Category Archives: fear

Fight for joy…


Jim Winn winter painting image

James Winn (acrylic on paper)

Fight for joy…

I’ve referenced the above painting before by my friend James Winn  – it’s one of my favorite possessions.   While the bleak mid-western Winter imperceptibly creeps slowly, oh so slowly toward Spring, it takes a lot of faith to believe that things will ever look differently than they do in this painting.  Winter is long and hard – brutal at times – on the plains.

Intellectually we know that Spring will come – it always does.  But there are days, cold, dark days, when it is difficult to believe it.

I don’t live on the Plains anymore.  In comparatively balmy Delaware, Winter just isn’t that bad.  But the painting continues to lift my thoughts to higher things.

Some days – weather aside – that long-endured battle to be warm grips my soul.  The grass might be green, the humidity and temperatures high, and flip-flops the norm, but lurking in the corners of my mind are the dark days of endless, frigid, face-numbing cold and the struggle against it.

As I struggle to replace that feeling of dread with truth I am reminded how easy it is to believe a lie.

It’s all too easy to believe my emotions and dread the coming months, believing they will be filled with hardship and struggle – simply because that’s how they have been for so long.

My fear of what might be, based on what has been, wants to rule, which is understandable, but false.

Faith is the same way.  Sometimes what I have lived wants to dictate what I believe.  Experience tells us to look at a certain set of circumstances and presume the outcome:

“This will always be this way…”

“She’ll always do these things…”

“He’ll never change…”

“This is what I can look forward to…”

But faith says,

“Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow has enough care for itself.”

“’For I know the plans I have for you,’ says the Lord, ‘plans for a future and a hope…’”

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good…”

I’ve been kicking around the phrase “The Joy of the Lord is my strength” and have been wondering, “What does that mean – really?”   What does the Joy of the Lord look like?  Is it the happy “season’s greetings” kind of “joy” that tv, or hallmark, or Hollywood puts forth?  Is it supposed to be that 30- or 60-minute contrived, happy-ending kind of gladness, that is somehow meant to mysteriously last longer… if you just get a few things right?  I don’t know anyone who really lives like that – do you?

As is often the case for me, turning the phrase around a little bit has helped me to think about joy from a different angle.  Rather than a church-y cliché that people sometimes use to mask the struggles they are really having, the Lord’s Joy is something altogether deeper and more meaningful.

The Lord’s Joy is my strength.

Think about that.  The Lord’s joy – not mine, or yours – is given to us.  Far from the “find it inside yourself” kind of joy that we try to manufacture, the joy of the Lord isn’t something we come up with at all!

The perfect, full, rich, abundant, and over-flowing joy that the Lord possesses has been given to us.  How much joy does God possess?  Infinite amounts.  What kind of joy does God have?  The very best of perfectly complete joy – and nothing less.  What is he joyful about?  In a word, Christ.  And, inconceivably, that includes you and me.  We are his and he delights in us.  All of creation has been racing toward one fantastic fulfillment – redemption!  That is you and me living for eternity in sweet, joy-filled fellowship with the Father because of the Son.   That is the great news!  We get to be there.  FOREVER.  If that doesn’t fill you will the Lord’s Joy, what can?

What is meant by joy strengthening us?  If all this joy is ours, why do we need to be strengthened at all?

Because sometimes, often times, My fear of what might be based on what has been wants to rule, which is understandable, but false.

Life can be unimaginably hard.  We have trials.  We have pain.  We have searing disappointments and heartaches.  These things can threaten to undo us.  They can cause us to want to give up.  They can cause us to question the goodness of God and the purpose of his will.  They can gnaw at our confidence in Christ’s work on our behalf and they can attempt to grind our faith into dust.

The Lord’s Joy is our strength.  It’s there.  It’s already been freely given.  But sometimes it is so buried under our circumstances that we have to fight to hold onto it the way Jacob clung to God in the wilderness and would not let him go until God blessed him.

Sometimes we have to fight for the joy that already belongs to us.  The world may look a bit like that painting above – bleak and cold and dark.  But that is not the whole story.  Strength is growing under those furrows.  Perseverance and character and hope are being produced there.  Hope for the things that we know but remain as yet, unseen.

