Tag: Hope

Rocks and Gardens

July 21st, 2025

As soon as I walked from my bedroom into the hallway, I could smell that fresh, earthy scent of green peppers. Ruby again. Our seven month old puppy sneaks into my garden, picks green bell peppers, and eats them raw while leaving the seeds behind. She’d been out early this morning snacking on peppers and bringing leftovers in the house. In the middle of my prayer time, I wandered through the garden, picking peppers before Ruby could eat them all. And there in the garden was so much life and growth and beauty that my frustration turned into a blessing.

My morning garden-walk with God reminded me of the first time we meet God—in a garden! Eden. And then my thoughts drifted to where we find Jesus the night before His crucifixion—in a garden! Gethsemane. And then I thought of being beside my grandmother as she breathed her first breath—in a garden! Heaven. Her four children, Lily, and I surrounded her bed, singing her favorite song together, In the Garden, as she entered heaven. Maw-Maw’s hospital window looked out into a prayer garden, with a cross visible from her bed. Lily and I found hours of solace there. Roses, gardenias, and other plants bordered the prayer path we spent hours pacing. That my God would curate such a beautiful, meaningful place for Maw-Maw to leave earth and enter heaven astounded me. He is more generous and loving than we could ever imagine.

I’ve been quiet about my grandmother’s death for a lot of reasons. Her passing was something I’d been dreading since childhood. I dearly loved my grandma, and there just haven’t been words to process her loss yet. There’s a precious little bond that I treasure though: Maw-Maw was present as I drew my first-ever breath, and I was honored to be present as she drew her last breath. Though the grief process has been long and silent, God has sustained me. He’s been my Rock, never failing to remind me that He sees me, He hears me, and He knows (2 Kings 20:5 “I have heard your prayer; I have seen your tears. Behold, I will heal you.”). And so many of those reminders come while I’m tending my gardens—the tiger lilies, the yellow roses, the peas, the okra, the green tomatoes. All these have sweet memories of Maw-Maw’s wisdom or moments together attached.

Have you ever considered Creation? Before God breathed life into humanity, He planted a luscious garden with everything humanity would need to sustain us. He thought of everything, then executed it all masterfully and beautifully. Because He’s a gentleman, and because He loves us immeasurably, He created everything we’d need first!

Picking up where I left off in my devotional time, reading from Bob Goff’s book, Catching Whimsy, I was blown away by a new-to-me thought Goff introduced. Jesus told a parable (Matthew 7:24-27) about the different foundations built upon by the wise man and the foolish man. The foolish man built his house on shifting sand, which crashed to devastation when the rains came. The wise man, however, built his house on a solid rock foundation. When the rains came, his home stood firm.

Goff suggests that we aren’t all given a firm foundation. We don’t all have ready-rocks to build on. Perhaps we were born into poverty. Maybe our spouse walked out, leaving us with nothing but five kids and no job. But the beautiful thing is this: God already thought of that too! He designed a perfect plan for that—Himself. He offered Himself to be our Rock, our foundation! What? Read that again. Slowly. Now read it once again, even more slowly this time. No matter what shaky, uncertain, shifting, unsteady, crumbling foundation we have, we can choose to build our lives on Him. He’s steady, solid, firm, unmoving, sturdy, and unshakable. He gave Himself. As a gift. There’s no earning, no striving, just grace. All grace. All we have to do is choose to build on Him, our Rock. Then when those devastating floods of overwhelm threaten to shake our lives, we can rest—REST—assured that we are held firm, unshakeable and safe.

The imagery of both rocks and gardens paints an exquisite picture of God’s faithfulness in sustaining us. When we build our lives on Him, He provides all we need. Because He is all we need. The courageous question here is: How do I respond to that? What if I don’t get the job promotion I’d planned for? What if that diagnosis is worse than we imagined? What if there’s no money after that last house payment? The answer to that courageous question for me is simply: surrender. It’s that unfurling of the fist to tenderly release control. Life may not look or go just like I envisioned, but I surrender to God’s way, knowing His is the best way, and His plan is always, always good. Ann Voskamp, in her book Sacred Prayer, calls this way of life cruciformity—it’s living a cross-shaped life, a life of taking up our crosses in surrender and following Jesus. Live cruciform, and you will live a beautifully sustained life because Love Himself is breathing life into you.

