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Living the Word Through the Living Word
“Perseverance must finish its work so that you may
be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”
James 1:4 (NIV)
If you prefer to listen to this lesson, click on this link:
To one degree or another, we’ll remember 2020 as the year of tribulation. Each of us can name several instances where we’ve been tested during this pandemic. People are experiencing food shortages. Money is low. And many have lost their jobs, and may never get them back. People have fallen ill. Too many have died. Everyone has been affected in one way or another. All of us are physically, emotionally, and spiritually separated from family and friends. Day by day, we’re growing weary and anxious to come together.
In our walk with Christ Jesus, we sometimes fail to recognize he feels our pain … he’s walked our walk … and he knows exactly what it’s like to be alone and abandoned. Whether we feel it or not, God is with us, just as he was with Christ as Christ hung on the cross. That’s a spiritual fact. A fact we affirm with “Amen” when it’s preached from the pulpit on Sunday mornings. We affirm it by tapping our feet when it’s echoed from a songbook. We affirm this spiritual fact by nodding our heads when someone speaks these words in our Bible class. But when it comes to living out the word through the living word, our faith waivers. Hardships come and we doubt. We forget our hurt is only solved through Christ. We forget that in spite of how we feel or what we’re going through, we are called to stand firm and to Live the Word through the Living Word.
Why do cares of the world easily overtake us and cause us to waver from God?
Could it be we’re sometimes treating God’s word as an insurance policy? Leaving it neatly inside a drawer, hidden away in some special place, easily accessible in times of need? Let me remind you: God’s Word is a love story—a story of reconciliation. His love letters should be read daily, diligently, prayerfully. Occasionally, we spend too much time from the loving words of the Father, forgetting how much he loves us, letting too much time come between us and the Holy One, unaware that the longer we go without reading his love letters, the farther we drift away. It’s like going through the day without eating. When we finally sit down for a meal, we gorge it because we’re so famished.
In the midst of desperation, we divulge God’s word in large quantities like a famished person who hasn’t eaten for days—looking for a quick fix—failing to discern the word, failing to allow his word to marinate. When our lives finally calm down, we realize how exhausted we’ve become. We pull away and rest, unaware weeks have passed … months … apart from the Word until the next crisis.
And there begins the cycle of our lives.
This is not what God calls us to do. He does not call you to live in desperation.
God calls us to meditate on his word. Not gorge it like animals. He wants us to think on it … apply it … be thankful for it … be in prayer about it … ask for ways to share it with others … to live out the word through the living word. To be specific, we are to mimic Jesus … mimic our forefathers who lived by faith … to wait upon the Lord with patience and diligence.
With my husband’s permission, I want to share his story so you can better understand what I mean.
Not too long ago, my husband’s duties changed at work. He’s not a man of words, and he almost hates the English language. English was never his favorite subject in high school. He was more of a math whiz; now a project engineer by trade. In his new duties at work, he has been asked to write large amounts of narratives to summarize the status of on-going government projects.
Because he clearly understands his dilemma, he began spending more time in deep prayer. Shortly after his prayer time, he goes in our second bedroom which we’ve transformed into an office. He works on one side of the room, and I work on the other. After one of his conference calls, I noticed his heightened frustration with people who wouldn’t do their jobs properly. Within days, he became visibly stressed, was restless in his sleep, if he slept at all. He’d often tell me, “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not a good writer. There’s too much to learn in too short of time.” I asked him, “Have you prayed about it?” His reply was, “All the time.”
Ladies, “What’s wrong with this picture?” Did God not say,
“But when (you) ask, (you) must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. That man should not think he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all he does.” (James 1:6-8)
I looked at my husband in the eyes and recalled the story of Noah … how Noah spent much time physically laboring to build the ark.
I recalled the story of Joseph – how a young seventeen-year-old was sold into slavery by his own family and plunged into a foreign culture; cast among a people who spoke a different language. I stressed to my husband how Joseph served his masters as if serving God Almighty, served prisoners in the same way he wanted to be served … doing all this regardless of his circumstances. And, I would be at fault here, if I did not highlight Joseph’s closeness with God during his time of trials and tribulations. Though he was hurt and alone, he didn’t feed his anger. He didn’t whine over lost possessions or for what he perceived as the “good life.” And let me also say this: Joseph followed God’s lead without ever understanding why God allowed this to happen to him. Joseph didn’t piece it together until later … much later.