And just as winter always yields to spring and reveals what has been covered under cold and dark layers, the seen will yield to the unseen and we will see what we already know to be true: that every hardship, every tear, every lament has a purpose for good.  Nothing is aimless, nothing is a waste.  It is all making us fit in ways we can’t imagine, so that through them we will be made like the One we love.  Perfect.  Righteous.  Pure.  And most of all, ready.   Jesus is gathering his people to himself and preparing us to live forever with him in beautiful, wonderful, perfect joy.

In the meantime, fight for joy.  It is already yours.


When we focus on the problem rather than the promise…



I read again this morning the account of Joshua and Caleb and the other 10 guys.  You know, the 12 who were sent into Canaan to spy out the land… that God has promised to give to them.


After reading I asked my husband, “Would you have been a Joshua or Caleb, or would you have been one of the other guys?”  I know we can never really know what we would do in someone else’s circumstances, but it is good to play “what if…” now and then.


We’ve been talking about “risk” lately – when it’s right to take risks and when it isn’t.  And as I heard the story of the 12 spies again this morning a connection was made:  we are not willing to risk when we ought to be eager to do so when we are focusing on the problem in front of us rather than the promises given to us – or more precisely, Promise-Maker who has given them.


Example 1:  The Israelites had just left their 400-year slavery in Egypt.  They walked right out from under Pharoh’s nose because God made it possible.  But they encountered a road-block – the Red Sea stretched out before them, and Pharoh’s army was not in hot pursuit to get their slaves back.


Admittedly, this was a big problem.  But they had just witnessed their deliverance from the 10 Plagues – including the Angel of Death!!!  They had seen the pillar of cloud that day and the pillar of fire last night that had protected and guided them!  Had they forgotten already?   I mean, we’re talking hours at most here.  Were their memories really that short?  I don’t think so.  But their faith was really that small.  Moses saw the problem for what it was, too, but focused on his great God, who had already proven Himself to be a Great Promise-keeper, instead.


Example 2:  The Israelite army was at a stand-still, being held hostage by the taunts and derision of a surly, stupid, bragadocious bully (named Goliath).  He was an oaf, but a huge one, and apparently big enough to send a whole army of God’s men to the other side of the valley to quake in their boots.


So, OK, Goliath set the terms for a potentially bad deal.  But the Philistines had invaded Israel’s land that God Himself had given to them.  Every single Jewish boy or girl grew up from infancy knowing that God had given them this land as an inheritance.  It didn’t get lost in history but was central to their identity as a people!  Saul’s army of capable, trained warriors knew it, too.  But they were focusing on the problem of Goliath.  Youthful David, (aka shepherd boy who had just been named King) saw the problem, too, but focused on the Great God who was also the Promiser of the Land (and ultimately their securety) instead.


Example 3:  Jesus had begun his ministry and had gathered his 12 specially chosen, closest disciples.  The word had gotten out about Jesus and he was attracting multitudes of men, women, and children who wanted to hear for themselves what great things this teacher was saying.  They had gone out to the countryside and the spent the entire day traveling and then listening to Jesus’ every word.  When the day was waning Jesus told his 12, very special, hand-selected, closest followers to feed these hungry people on whom he had compassion.  Their reaction?  They looked at their relatively empty hands, then at each other, then at Jesus and said, “Umm…With what?!?”


OK – there was a lot of people – 5,000 men, plus women and children.  And OK – they didn’t have much to work with – five loaves of bread and two fish.  The problem wasn’t the situation – the problem was that the disciples were focused on the PROBLEM and not the Promiser.


So we’re clear here, these guys – these 12 close students of Jesus who followed him everywhere he went – had just seen and heard Jesus do amazing things.  They had just heard him preach the Sermon on the Mount, they had just seen him heal a woman with a long-standing bleeding disorder that no one else could fix.  They had just seen him deliver a man from a demon, heal the Centurion’s soldier without even touching him, raise a little girl from the dead, and oh yeah, calm the storm that the seasoned, hardened fishermen thought they were going to die in.  We’re talking just seen and heard these things!!!  


Jesus, however, knew well the Father he served and knew that He would supply all their needs.


It seems, folks, that we might want to pay attention to the typical, human responses here.  We are prone to doubt.  We are prone to lose sight and forget.  We are prone to focusing on the problems rather than the promises.


