Wednesday, August 19, 2026


 

God Opened Her Eyes
“Just then God opened her eyes. She looked. She saw a well of water.”
Genesis 21:19 (MSG)


Why is it so hard sometimes to study God’s Word?

Have you ever heard that whisper early in the morning, just before the sun rises?

Come and meet with Me.

You feel this tug at your heart, persuading you to get up and go to that place where you meet with God. It begs you to get up, and yet sometimes you stay still.

Why?

Maybe it’s because we think we know what’s waiting for us.

Condemnation. Correction. A reminder of all the things we did wrong the day before.

I’m sorry, God.
I know I’m not perfect.
I tried.

Sometimes even saying I’m sorry gets old.

But I’ve learned something. When I feel that way and obey the tug in my heart anyway, I rarely meet the God I was afraid was waiting for me.

Instead, I meet a God who opens my eyes, once again, to see how much He loves me.

A couple of mornings ago, I accepted that early-morning invitation, and I was amazed by what God showed me.

I was reading in Genesis about Hagar and Ishmael.

Hagar and her son were sent away from the only home they had known. Sarah did not want Ishmael, Abraham’s son through Hagar, sharing in Isaac’s inheritance. Abraham gave Hagar some food and a skin of water and sent her and Ishmael away.

With no plan, no home and no idea where she was going, a devastated Hagar wandered into the wilderness of Beersheba with her son.

Just a mother, her child, some food and one skin of water.

And then the water ran out.

As Ishmael grew weaker, Hagar believed he was going to die. They were alone in the wilderness, and as far as she could see, there was nothing she could do to save her child.

So she placed him under a bush and walked away because she couldn’t bear to watch him die.

I can only imagine that mother’s heart.

I picture her some distance away, curled into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably.

She wasn’t crying because she didn’t love him enough to keep trying.

She was crying because she had run out of everything she knew to do.

The water was gone.

She couldn’t see another source.

She couldn’t save her son.

But God could see what Hagar couldn’t.

God heard the boy crying and called to Hagar from heaven.

“What’s wrong, Hagar? Don’t be afraid.”

He told her to get up, go to her son, take him by the hand and hold on to him because God still had a future for this child.

And then comes the sentence that stopped me:

God opened her eyes.

She looked.

And there it was.

A well of water.

The water she desperately needed was there.

She simply couldn’t see it.

Hagar thought she had run out of options.

God knew she was standing near a well.

Think about that for a minute.

Hagar’s water skin was empty, but God’s provision wasn’t.

She saw a dying child. God saw a future.

She saw the end of the story. God knew there were chapters she couldn’t even imagine yet.

And here’s something else I love:

God heard Ishmael before Hagar ever saw the well.

Her inability to see God’s provision didn’t mean He wasn’t providing.

Her fear didn’t mean He had abandoned her.

Her wandering didn’t mean God had lost track of where she was.

And her empty water skin certainly didn’t mean God had run out of water.

Ha! I love that.

Hagar was wandering in the wilderness of Beersheba—a name connected with a well and with seven or an oath. She was in a place whose very name pointed toward a well, yet in her grief and desperation, she couldn’t see the water she so desperately needed.

How many times do we do the same thing?

We become so consumed by what we’ve lost, what we fear or what we cannot fix that we can’t see what God may have already placed nearby.

Sometimes the miracle isn’t God creating the well.

Sometimes the miracle is God opening our eyes to see it.

And the story doesn’t end at the well.

God gave Hagar the peace to trust her son to Him.

She could not control what would happen to Ishmael. She could not see his future.

But God could.

Scripture tells us:

“God was with the boy as he grew up. He lived in the desert and became an archer.”

God was with him.

The little boy Hagar once laid beneath a bush believing he was going to die grew up in the wilderness of Paran and became an archer—a skilled warrior with a bow and arrow.

I love the imagery of the bow.

Throughout Scripture, and especially in the Psalms, we see the bow used in pictures of strength, battle and God moving in power.

God was still in action.

He was in action when Hagar couldn’t see the well.

He was in action when she thought her son was dying.

He was in action when she was crying in the wilderness.

And He was in action as that little boy grew into an archer.

God is always in action!

This story gives hope to the mother who is begging God to heal her sick child.

It gives hope to the mother watching her child wander and praying that God will bring them home.

And it gives peace to the mother who has lost a child and has had to place her precious little one completely into the hands of God.

We never know when our eyes will be opened to see the well.

For some, He will lead us to the well of healing water we have desperately prayed for.

For others, He will give us the peace to place what we love most into His hands and trust Him with what we cannot understand.

But either way, God is still in action.

We may wander, but He knows exactly where we are.

We may not see the well, but He does.

We may not understand the path, but He knows where it leads.

Our paths through this wilderness may look very different, but if we trust Him and keep following, they all lead to the same destination- our Heavenly home.

Monday, August 10, 2026

 


This Week, God Met Me in a Mumford & Sons Song — “Malibu”

Still Learning to Trust Beneath His Wings

If you've read my last couple of posts, you know I've been sitting with this idea of trust and understanding.

