details right was crucial.
When everything was done, I sent the final documents to my publisher and my family celebrated the end of a very drawn-out season of writing. Early in January, ten boxes of “Skinny Girl” were printed and delivered—some to our home, some to Tasmania, ready for my southern launch. My heart soared as I opened the first box and stared inside. After almost eleven years, my dream was becoming a reality. Overflowing with gratitude, I began gifting books to family members and other people who’d helped me through the writing process.
I gave our family’s copy of “Skinny Girl” to my teenage daughter, mindful this was her first opportunity to read my full story. “If you want to talk about anything as you read, just come and see me, darling. I’m happy to chat,” I told her. Over the next couple of days, she asked some questions and we talked through parts of the story.
One morning she approached me in the kitchen, the book in her hands, her face sympathetic. “Mum, I found a typo.” She opened to a page in one of the final chapters and pointed to a word I’d failed to adjust during one of my final edits. In that moment, two unnecessary letters shattered my hopes of a flawless book.
I sighed. I’d tried so hard. I lifted my eyes to my daughter’s face, knowing she was sorry to give me the bad news. “Thanks for telling me, sweety. I’ll let the publisher know so they can correct it ready for the next print.”
The next day, I told my sister about the typo while we chatted on the phone. “I don’t know how I missed it. I went over the manuscript so many times.”
She hesitated, then spoke in an apologetic tone. “There are actually three typos, Sue.”
“Three?” My heart plummeted. “Oh, no!”
How could it be? I knew how many hours I’d spent reading and re-reading, arranging and rearranging words to make sure everything was ‘just right’. I wanted the book to be perfect, to look professional and leave readers with a good impression. My publisher had also done a final proofread before ordering the print run, yet somehow, despite our determined efforts, three errors had slipped through and been duplicated—more than three hundred times. Every single book in those ten boxes held the same flaws.
Late that afternoon, I knelt beside our bed, lay my head on the mattress and poured out my disappointment to the Lord. Almost immediately, I felt His calming presence. He reminded me of a boy in the bible, a little guy whose hunger to honour Jesus burned stronger than the emptiness of his stomach. This boy’s meagre offering of two fish and five small loaves opened the way for Jesus to provide a feast for a vast crowd.
Images from Unsplash: Fish – Gregor Moser, Bread – Sergio Contreras
The boy didn’t have much to give.
Lyrics from the Little Drummer boy drifted through my mind. That boy was poor—he didn’t have much to give either. But these boys’ hearts were devoted, so they offered what they had to Jesus and left the results with Him.
Two little boys. Two beautiful stories of devotion and blessing.
What is it about children that makes them so different?
Children are accustomed to having others make up for their lack.
If a child can’t reach something, they ask taller people to lift them up or get it down for them. If their little hands don’t yet have the skills to open a container or build something special or untie a knot, they look to someone bigger to help.
Children are not afraid to admit their limitations.
Adults prize self-reliance, competence and mastery. We measure success by how much we can achieve in a particular timeframe. We struggle with the concept of weakness and, sometimes, take a very long time to acknowledge we need help.
Maybe that’s why the Lord so often puts us in a position where we’re out of our depth. He wants us to recognise our need and look to ‘someone bigger’ to make up for our lack. He wants to show us the fullness and joy we can experience in our inadequacy—if we’re willing to look to Him.
That afternoon, I heard my Father whisper to my heart,
Daughter, remember, it’s not about your perfection. My power is made perfect in your weakness. Just as with the loaves and fish, I can take whatever you surrender to Me—however flawed it seems—and make it into something great that nourishes and brings life to many.
Trust Me and watch what I will do.
So, I’m trusting. I’m watching. And, over and over, I’m marvelling at the work He’s doing in other people’s lives through my flawed offering.
What are you offering to the Lord today? As you surrender it to Him, you can be confident He will take your gift and do something wonderful through it, despite its seeming limitations.
Just be sure to keep your eyes open. You don’t want to miss the show.
‘And Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”’
Matthew 18: 3-4.
Image from Pexels – Alexandr Podvalny
Little boy featured image from Pexels – Jonas Mohamadi
The Resting Post 