If you think your heartaches and pain will come from the world, you might need to rethink this. Your family (or whomever you consider family) can devastate you if you let them.
Joseph is you—devastated by your brothers and sisters. Joseph is me—abandoned, but not alone. And like all of us, he faced hardships, he faced loneliness, he faced false accusations (Potiphar’s wife), he faced people forgetting about him (the cupbearer – Genesis 40:23).
By the time I recited this biblical history to my husband, he shook his head and said, “I got it.”
But … I sat and wondered … did he really understand?
Later that same day, the truth was revealed. My husband’s co-worker telephoned and asked how he was doing. My husband replied, “I don’t know, man. I wish these people …”
I quickly interrupted the call by grunting, loudly. I spoke just as loud, by saying, “God is near. He hears. He will help you. Speak positively. Believe in the one who is able to save.”
After my husband’s call, I thought he would be angry that I interrupted him. But he stopped in front of my desk and said, “Thank you. I needed you to remind me and I appreciate it.”
Ladies, we are praying and reading our Bibles, hiding away in our closets, but sometimes we are “not” Living the Word Through the Living Word. Reading the word of God is of no benefit if we do not do what it says. “We’re like a man who looks himself in the mirror, and walks away and forgets what he looks like.” (James 1:23-24) You and I must not be lazy, but be students of God’s Word. Under pressure, against our will, during hardships, in the middle of family strife, when demands on our time are high, we must still be obedient servants and submit to God’s commands.
What does submission to God look like?
Do you remember Abraham’s faith? Good! Now, you must mimic his faith. Although the odds are against you, you must climb that treacherous mountain in faith, JUST LIKE ABRAHAM. Abraham remembered God’s promise to make him a father of nations, and he believed God would bring his son, Isaac, up from the dead. JUST LIKE ABRAHAM, you must BELIEVE.
Again, I ask: What does submission to God look like?
A change of attitude — by “… counting it all joy … when we face trials and tribulations.” (James 1:2-3) This passage of scripture is calling you to look at your trials from a different perspective. Trials exist to perfect your faith. They don’t exist to sop up your tears. Neither should your trials pull up a chair so the two of you can have coffee to devise a plan to manipulate yourself out of your situation. Trials exist to make you wail. And in your wailing, you are to stand firm, cry out to God, hold tight to God’s word, BELIEVING God is able to help you withstand the forces against you. And once you have persevered through your trials, you become a stronger, more faithful, more steadfast child of God, who is in a better position to be an example to those around you.
You see,
“Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, and not lacking anything.” (James 1:4)
Let me ask you something: Have you ever met a strong Christian whose faith hasn’t been perfected by hardship?
Aren’t trials in our lives so perseverance can work its good work in you, so you can become mature, spiritual, and godly?
Without trials, there is no perfection of your faith. Without our faith being made perfect, we are no closer to God than the ungodly.
I understand … I get it. Some of us don’t want to be uncomfortable. You might be thinking: “Donna, you don’t understand what I’m going through. My husband won’t get up and go to church with me. It’s better I leave things alone. You see, Donna, my child is rebellious, and I’m doing good just to get him or her out of the door to school … to work. My mother … My family … none of them get along and they lean on me way too much.”
Is it not a fact that there’s always something aggravating and testing our faith, and causing us to stumble? Is it not better to be uncomfortable in our struggles and remain obedient in Christ Jesus who can save us, rather than be comfortable in our wickedness and die in our sins? Who wants an eternal death?
Be reminded—
Perseverance produces Maturity, Completeness – James 1:4
Don’t doubt – James 1:6
“Blessed is the man who perseveres … because he will receive a crown of life.” (James 1:12)
God’s mighty hand will raise us up and set us high on the mountaintops even though there is a calamity all around us. Psalm 91:7-10 reads:
“A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked. If you say, ‘The Lord is my refuge,’ and you make the Most High your dwelling, no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent.”
If this is too hard to believe, I want you to sit still for a moment and remember the last tragedy you experienced … the last debacle you encountered … the trouble with your job … the empty refrigerator … the last time you struggled to pay utilities … the last time you were abandoned by family and friends.
Remember that pain?