I keep coming back to Proverbs 3:5:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”

I know that verse in my head.

But sometimes my heart lags behind.

And apparently, God isn't finished talking to me about it, because this week He met me in a Mumford & Sons song.

I love Mumford & Sons. I've written about their music before because every once in a while, they put words around something my heart has been trying to say. This one may have made my top ten.

There are things my heart knows about walking with Jesus that I don't always know how to put into words. Somehow, this song did.

So I wanted to pull out the lyrics that spoke most deeply to me and share why each one felt so familiar, because together, they reminded me of what my walk with Jesus has actually looked like.

Not perfect faith.

There has been doubt. Weakness. Fear. Falling behind. Dry seasons. Valleys. And plenty of struggling to let go of things I thought I had already surrendered.

But woven through all of it has been Someone leading, waiting, staying, restoring, and continually giving me a place to come back to.

And as I listened to these words, I kept thinking:

This is Jesus.

Not because I understand everything.

But because this is who He has shown Himself to be when I don't.

“In all my doubt… in all my weakness… can You lead?”

Yes.

That is the Jesus I've experienced.

Sometimes I think we get the spiritual walk backwards. We think we need to doubt less, believe harder, understand more and get ourselves together before we come to Him.

There is a story in Mark 9 that I come back to because, if I'm honest, I understand the father's struggle.

He brings his child to Jesus desperate for Him to heal him. He wants to believe. He does believe. But there is still a part of him that is struggling.

And instead of hiding that struggle from Jesus, he says:

“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” — Mark 9:24

I love the honesty in that plea.

I believe You, Jesus.

But I need Your help believing You.

I understand that prayer more than I'd like to admit.

There are times I know who Jesus is. I know what Scripture says. I can look back over my life and see His faithfulness, and still find myself struggling to trust Him with what is right in front of me.

And what I love most about this story is how Jesus responds.

He meets the father in the struggle.

He doesn't shame him for the unbelief mixed in with his belief. He doesn't tell him to come back when his faith is stronger.

He meets him right there.

Maybe that's why these lyrics spoke so deeply to me.

In my doubt. In my weakness. Can You still lead me?

I can bring Jesus both.

My belief and my unbelief.

My trust and my questions.

My faith and the part of my heart that's still afraid.

And sometimes my prayer can simply be:

Jesus, I believe. Help the part of me that is struggling to believe.

Maybe that's trust too.

“I fall behind… but like You promise, You wait for me.”

Oh, how I know this one.

I fall behind. I get distracted. I try to take control. Sometimes I run ahead of God trying to figure everything out, and sometimes I get tired and lag behind.

Yet Jesus calls Himself the Good Shepherd.

“I am the good shepherd.” — John 10:11

Religion can make us feel like God is somewhere ahead saying, Keep up. Try harder. Do better.

Jesus says:

“Come to me… and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28

He meets doubters. He restores people who failed Him. He goes looking for the one.

He doesn't say try harder.

He says:

Come closer.

“And I feel a spirit move in me again…”

Again.

I love that word.

My walk with Jesus hasn't been one long spiritual high. There have been dry seasons when prayer felt different and God seemed quieter.

But I'm learning that quiet doesn't mean absent.

Dry doesn't mean abandoned.

“Restore to me the joy of your salvation.” — Psalm 51:12

Sometimes He restores something in us through Scripture. A conversation. Standing beside a creek.

Or apparently, a Mumford & Sons song.

Something stirs and your heart whispers:

There You are.

And maybe He's been there all along.

“I don't know how it took so long to shed this skin… live under the shadow of Your wings.”

This may be the line that found the deepest place in me.

What is the skin I'm still trying to shed?

Maybe part of it is my need to understand.

To connect every dot.

To know why.

To figure out what God is doing before I can relax into trusting what God is doing.

And then comes this beautiful picture:

Live beneath the shadow of His wings.

Scripture says:

“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge.” — Psalm 91:4

I can't get that image out of my mind.

A little bird tucked beneath its mother's wings during a storm isn't trying to understand the storm.

It doesn't know why the wind is blowing.

It doesn't know when the rain will stop.

It just knows where to go.

Maybe that's trust.

Not finally understanding everything.

Just knowing where to go when I don't.

Maybe that's some of the skin I'm still shedding, the belief that I need an explanation before I can have peace.

I haven't completely shed it.

I'm still learning.

But maybe Jesus is gently reminding me:

You don't have to understand the storm to know where your shelter is.

“I'm still afraid…”

I love that fear shows up again.

Because that's real.

We can surrender something on Monday and be worrying about it again by Wednesday.

David wrote:

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” — Psalm 56:3

Not if.

When.

Maybe fear doesn't mean faith has disappeared.

Maybe trust is what I choose to do with my fear.

I bring it back to Him.

Again.

“Walking through the valley was what brought me here.”

This one hit me.

There are valleys in my life I would never have chosen. And I don't believe we need to put a pretty spiritual bow around painful things.

Some things are simply heartbreaking.

But I can say this:

Some of the deepest places I've known Jesus were places I desperately wanted Him to get me out of.