We don’t do ourselves any favors by reading these accounts and thinking that we’d be the first to line up to take the land, watch for the sea to part, fight the giant, or figure out how to feed the crowd.  We probably would be with the group that said, “We’d be better off dead than in this predicament!”  But if you’re at all like me your heart leaps at the prospect of being with Joshua and Caleb, David, and Jesus instead!


The key in all of these accounts is to KNOW THE GOD WE SERVE.


We do not have to fear natural or man-made disasters when we know the One who holds every molecule in his hands.


We do not have to fear those who can hurt – or even kill – us when we know the One who has already numbered our days before one of them ever came to be.


We do not have to fear the challenges that we face that seem impossible when we know the One who shall supply all our needs – and give us abundantly more than we could ask for or imagine according to his riches in glory because He loves us and takes care of us.


How do we know God?  It’s really, really, really simple:  read his love letter to you.  Open up the pages of Romans and John and Isaiah and Genesis and all of it and soak it up as your personal love letter to you from your Dad.  Then, read it again because there are layers and layers and layers of love and goodness there that you can never fully plumb the depths of.  And share it with someone who really needs to know God, too.
*You can read the fuller stories of the examples above in Numbers 13-14; Exodus 14; 1 Samuel 17; and Luke 9.  But I would encourage you to also read the surrounding chapters (and books!).

On Love and Lather…

On Love and Lather…

Learning new skills is a blast for me.   I’m not “young” anymore – when learning things all the time is expected, but learning new things gives me great joy, even if it might be challenging, frustrating, expensive, and just down right hard.  In fact, learning it in spite of those things, is probably the most fun part.

But as I try to talk with people about my passion for taking on new challenges two things often happen.  

The first is I see that look.  You know the one – they’re trying to be supportive, but they’re bored.  They can’t relate and they don’t really want to.

The other thing that happens is that I encounter people who start to listen to my new idea, and then tell me all the reasons why I shouldn’t even try.  Ironically, these are usually people close to me.  Maybe the others are thinking it, but they’re not engaged enough to try to save me from my own folly.

But it’s not folly.  Lots of things don’t turn out the way I want them to, or thought they would.  But it’s very rare that I truly regret trying something.

I’ve been engaging in two bigger pursuits lately.  The first started about two and a half years ago when we knew we were going to go to France for a few weeks to work with some missionaries.  We decided it would be helpful to us, and polite to our hosts, if we tried to learn some basic French phrases.  I did some investigating and because of the beautifully connected network of home educators around the world was able to find a lovely woman in France who was willing to teach my family French via Skype calls three times per week for a few months.  It sounded perfect!

But guess what?  People tried to talk me out of it!  They said it would be too hard.  They said we weren’t going to be there long enough to make it worthwhile.  They said we wouldn’t be able to practice with anyone.  And craziest of all, they said that we shouldn’t attempt to do this without a teacher – and by “teacher” they meant a college professor.

Thankfully, I ignored them and said, “Why not take lessons from a native French speaking home schooling mom?”

And guess what – we learned French.  My kids learned basic phrases and at least enough to show that we were trying hard to engage in the French culture.  And guess what else.  Even though I’m a grandmother, and everyone EVERYWHERE says you can’t learn a new language after age 40, I did learn it – and I found out that I LOVED learning it!  So after our trip was over and we were all back in the States, I continued learning French, and I continue to love it.

(My efforts paid off big-time, too, when I went to a French-speaking country in Africa last year and had to get through airport security during the Ebola outbreak with only French.  That was no easy task!)

The thing is – no one thought it was really worth doing.  No one thought I was serious, and NO ONE really thought I would be able to do it.

But I did.  

Because I just never listened to them.  It’s not that I didn’t hear them – I just didn’t pay any attention to them.

My sister-in-law asked me a long time ago how my siblings and I got such “I can do that” spirits.  I didn’t really have an answer for her then, because, to be frank, I never knew that our attitudes about facing challenges were anything other than ordinary.  But that question has stuck with me over the years and I think I’ve come to a conclusion.

Why do we look at life and think, “I can do that”?  

Because no one was ever around to tell us we couldn’t.  

Now, I’m not advocating leaving your children alone for extended periods of time the way we were – we got into a lot of trouble that having an adult in the general vicinity might have spared us from.  But my mom was working and we were often – usually – on our own.  We didn’t really run in a pack – we each did our own things.  And no one was around to tell us we couldn’t.