Now, as you think back, can you relate to Psalm 91:7-10? Let’s read it again,
“A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked. If you say, ‘The Lord is my refuge,’ and you make the Most High your dwelling, no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent.”
You believe it now? Can you also see our relationship with God is hinged on belief and faith? If you lack belief … pray to God for your unbelief. If you lack faith … pray God strengthens your faith.
In closing, please remember to act out what you hear and see in the living Word of God. Mimic the life of Christ, the examples of the apostles, the faith of our forefathers, your grandmother’s struggles, your momma’s faith. Change your attitude and learn to look forward to opportunities to persevere in your faith so it can be made perfect.
I have highlighted eight things to do and remember, but I’m out of time. You can find this list on my blog page at: www.awriterfirst.wordpress.com.
Very quickly, here are eight things to do and remember:
- Carve out 30 minutes a day to read the word of God. There are 24 hours in a day. Thirty minutes is exactly eight-tenths of a day. Is it really too much to ask to spend eight-tenths of your day with God?
- Each and every time you become panicky or afraid, read Psalm 91 over and over again until you have it memorized. Read it aloud. When your mind wanders, start over and read louder.
- Don’t let the world impose their wickedness on you. Remember, “…you are in the world, but not of the world.” (Romans 12:2)
- Pray without ceasing. (I Thessalonians 5:17)
- You must develop a sincere love for one another. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. (Romans 12:10)
- Stop engaging in foolish talk.
- Pray for those who don’t know the truth, for their end is near and it will be horrible to hear the wailing and gnashing of teeth. Their end cannot be UNdone.
- Don’t be hardheaded. LISTEN to the Holy Spirit and FOLLOW his lead.
Amen.
Thank you for allowing me this opportunity to share God’s word. May God continue to open your hearts to the truth and help you overcome the flesh so you can Live the Word Through the Living Word of God.
An encouraging video is below.
Donna B. Comeaux
Note: This is a Bible lesson I presented on the 8:00 p.m. Thursday Ladies Prayer Line on July 23, 2020.
If you would like to hear my lesson by telephone, dial: (515) 604-9300; Access Code – 635154; Lesson #229
Aging and The Fear of Death
Several years ago, my husband and I wondered where we should relocate. I got distracted by his shaky hands. I thought about aging. My aging. His aging. That hadn’t worried me before, but I found myself suddenly wondering what in the world would I do without him. I plummeted into a funnel of nostalgic memories.
Our wedding day came to mind—me in a light blue mini dress; he in his red OU jacket. I couldn’t have been one hundred pounds dried and powdered down. A strappling six feet tall, he had a buffed, muscular body, a flawless wide and naughty grin. His afro-styled hair—thick, neatly edged. Fuzz on his upper lip highlighted a handsome, stubbled face. Romantic at heart, he had serenaded me, whisked me off my weightless feet, and swung me around while swearing to care for me all the days of his life. Like so many giddy females before me, I bought into that line. (By the way, guys, that line still works.)
Now, I wondered how long it would be before I might have to take care of him. Unable to face the possibility of losing him, I grabbed his hand with both of mine and looked into his dark brown eyes.
“Should I be worried?” I asked.
“What? What are you talking about?” He frowned and pulled away.
“Your hands. They’re shaking.”
“So. What about it?”
“How long has this been going on?”
“It happens sometimes. I don’t have any other symptoms so it’s nothing. Now, will you stay focused. We need to make a decision to take this job or not. Will it be Savannah? Or Washington?”
As important as the decision to change jobs and move away from home was, I couldn’t indulge in the activity of decision-making that day. I had to figure out how much longer he would be with me.
I got off the couch and moseyed into the kitchen, to the dining room, then upstairs to the bedroom where I cried my eyes out. Rustling leaves tapped against my skylight window above my tub. The sight brought me back to our younger days soon after we married.
I remember walking to the OU campus where I worked at the Law School as a word processor. Our first fall together was a lonely one for me. The strappling football player I married was like a soldier called off to war—gone more in those fall months than I’d expected. I thought we should spend more time together. But when he wasn’t away playing in a football game, he’d be at practice or studying half the night.