I invite you to find a garden today and talk to God there. Your prayer doesn’t have to be pretty or have flowery words. God just wants your heart, your raw, tender, realest real heart! Then, pick up a rock to remind you that God Himself is the Rock upon which to build your life. He is for you, and He won’t let you down. Ever.

In The Garden

C. Austin Miles

1. I come to the garden alone,

While the dew is still on the roses;

And the voice I hear, falling on my ear,

The Son of God discloses.

Refrain:

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,

And He tells me I am His own,

And the joy we share as we tarry there,

None other has ever known.

2. He speaks, and the sound of His voice

Is so sweet the birds hush their singing;

And the melody that He gave to me

Within my heart is ringing. (Refrain)

3. I’d stay in the garden with Him

Tho’ the night around me be falling;

But He bids me go; thro’ the voice of woe,

His voice to me is calling. (Refrain)
When Four-Leaf Clovers Aren’t For Good Luck

June 25th, 2024

Have you ever been on a prayer walk? There’s this 15-ish minute pathway I take whenever I pray and walk. Since I’ve plodded and pleaded so often, my seven-year-old has dubbed the path the “Prayer Walk Route.” It’s a sacred place for me. God and I have had so many deep conversations while flowers blossomed and leaves changed. Those wayside plants have been well watered by tears.

Months and months ago, there was a particularly painful season, and while I continued daily along the Prayer Walk Route, I felt alone. God was quiet. The conversation felt one-sided—just me. Not hearing from God was frustrating. I remember begging for Him to whisper to my soul or even shout at me. Silence.

Still, I carried on. One foot in front of the other. Every single day. Met with more silence, I started begging for a sign, a specific sign. I asked for a four-leaf clover.

Dutch clover, among others, is abundant in our home area. Along my Prayer Walk Route clover is prolific. My honeybees love it! And I always, always look for four-leaf clovers. Who doesn’t want good luck? So, I began bargaining with the clover-Creator, “If You really love me, would You please help me find a four-leaf clover?”

Not one. Even before this I’d always wanted to find one. And I couldn’t understand why, in all the countless hours over three plus decades, I could never find one. As a creative, I see the world in patterns, shapes, and colors—but I couldn’t see a four-leaf clover. Ever.

I remember being on this survival hike, and this lady looked down and found a handful. Siblings found them. Friends found them. A gal in my fitness group finds them by the dozens. My daughter found them. But I couldn’t find one.

My prayer walks began to feel more like burden marathons and pity parties, always asking God to prove His love. But I couldn’t feel it, couldn’t see it.

Until one night, during this stark season of darkness, I heard from God. Sitting outside at a car hop, I glanced up from my strawberry lemonade, and saw these words printed across a stranger’s t-shirt:

Even if You Don’t

My Hope is You Alone

Those words, lyrics from the MercyMe song Even If, were like light and oxygen and water to my dried up, used up soul. And He whispered that I wasn’t alone, I’d never been alone, because He is my Only, my Alone. And even if I never found the lucky clover, I’d still trust Him, I’d still hope in Him.

Five days after seeing that stranger’s shirt, I decided to walk a different trail. With both beagles and my daughter in tow, we headed out into the sunshine. No destination in mind, we followed the beagles’ noses. It’s a habit for me to pray as I walk, and I can still remember the place where I was praying gratitude to my God for loving me so well. I was filled with thanksgiving and joy, knowing without a doubt that my Abba loved me—and was thanking Him for already proving His love in so many ways. As I was saying those words, the exact moment, I glanced over to check on one of the beagles, and there it was! A four-leaf clover! It was nestled in a verdant sea, but the clover was so obvious as if it were the only one there.