If we wanted to cook something we did.  We burned things (and ourselves) but we learned how.  And then we enjoyed the fruits of our labor — because no one told us we couldn’t.

If we wanted to build something we found a way to do it (and knew the neighbors who would give us scraps of wood and bits of this or that that could be used).  I remember figuring out that I could take drawers out of discarded furniture and make miniature rooms out of them.  I stacked them on top of each other and made whole houses.  I used old clothing for curtain material and learned how to use an electric jig saw (God only knows why the neighbor trusted me with that on my own – I was 9!) to make decorative “roofing.”  I braided rugs out of blue jean hems that my aunt cut off of her jeans that were too long.  I’m sure these creations were ghastly looking in reality, but to me they were castles that any queen would have been honored to live in.  I built them — because no one told me I couldn’t.

When I wanted to learn how to sew I found someone who would show me the basics and then I sewed my little fingers off using any and every scrap of fabric I could hustle out of anyone — because no one told me I couldn’t.

I was a terrible reader – actually, I still am.  I have to say the words I read in my head or I can’t understand what I’m reading, so I am s.l.o.w.  But I love to read.  (I think I like knowing what is in the books better than the actual reading of them, but you get the picture.)  I want to know, and slowness means I can’t read as fast as someone else, but I figured out along the way that I could still end up reading a lot of books in 15 minute increments — because no one told me I couldn’t.

Now being without any parental supervision wasn’t the best for us for a whole host of other reasons, but one good thing that came out of it was that (when my grandmother wasn’t around at least) there was also no one being critical of us.  We had the freedom to dream and experiment and fail and try again.  We made colossal messes (yeah – we got in big trouble) but that never seemed to deter us from trying the next great idea that came into our minds.  If something sounded like a great idea the only question that ever came up was, “Why not?”

So when I became a mother I decided early on that I was going to ask myself “why not?” when my kids wanted to do something rather than just say “no.”  

Sometimes there are good reasons not to do something – but mostly there aren’t.

Fear of failure, of what others will think, of doing something unnecessary or “foolish,” or even of making colossal messes – none of these are good reasons to say, “no.”

And I’m going to shock some of you by telling you that even “safety” isn’t always a good reason to say, “no.”  Scrapes and bruises are part of the learning process.  Falling down and failing are part of the learning process.  Dealing with disappointing results, frustrations, defeats, and even losses are all part of the learning process.  OK – I’m not talking about the life-and-death things you really do need to say “no” to – I’m talking about the things like climbing trees and swinging on rope swings out over the pond and sitting on the porch roof and shooting BB guns kind of stuff.  Why would we want to keep that from our children?  Why not walk through those things with our children instead?

Giving my kids the freedom to dream and try and fail and fly was good and right.  It taught them to keep working at things even when it was hard.  It taught them that hard work and tenacity pays off in expected and unexpected ways.  It taught them to be courageous enough to take the right kinds of risks, and that failing at something is not the same as being a failure.  

But most of all, I believe it taught them that I love them not their performance.  They knew that I would be there to rejoice in their successes, but that I would also be there to pick up the pieces when things fell apart – and that tomorrow I would encourage them to try again.  Isn’t that how God loves us?

You see I believe with all of my heart that God gave us an imagination so that we could dream big thoughts and then do big things.  We were not created for the ordinary only – we were created for the extra-ordinary, too.  Our created world is full of wonder and brilliance that a stifled, critical, “safe” childhood will never allow to be revealed..  I have made lots of mistakes over the years to be sure, but I do not regret having a “why not?” attitude while discipling my children into young men and women.

I wouldn’t change that for the world.

And now that my kids are almost all out of the house and grown, it doesn’t need to end – I can still live life in a “why not?” kind of way.

My latest adventure?  Starting my own soap-making business!  Lovely Bee Soaps (in French lovely bee is La Jolie Abeille — because I know you were wondering and it’s WAY cool that I know!) began as a way to bless my neighbors last Christmas.  Making hundreds of little bars of lovely, luxury, oh-so-beautifully-smelling soaps was not a business idea at all, but an affordable way to give something hand-made to our whole neighborhood.