I’d only seen snow once in my life. As a young girl, about eleven, it snowed in the deep south for a small portion of the day. It was gone by morning. But outside my office window in mid-October, snow flurries fell from Norman, Oklahoma’s overcast sky. Unbelievable to me, I ran out into the cold and stood on the sidewalk and looked at God’s wonder. Within moments the flurries turned to large flakes and gusty winds forced me back inside.
Right now I ask myself: “Has it really been that long? Forty-one long years?” It didn’t seem that long ago when young football players’ wives and girlfriends laughed and giggled as they dressed for the OU games. We stayed up half the night doing each other’s hair and eating whatever we wanted. After the game, we parted ways, mainly because our chrisitianity wouldn’t allow us to mingle with late night drinkers and party half-naked.
When I heard my husband’s footsteps climb the stairs that day, I was forced to return to my dilemma. After I had dried my eyes, I braced for an inquisition.
“What are you doing? Why did you leave? I thought we would decide this together?” he had asked.
“I can’t do this right now. Can we try again tomorrow?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m not sure. I think the idea of moving scares me.”
“Well, you think it over. I’m going to the store. You want anything?”
I shook my head. Before I could stop him, he was gone.
As the garage door sounded below, I remembered our first car—a two-door, green Gremlin. It lasted two months before we had it towed to wreckage. Then many months later, after weeks of walking everywhere we went, we bought a four-door blue and white Chevy Impala. A heavy car that proved reliable for the two years we had it. He saved money by doing repairs on the car himself. He made sure I was safe.
He’s spoiled me over the years. I’m as rotten as a teenage girl. I bat my eyes and get any and everything I want. I pout. He appeases. I throw a tantrum. He caters to my every whim.
I look toward heaven and sometimes I plead with God to let me go first. I can’t stand to watch him grow old. I can’t watch him wither away like that. But no matter how loud I cry, my pleas go unanswered. God is nothing like my husband. He can’t be tricked or manipulated. In a way I appreciate God’s silence because sometimes I’m not sure I fully understand what I’m asking from him. It’s not until my spirit is calm that I conclude there’s no comfort in me going before my husband. Death will be hard for us both no matter who goes first.
But he’s not gone yet. Years later, he’s still here with me. He’s healthy. Aging, but healthy. I realize that he’s not the only one getting old. So am I. I smile as I wonder how is he seeing me. Am I still the woman of his dreams? He still spoils me, so I guess I am.
That day long ago, I finally collapsed in a chair and waited for his return from the store. I was anxious. I wanted to press my head to his chest and hear his heartbeat. I wanted to gaze my large brown eyes into his then touch his stubbled face, kiss him warm and tender, grab his large linebacker hands and wrap them around my bulging waistline.
Although our hair is thinner now, our waistlines have disappeared, and we’ve been robbed of our youth, we still have each other. It took me a while, fighting against time, trying harder to control the process of aging, before I realized that it no longer matters how old we get or what condition we’re in when faced with our departure. As long as my husband’s love lives in me, he’s never far away. God is walking me through a process, daily teaching me to spend more of my days enjoying the moments rather than fearing the inevitable.
Donna B. Comeaux
Freelance Writer, Novelist, Poet
You can find my new book, Selfish Ambition, at http://www.Smashwords.com or at http://www.bn.com. The book is FREE.
October Devotional – Home
I never visited often and if it hadn’t been for my grandmother’s funeral, I’m not sure I’d go back.
I remember the rush to buy something special. I hadn’t bought new shoes or shopped for a new dress in years. What would I pack? Could I pack everything I needed in two small bags. Maybe I just needed one.
Once inside the department stores, the adrenaline rush I experienced took me by surprise. I’d entered the store thinking my emotions were intact. I’d picked that particular day with care. But no matter how much care I exercised, it didn’t do a bit of good. It was hard to make decisions. Should I buy a jacket and match it with a skirt I had in my closet? Or should I buy a suit? The shoes cost $89.99. Should I buy them? Do I leave in the morning? In the afternoon? Maybe mid-day.
Three-thirty on a late Thursday afternoon, my tires rolled along asphalt down Highway 75. Hours later I merged onto I-10 and drove to Houston as if I’d done it a thousand times. Littered all along the highway from Ennis, Texas to the Gulf of Mexico was one oil refinery after another. Sulphur filled the air. The refineries lit up the dark sky and guided me to my hometown like a beacon in the night. The giant Sam Houston stature always served as my landmark. It signified I was close to a place I’d spent years trying to forget.