What’s remarkable to me is that it wasn’t until I stopped demanding ultimatums and proof of His love, and until I could just rest and believe in His love, that He gave me this beautiful gift. The way He waited until already believed I was loved before seeing the clover is so much more meaningful.

For me, four-leaf clovers aren’t lucky. They don’t represent good luck. No, for me, the four-leaf clover will forevermore represent good LOVE.
Do I Really Want to be Self-Sufficient?

January 17th, 2024

Self-sufficiency is one of those modern day buzz words that seems to be the bow that ties the tidy package of living off-grid, having ample savings, raising and growing food, future prepping, and being independent. Sounds like a dream, right? But is it really? Let’s zoom in on Habakkuk 2.

Habakkuk 2:2 begins God’s answer to Habakkuk’s second complaint. Remember, Habakkuk was the questioning prophet who lived around 600 years before Jesus was born (see previous blog). God is answering Habakkuk with a vision of the Babylonian Exile. Here, He instructs Habakkuk to write the vision. And right smack in the middle of all this doom and gloom comes hope! Because doesn’t our faithful God always provide for hope? In verse 4 (ESV) God promises, “Behold, his soul is puffed up; it is not upright within him, but the righteous shall live by his faith” (emphasis mine).

What does that mean? Why is it so full of hope? Let’s read on. Verses 5-17 detail more of the coming destruction and devastation. Then we come to verses 18-20 (ESV):

“What profit is an idol when its maker has shaped it, a metal image, a teacher of lies?

For its maker trusts in his own creation when he makes speechless idols!

Woe to him who says to a wooden thing, Awake; to a silent stone, Arise!

Can this teach?

Behold, it is overlaid with gold and silver, and there is no breath at all in it.

But the LORD is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before him.”

Zooming in even closer, “its maker trusts in his own creation…and there is no breath at all in it” (Habakkuk 2:18-19, ESV). And I catch my own breath as I digest this—am I putting more hope and trust and energy into what I’ve created (or gardened or canned or raised or dreamed or saved) than I am putting into God to sustain me? Scripture indicates that even the fanciest, top-of-the-line securities and idols cannot save or profit us. And looking at the Babylonian Exile and other events, we see that history supports scripture.

Self-sufficiency isn’t sustainable. The only thing that has been, is, and ever will be sustainable is God-sufficiency.

Because God is sufficient and alive, we don’t have to rely on ourselves. Self-sufficiency, well, it’s never sufficient. Our creations have no breath, no life outside of God. Jesus declared, “I AM the Life.” Because of Jesus, we have ever-present hope. We can live with hope because we’re no longer dependent on our own sufficiencies, but we’re living our faith—living fully dependent on God.

I imagine that being God-sufficient, and even this counter-cultural idea, looks differently for everyone. And I know, I know, the idea is intimidating. What does laying down your drive toward self-sufficiency look like? How does it feel? Now, how does it feel to embrace living a God-sufficient life, embracing complete dependence on Him? What does it look like? How does your perspective shift?

For my little family, choosing to be God-sufficient rather than self-sufficient has been humbling. And the road has been excruciating at times, but we’ve never, ever been alone. The blessings that brokenness bring far outweigh the pain. We have witnessed miracles that will be passed down through generations.

We’ve chosen to homeschool for several deeply personal reasons, and that alone is a sacrifice. Even homeschooling is costly—financially and time-wise. Living on one seasonal income is hard. So hard.

Imagine, it’s December 1, and you notice your bank account has just under $200.00, yes, two hundred dollars, and that’s literally all you have, and your mortgage payment is due, which is considerably more than $200.00. So, you text your husband and ask if he made the house payment, hoping he says, “yes,” because you have a dozen people to buy Christmas gifts for, groceries for the week to purchase, and utility bills to pay. And, oh, there’s an unexpected vet bill and medications and because your husband’s work is seasonal, he has no work in the foreseeable future. And, the oven stopped working and his mower broke (essential for a landscaper) and the weight was crushing the breath right out of me. And, and, and….. He didn’t say the yes I was so hoping to hear; he said, “not yet.”