But after we gave them out to neighbors and family and friends, people began asking me to sell them some.  Truthfully, at first I was inclined to say, “Oh no – I just did that as a little hobby sort of thing… just to be nice.”  But after years of training my mind I caught myself and said, “Why not?” instead.

Going from hobby to business is much harder than I thought it would be.  The work that needs to go into learning things that I never dreamed I would need to know is crushing sometimes.  Trying recipes and fragrances is great fun, but labeling things so that the FDA doesn’t come and shut me down, or so that my customers know what they’re getting and want to come back – are all new things!  The website needs work – a LOT… ( – if you look and it’s not up yet you’ll know I’m still learning that, too!), and marketing is a new game… and accounting and pricing…. It’s all brand new to me.  But why not?

If this works it will be a way to earn income without me leaving our home.  If this works I have the opportunity to enrich people’s lives through the small luxury (or la petite jolie) of really, really nice soaps.  If this works I’ve created at least one job (mine) and maybe more!  If this works it could be GREAT!  And if it doesn’t, oh well.  I tried and failed.  I’ll still get up as long as I have breath and pour myself into whatever it is the Lord has in front of me to do.  It won’t be the end of the world.

Love your kids enough to let them dream and try and succeed and fail.  They will love you for it.
And if you know anyone who is looking for shaving soap, no lie, I found the BEST recipe ever — everyone who uses it raves about it and comes back for more!  (Seriously – I tested the foam on this stuff and it was still stiff and luxurious after 20 minutes!)  Send me a note and I’ll hook you up!

And the next time inspiration hits you (or one of your kids!) stifle the urge to protest and give the gift instead of asking, “hey – why not?”


What if…?


Yesterday I was challenged with a “What if…?” question.

“What if” questions require imagination.  They require us to ponder the possibilities, explore the potentials, and mentally fly to places unknown.  What if questions are usually an invitation to hope and dream about positive, wonderful things.  I encourage my kids to ask “what if?” all the time.  I want them to learn to imagine and dream the biggest of hopes and possibilities.  It’s a good exercise.

But I have to admit that when the question was first being posed to me, I wasn’t feeling particularly imaginative…or positive…or wonderful.

This particular “what if” scenario wasn’t about imagining the possibilities of great inventions or missions opportunities or travel destinations.  It wasn’t about letting my mind take me away to possible twists and turns on my life journey or even hopes or dreams.

No.  This “what if” question was about pain.

“What if,” my friend asked me, “this current pain that is so hard is actually meant to be life-giving rather than the death you think it is?”  I knew where he was going, but I was not particularly jumping up and down about going down that imaginary road with him.

I was thinking, “But the pain is… well, I don’t mean to sound dense, but… it’s painful.  And I want it to stop – yesterday. I don’t want to open myself up to the possibilities of it – I want to close myself off so it stops hurting so much.”

I knew that probably wasn’t the wisest thing to say out loud.  Even as it was rolling around in my mind, I could hear the stories of Joseph and Job and Paul objecting to my objections.

Still, I wanted to say, “But…”

I didn’t.

I listened.  Wanting desperately to object to the idea that the pain had to continue, and wanting to object vehemently to the notion that it might be for my good.

“Why does pain have to be such a harsh task master?”

Why, oh why can’t we learn the hard things through easier means?”

These were the questions I wanted to raise like a child wailing at the top of her lungs while the Physician was trying to administer a life-saving remedy.

I don’t want pain.  I certainly don’t want pain that has to last and last.

But I know better.

I know that the painful lessons are the most thorough ones.  I know that the tutelage of pain has the most lasting impact.  And I know, more than anything, that the painful times bear the sweetest, truest, deepest, richest spiritual fruit in my life.

Do I want to embrace this pain as the faithful teacher I know it to be?  Not really – do you like hugging porcupines?  But I’ll hug him again and again if I have faith that there will be an even greater reward than I can ask for or imagine on the other side of pulling out the quills.

I’ve been asked to trust that the pain will achieve its purpose because it has come through the hands of my loving Heavenly Father.  And I’m being asked to consider the possibility that hopeful anticipation for the blessed reward on the other side of it all will make me wonder what I was so afraid of.  Big requests, really, but honest ones.