“Even though I walk through the darkest valley… You are with me.” — Psalm 23:4

There it is again.

Not explanation.

Presence.

Maybe walking through the valley really was part of what brought me here.

Not because the valley was good.

But because He was there.

“You are all I want… You're all I need.”

And maybe this is where the whole song lands for me.

After the doubt.

The weakness.

Falling behind.

The dry season.

The fear.

The valley.

The struggle to shed the old skin.

Him.

This song reminded me why, after all these years, I would choose Jesus again and again.

Not because I understand everything.

I don't.

Not because I never doubt or fear.

I do.

Not because I've learned to trust perfectly.

I haven't.

But I know something about the One I'm learning to trust.

He meets me in my doubt.
He leads me in my weakness.
He waits when I fall behind.
He breathes life into dry places.
He walks with me through valleys.
And He gives me somewhere to rest when I still don't understand.

Maybe trust isn't finally having enough answers.

Maybe it's knowing where to go while I'm still asking the questions.

Back to Jesus.

Back beneath His wings.

The doubt can still be there.

The fear can still rise.

The valley can still be part of the story.

And somehow...

Peace can be there too.

Not because I finally understand.

But because I'm learning where to rest when I don't.

Beneath the shadow of His wings.




 

What the Creek Taught Me About Trust

After writing about what the creek taught me last week, one thing continued to linger in my heart.

Trust.

I realized my pursuit of understanding had quietly become bigger than my trust in God.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to understand. God tells us to seek wisdom. But somewhere along the way, I started believing understanding would bring me peace.

Yesterday, I stood beside another creek.

This one had a waterfall.

The water rushed over rocks that had been smoothed by years of flowing water. What once created resistance had become the very thing that allowed the water to move more freely.

I couldn’t help but think…

That’s what trust looks like.

The water wasn’t questioning where it was going. It wasn’t resisting the rocks. It simply kept moving, trusting the path before it.

And I realized that’s where I’ve been getting stuck.

Understanding can quietly become a way of holding on to control. I keep thinking if I can just make sense of everything, then I’ll finally be at peace.

But trust asks something completely different.

It whispers, “Keep moving. I’ll show you what you need when you need it.”

Maybe God isn’t trying to answer every question I’ve asked.

Maybe He’s smoothing the rough places in me, just like the water smooths the rocks, so there’s less resistance when He asks me to follow Him.

I’m still going to seek understanding. God tells us to seek wisdom. But I’m learning something I don’t want to forget.

Understanding seeks answers. Trust surrenders to the One who already has them.

Maybe that’s where peace has been all along.

Not in understanding everything…

But in trusting the One who already does.

What the creek taught me...

This weekend, I found myself sitting beside this little creek at the cabin.

There wasn’t anything spectacular about it. No rushing waterfall. No grand mountain view.

Just the quiet sound of water finding its way around the rocks.

As I sat there, I couldn’t help but think about all the conversations surrounding Dr. Fauci this week.

Everyone seems to be asking the same questions.

Who was right?
Who was wrong?
Who knew what?
Who should be held accountable?

Those are important conversations, and I understand why people are having them.

For me, it’s personal.

I believe my health changed after receiving the COVID vaccine. I’ve spent years searching for answers, spending money on treatments, grieving the life I once had, and wondering if I’ll ever feel like “me” again.

Others have their own stories.

Some lost parents.
Some lost children.
Some lost businesses they spent a lifetime building.
Some lost friendships.
Some lost trust.

Heartbreak wears a lot of different faces.

As I sat by this creek, I realized something.

The water never argued with the rocks.

It didn’t waste its energy wishing they weren’t there.

It simply kept moving.

That doesn’t mean the rocks didn’t matter.

They changed the course of the water.

But they didn’t stop it.

And I wondered…

How much of my life have I spent staring at the rocks?

Replaying conversations.
Wanting answers.
Wishing someone would admit they were wrong.
Hoping I could somehow get my old life back.

The truth is… even if every question were answered tomorrow, it wouldn’t change what has already happened.

It wouldn’t restore my health.
It wouldn’t erase the pain.
It wouldn’t give any of us our old lives back.

So maybe the better question isn’t…

“Who’s right?”

Maybe it’s…

“How do we move forward?”

I’ve realized that’s where God has been meeting me.

Not in all the answers.

But in the quiet places.

The places where He gently reminds me that peace isn’t found in finally understanding everything.

Peace is found in trusting Him enough to keep moving forward, even when I don’t.

I’m still healing.

I still have questions.

But I don’t want to spend the next ten years reliving the last five.

I want to become someone who has more compassion because I’ve suffered.

Someone who listens more carefully because I know what it feels like not to be heard.

Someone whose faith has grown deeper because it has been tested.

This little creek reminded me that life keeps moving.

Not because everything is okay.

But because God is still leading us forward.

Maybe today you’re carrying your own heartbreak.

Maybe your rocks look different than mine.

Whatever they are…

I pray you find your own quiet place.

A place where the noise fades away long enough to hear God’s gentle whisper reminding you…

“Keep moving. I’m with you.”