How would we make the payment? How could I have surprises for my little girl on Christmas morning? How would I feed my family and our animals? How would we pay the utility bills? How could we save for a new oven and mower part when we absolutely had nothing to even save? Should I send our little girl to school and start working outside our home? All these thoughts played on repeat in my mind day and night until I’d utterly exhausted myself.

Did you read all the “I’s” above? I was trying to fix everything. I was trusting in my own self-sufficiency. Had I been God-sufficient, I would’ve had much less anxiety. Becoming God-sufficient isn’t easy, and it’s a practice in humility. I had to lay down my pride and receive help. I’m a giver, so receiving is like pulling teeth for me; it’s awkward and uncomfortable. But it’s a beautiful blessing. I shared, with no details, in my small group that my husband needed work, and we prayed together. I shared with a close soul-sister. And I released.

On a Wednesday night mid-December, I told my husband we were putting all the uncertainties into a box, wrapping it in gorgeous imaginary paper, sealing it with a bright, red bow, and giving it to God. The only thing left was to communicate with God and trust Him completely. And the miracles came tumbling in—only God. Don’t you even tell me He can’t do it, because I’ve seen Him, over and over and over again.

An anonymous angel delivered an abundance of surprises for my little girl for Christmas, everything a little girl could dream of! A friend helped me buy groceries and some gifts. Two generous souls paid for the very expensive mower part. A friend surprised us with a new oven and so much more. Work started coming in from a suggestion from a friend in my small group. And God’s bank paid all our bills. I don’t even know how, but I’ve seen miracles that would blow your mind.

God Math—it’s real. I get it; when you read the memory of Jesus feeding 5000 with just a bit of fish and bread from one boy’s lunch and there being 12 full baskets leftover, it seems just like ancient folklore. But when you live it and actually witness it, it’s powerful. Those recorded memories from Jesus’ friends take on significant meaning and authenticity. For us, all year, God has taken just under $200.00 and has used that to sustain us. You see, what I didn’t tell you is that our bank account started in January a year ago with $196.00. Winter is oh-so-hard for us. And mid-winter, there was a tax mistake that the tax service didn’t note, which resulted in an unexpected $5000+ adjustment. Remember, we had less than $200. And there has rarely been a time all last year that I saw the bank account creep above $200. But God. My family is warm and fed. We have all we need. Had I tried to keep finding a solution and depending on my own sufficiency, I doubt we’d be where we are now. And I know we wouldn’t have witnessed miracles and established connections, and developed deeper friendships. No, those blessings came because we chose to be God-sufficient.

I love this quote by Philip Yancey in his book, The Jesus I Never Knew:

“With nowhere else to turn, the desperate just may turn to Jesus, the only one who can offer the deliverance they long for…maybe, just maybe, the desperate person will cry out to God for help. If so, that person is truly blessed.”

Yancey goes on to state, “poor people find themselves in a posture that befits the grace of God. In their state of neediness, dependence, and dissatisfaction with life, they may welcome God’s free gift of love…they are more naturally dependent, because they have no choice; they must depend on others simply to survive.”

Mid-December, someone assured me that if we needed anything, all I had to do was ask. And I remember tapping out a message sharing the incomprehensibility of God Math and detailing the miracles keeping us afloat. And I wrote something I believed with all my heart and still hold to—if I get too comfortable, there’s this very real possibility I’d feel self-sufficient. While being God-sufficient is hard and painful at times, I never want to not need Him. I’ve drawn so close to Him because I’ve had to. God is all I had. And no matter what, I never want to drift away. I know I’m seen and held and carried and loved and sustained. I’ve seen the miracles. And they’re too good to not believe.

No longer will I strive to be self-sufficient. From now on, I choose to be God-sufficient.

This is one of the most vulnerable blogs I’ve written—utterly humiliating. But it isn’t about me; it’s about sharing God for His glory. I didn’t do any of that. He did it! There was that self-sufficient paragraph above with all the “I” questions. I want to shift that to a God-sufficient perspective in answering those same questions.

