You’re not like shifting shadows.
I spoke, eyes closed, but the warm sun of Florida winter lighting up the world beyond my shielded lids.
You are so good. Always good.
I believed the words I prayed, and I found that the more I spoke them in truth, the better I felt. The still, small voice that had whispered to my heart to praise Him had been correct.
Even when the circumstances seem bad, you are good.
The peace that covered me now, as heartfelt words poured from my lips and my hands raised in worship, had not been there even minutes before. I don’t really know how I had felt. Not good. Not bad. Aloof? Surreal? I had tried to articulate my feelings to a friend, but ended up backspacing and erasing the text before I hit send. It was hard to describe. I felt disconnected from the truth that always kept me so steady.
I never doubt your goodness.
Yet I had. I mean, for a moment anyway. How else could I explain my sadness, my tears, my longing to be there. Even though I knew the very Spirit of God stood in for me.
My flesh may fail, but my heart trusts in you always.
It’s like the praise was bringing me back to the truth. The disconnect I had felt; was it my flesh trying to control an uncontrollable situation?
All your ways are good.
I had been so proud of my faith earlier in the morning. My dad had gone for a simple procedure, and upon hearing its cancellation I had praised God that it had been delayed. His reasons always had purpose. I rejoiced that the trip to the emergency room (800 miles from me) was just a precaution, the super fast heart rate a passing thing. My daddy would be fine.
I trust all your ways.
It’s like that, it seems. Carrying faith is easy when circumstances are good, but it gets heavier when they are not. When I heard words like “heart attack” and “open heart surgery” it was like an unwelcome dinner guest, one I certainly wasn’t expecting.
Help me, Lord.
I knew far too much about the subject. Having worked in surgical intensive care recovering open heart surgery patients for eight years, I knew how common this procedure was. No problem. But then I also knew the complications that could arise. Oh, dear. I had cried in the slime aisle at Walmart as my husband stroked my hair and held me tight.
Help my daddy, Jesus.
Ever since the tears had fallen and the worry had crept in, I had felt off. It reminded me a bit of how a head cold will make you feel. There, but not really present. Lights on, but only halfway home. I had texted friends, I had added him to prayer lists, and I had called my most trusted loved ones to listen. Still, I had felt afraid.
You control all things.
Every word of praise and truth I spoke brought me closer to the Father, and it also took me farther from the confusion and anxiety I had felt lost in. Like a thick fog it had covered me, but His light led me out of the darkness of the circumstances before me.
No matter what, you work all things for our good.
Even in the midst of bad news, uncertain circumstances, and concern for my dad’s health, the truth of God was unchanging, and by speaking that truth aloud in praise I had brought my worried, fretful-daughter mind into line with His mercies and goodness.
My trust is in you.
I had just needed to remind myself of that.