The voice in the wind


I stand alone with arms outstretched in the summer field on the prairie, watching the storm roll in. I am pelted with the rain drops driven before the wind. The grass bends over in submission to it. Stand, or run?


In joy and in pain, I hear the bittersweet strains of the symphony of life, and I bend my head and close my eyes and keep on clinging to the hand of the One who guides me. Tears fall on my feet sometimes. Sometimes I am laughing.


Always, in the wind, I hear another voice, the voice that calls me to doubt, to fear, to flee, to protect myself, to shut down and to give up. But even when He isn't speaking, there is always the warmth of that hand gripping mine, the presence of the Holy Spirit, the comfort that says there is nothing on earth I have ever to fear again.

Bring me joy, bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings You glory
And I know there'll be days
When this life brings me pain
But if that's what it takes to praise You
Jesus, bring the rain

I am Yours regardless of
The dark clouds that may loom above
Because You are much greater than my pain
You who made a way for me
By suffering Your destiny
So tell me what's a little rain
So I pray

Holy, holy, holy
Is the Lord God Almighty

~ Bring the Rain, MercyMe ~


I will not give up.

I will not be afraid.

I will not defend myself.

I will keep putting one foot in front of the other.
For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. (from Romans 8)