God, in His limitless generosity, made our house payment. God creatively sent Christmas surprises. God provided food and necessities. God supplied money for the utility bills. God used others to bless us with an oven and means for a mower part. God whispered through His Word that I am to be still; I am right where He wants me.

It really is so sweet to just trust in Jesus. There is life, abundant life, in Him. So for me, I’m choosing God-sufficiency. And in God’s incredibly upside-down kingdom, we received the gift of being able to bless others in need. ❤️
Good Morning, Shame.

July 5th, 2020

An old friend, lifelong friend really, stopped in to visit this morning. Actually, I’m sure she woke me. She was there in my dreams, too. Lurking. Haunting. Clinging. Her name? It’s Shame. Debilitating Shame.

For as long as I can remember, this nauseous, gut twisting, dark, frightened feeling washes over me. She just appears, unannounced and lingering. It feels a bit like the feeling you’d experience if you were a fawn, grazing in a wildflower meadow, suddenly realizing you’re being stared at by a circle of rifle-bearing hunters. Or the feeling you’d experience if you walk out to a highly anticipated, sold out performance, and you realize in your haste, you walk out–naked. Yeah, that feeling. Naked. Bare. Vulnerable. Exposed. Scared with nowhere to hide. Nauseated. Guilty. Guilty with the confused awareness that you’ve done nothing wrong, but still you’re unable to determine the source of the sickening feeling.

So, I addressed this feeling during an 8 month course of cognitive behavioral therapy for suicide, depression, and disordered eating. It was there I learned that my friend, Guilt, was actually an imposter–Shame. I wasn’t feeling guilt. I was feeling shame. Let me tell you, it’s fascinating and excruciatingly hard work to dig deep into your past, your family of origin, your traumas to discover those deep, hidden, covered roots. Once Shame is introduced, she doesn’t like to be kept away.

And she visited again this morning. Alone, with my head literally between my knees, trying to stave off a panic attack, I asked my Father God for help. Nothing. Nothing except this: You’re my child. I love you just the way you are. My broken self immediately replied, “yeah, but you’re God. You love everyone. I’m just a failure. No matter how hard I try, I can’t lose these pounds or overcome infertility. I can’t shake Shame.” I quietly started Sunday dinner, still praying. Still feeling defeated. Soon, another friend knocked at the door. Catching my breath, I recognized her–Suicidal Ideation. I didn’t open the door, just kept chopping cantaloupe and radishes, silently begging God to come.

Our church has been live streaming during COVID 19 quarantine. Being the third fastest growing church in the US, leaders chose to wait to open doors until the first Sunday in August. As I was mental-battling in the kitchen, I heard the strains from our worship team, “there’s nothing that our God can’t do….not a prison wall He can’t break through…,” and immediately I felt my Jesus’ presence. And my Father God? He spoke, “Just listen.” I did.

And mere moments later, I heard my God whisper to my soul and gently cradle my heart through these lyrics from “Hallelujah For The Cross”: all my shame was met with mercy.

I’m not certain I believe in coincidences, and I definitely don’t believe my experience this morning was a coincidence. When my uninvited, unwelcome guest, Shame, refused to leave, my Father heard my plea, spoke to me in a tangible way, and swept away Shame with all of His Mercy.

For the closing worship song, Northview’s team lead “Reckless Love.” This morning, my God proved His reckless love for me. He fought until I was found. And, all the shame in the world wouldn’t deter His love. It’s refreshing to know that I don’t have to perform, earn, or deserve. I’m just loved. As is. All my Shame is met with Mercy.

To Northview: Thank you. You are home here on earth. You embraced us and welcomed us and loved us when we felt lost, confused, uninvited, and unseen. Either our first or second time in attendance was baptism weekend. I remember being unable to sing during the worship during baptism because of the tears rivering down my face and the sobs wracking my chest. The feeling was indescribable. The closest I can come is just the feeling of being home, being unconditionally loved, and ultimate belonging. In a raging life storm, you’ve been a life shelter. You are home.