Little did I know I’d never forget the places I ate, the schools I attended, the bullying I experienced, or the love of my grandparents.
When the time came, I picked up my two sons from the Houston airport the day before the funeral. Our hearts leaped for joy when we saw each other. We held each other tight, as though we hadn’t seen each other in years. The circumstances which brought us together created an unbreakable bond, a soothing peace, an undisturbed oneness.
My sons’ support at a time like this was irreplaceable. They understood everything I didn’t say. They never offered empty words, or pressed me to feel differently about the magnitude of my loss. We comforted each other with love and patience and constant prayers.
I felt enormous relief when my children took over the driving duties. They drove to the coastline as if they had done it a thousand times, as if they had grown up in this part of the country. In fact, they’d only visited my hometown a couple of times. But they remembered every story about every empty block now filled with tall grass, broken cement, and rutted tire marks.
As always, we visited their ninety-year-old great-aunt on their father’s side, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and headed to my grandparents’ house.
The family sold the house five or six years ago, but it always stood quietly in its proper place. It’s a long narrow house painted white with medium gray trim with a silver-painted chainlink fence surrounding it. One side of the double-gate sagged. The front gate squealed. The grass had perfectly straight edges and an evenly cut lawn, ankle-deep.
My grandparents sometimes sat on the front porch after a long day of yard work. Their kids and grandkids, including me, ran around the house playing and yelling and teasing one another into submission. The porch was a place where you watched all the comings and goings of neighbors, strangers, and the “strangest.” Some folks waved, keeping their stride in the direction of wherever they were headed. Others stopped, leaned on the fence, and talk endlessly, spilling a tidbit of gossip here and there. Some entered the squeaky gate and sat awhile, laughing over all their “remember whens,” before finally drinking the last of their lemonade or iced tea or koolaid and moving on.
It’s my recollection Granddaddy took that old porch out twice and built it up again, painting it in that same medium, steel Army-gray color. I meticulously watched him each time he sprayed his peach trees, always warning us to stay away so we wouldn’t have an allergic reaction to the pesticide.
I never could figure out how Granddaddy cut his hedges so straight. The tool he used looked like giant scissors to my young eyes. He’d snip and cut and pull and tug on those hedges until every leaf and branch was in its proper place. He even manicured the ditch to perfection. All my life I never saw a house on the block that was as well manicured as my grandparents’ house.
On previous visits, long after Granddaddy passed away, we’d stand on the sidewalk and I’d point to various windows and tell my children what we did in each room. To the far left was my grandparents’ bedroom. The front door opened to a combined living room and bedroom where we slept as children. To the right of the combined living room and bedroom was the kitchen. Farther right of it were rooms my grandmother sometimes rented to young famililes. These rooms included a living room, a second bedroom, along with a small kitchen and shared bath.
Trying to come to peace with my grandmother’s death, I couldn’t wait to see the house. After our late lunch, an hour before the viewing, we headed for my grandparents’ house so we’d go through the rituals of reliving my childhood. In my mind, I smelled the moth balls Grandmother used in her closets. I saw a back room filled with clothes she refused to give away.
Though I knew it wasn’t possible, I wanted to go inside and experience that dip in the floor right before you entered the kitchen. I also wanted to make a beeline for a second back room so I’d dig through thousands of black and white photographs and, in my mind, plead with Grandmother to let me take some of them home with me. Or perhaps I’d gawk at the whatnots on walls, or relieve my grandmother of the many antiques she had in the house.
Of course, none of that was possible. Someone else owned the house now.
When we finally rounded the corner, we sat unmoved, the car motor still running. No one exhaled. No one said a word. We dare not look at each other. It was as if someone had reached deep inside our souls and sucked the air right out of us. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t. I wanted to express how I felt, but no words, no descriptions, no language adequately expressed my devastation.
The house was gone!
Our silence continued for what seemed like an eternity. I finally heard the car doors open and I watched as my two sons got out. As they approached the house, I surprisingly noticed the only thing left was the fence. It surrounded the lot in its truest form. The double-gate still sagged; its paint barely chipped. The front gate squealed, as it had done many years before, as my children opened and went through it. For the longest time, I couldn’t move. I dare not think. My hands shook. My insides hopped around like mosquitoes looking for that perfect spot to bite and suck my blood.
When I finally spoke, all I kept asking was, “What happened?” I’d grown up in that house. Love poured from our grandparents in that house. I learned how to sew in one of its rooms; learned to cook; played 45s in the living room and panomized the latest love songs until I hit every single note flawlessly.
When we mustered enough courage, we asked my grandmother’s best friend what happened.
“The house burned,” her son said. “Owner set it afire on purpose because he couldn’t get his asking price for it.”
I was sick. I couldn’t stand. The man who bought my grandparents’ house had no idea what he had done. He destroyed the last connection to my past. I remember thinking, “How could he?”
Needless to say, this made my grief all the more unbearable.
Long after my grandmother’s funeral, the house became the central theme of my existence. I thought about it all the time. Then one day God helped me surrender. He took me on a journey and helped me recall Solomon’s wisdom.
“The words of the Teacher, son of David, king in Jerusalem: 2 “Meaningless! Meaningless!” says the Teacher. “Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.” 3 What does man gain from all his labor at which he toils under the sun? 4 Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever. 5 The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises. 6 The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes, 7 All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full. To the place the streams come from, there they return again. 8 All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing. 9 What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. 10 Is there anything of which one can say, “Look! This is something new”? It was here already, long ago; it was here before our time. 11 There is no remembrance of men of old, and even those who are yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow.” (Ecclesiates 1:1-11)
For many weeks, I cried as I thought about that vacant lot. I felt as though someone had taken a hammer and cracked my foundation. My grandmother was the last one in the family to go. No elders are left. She validated me. Whenever I’d talked to her, she took me back in time and rekindled my past, gave me hope for the future.
The lot upon which that narrow white house stood is empty now. Nothing is left. Creaks and noises and smells can’t be replicated, except in my mind. My point of reference has gone up in smoke. Why? Because of someone else’s greed.
But there’s another reason my grandparents’ house is gone. God shook my earthly tabernacle so I’d be reminded that above me is my permanent dwelling place. Heaven has more colors than the rainbow. Its floors, and God’s throne, are made of sapphire. (Exodus 24:10; Ezekiel 1:26) Every precious stone created by God will surround his kingdom. (Revelations 21:19) It has countless rooms. We won’t concern ourselves with walls, tight spaces, or if we left our real estate in proper hands.
God reminded me that the only thing that matters in this life is my service to him. Take Ecclesiates 1:1-11 to heart. People come and go. Houses are bought and sold. No matter how much care you give to your earthly real estate, it will eventually be resold and have new owners. After we die, we’ll only be remembered by the present generation, if at all. People will go about their lives as they have since the beginning of time.
But God’s word lives forever! Amen!
My children took it upon themselves to shovel dirt in a box so I’d plant a flower or shrub as a keepsake. No one prodded them to do this. My heart screamed for joy over their compassion. In my mind, I can still see the two of them conspiring meticulously, dropping me off, then head to my grandparents’ vacant lot to dig up a small portion of the land.
It’s a sobering thought to know all that time spent clinging to my grandparents’ house was meaningless. My times there were wonderful. I’ll forever cherish the memories, forever remember their love. But I have come to understand that as precious as that house was and is to me, it’s just not my . . .
Home.
Donna B. Comeaux
Freelance Writer, Poet, Novelist
[Please visit http://www.rubyforwomen.com to read Donna’s latest short story entitled “Selfish Ambition.” A new chapter is posted every Thursday.]
You’ll Get Through This by Max Lucado
God is amazing! I read an article by Max Lucado the last week of August and had no earthly idea how it would help me through what hit me barely two weeks later. If you’ve experienced losing someone, please go to this website and listen to how eloquent and practical Max Lucado lays out how we should handle death. What an encourager Max Lucado is and has been over the years. Thanks, Max!
I’m still hurting, but only God can ease my pain. At the end of the day, God knows what he is doing. He has everything under control. Amazing how he works: taking life, giving life, sustaining life. To God be the glory! Amen!
The article was orginally published in the Summer 2014 Issue of Just Between Us Magazine. It can be found here: http://www.issuu.com/shelly50/docs/jbusummer14 and is entitled “You’ll Get Through This.”
God bless!