Opening one’s self, voluntarily – willingly ­– to the lessons of pain feels like giving one’s self over to the tyranny of a tormentor… Unless we know our Teacher well.

Trusting in human beings is risky business.  But trusting in the One who loves me enough to lay down His life for me isn’t risky at all.  Keeping my eyes – and heart and thoughts and hopes and dreams – stayed on Jesus will bring me safely to the other side of all of this.  Even if it goes on and on He will sustain me and comfort me and be enough for me.  I know this to be true.

So onward pain.  Do your work. Have your way with me and mold me into a woman who radiates the tested beauty that only the heat of a refiner’s fire can produce.  Keep me captive until I have learned the God-exalting lessons you have prepared for me.  And do not leave until this work is accomplished.

And Lord, for what it’s worth… I do believe all of this.  I know that you work all things together for my good, because I am yours.  I know that you have plans for me for a future and a hope.  I know that my help comes from you and you are my defender and ever-present helper in times of need.  Lord, I do believe all that  – but please, help my unbelief.


I met Darth Vader in a bar…


I know – you’re shocked that I might like Star Wars.  I don’t go to conventions or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.  But the stories are fun.

I know – you’re shocked that I was in a bar.  Don’t be.  I wasn’t there to get drunk.

But in 1982 I really did meet Darth Vader in a bar.

Here’s what happened:

When I was tiny – I mean a really little kid – my father stormed out of the house and never returned.  My memories of that night are vivid, but they are, after all, from a 4-year-old’s perspective.  I was little, so he was really, really big.

He was scary, too.  He was broad and strong and dark and loud – he sounded ominous.  In addition to his threatening image, he had come to represent everything evil in this world.  He was, for me, Darth Vader.

While the years went by, my thoughts of him were consistent in this perspective.  I was, more than anything, afraid of this hulking figure and malevolent nature that made me tremble.  There was nothing about my childhood experiences that made me change my mind.

But in 1982, I got engaged to be married, and somehow he heard about it.  He sent me a message that he wanted to meet with me and get reacquainted.  Though I had feared him all those years, I had also longed to know him.  So I agreed to go to meet him (with my older brother for protection).

I was all grown up then – no need to be afraid.  But I was.  I was terrified!

With all the maturity I could muster, I made myself look as adult as possible (I did not want him to see me as that scared little girl anymore!)  My brother and I walked in to the appointed, public, meeting place.

And that’s when I met Darth Vader…  He was sitting at the bar.  Waiting for me.

In an instant, I took in the scene before me.  His cape was tattered and faded.  His helmet was battered and dented from many miles of bad road.  He wore thick glasses and he had let himself go terribly.  No longer strong and formidable – he was overweight and flabby – and had teeth missing.  He certainly wasn’t as tall as I had remembered.

And I could tell immediately that he was even more nervous to meet me than I was to meet him.

So why would I put something like this on my blog?

Because God came down in that moment standing at the bar and taught me something I have never forgotten.  That meeting that day changed everything for me.  I had allowed fear and dread to rule in my heart.  It had shaped not just my thinking about my father, but about all fathers – most men even.  My fear paralyzed me from doing the things I’d wanted to do – from being the person I knew God wanted me to be.  I feared Darth Vader more than I feared God, but He was about to show me how ridiculous that was.

Sitting there on that bar stool was a man.  My father.  No longer Darth Vader.  Simply a human man.  In fact, a man I now pitied and had compassion for.   I had no reason to fear him.  I had no reason to be intimidated by his image or my memories.  He had lost everything and I had been blessed with so much.

God gave that meeting to me, there in the bar, as a sweet gift.  It was as if he was telling me personally, in such a profound way, that I had nothing to fear.  God was with me – what could man (including Darth Vader Dad) do to me?

It all melted away in an instant.  Bars aren’t well-lit, but at that moment, I knew I was washed in the light of truth.  God wasn’t telling me to “buck up”.  He wasn’t telling me to find the strength somewhere deep down inside myself to face my fears head-on and be stronger than they are.

The lesson was simple:  “Know me.  Trust ME.  I got this.  You do not have to worry about it at all.”

I’ve mentally referred to that moment many times.  God was so kind to show me how BIG he is and how small my fears are.  It’s not that I don’t still have fears – of course I do.  But like David facing Goliath – I have learned to not focus on the giants before me.  I focus on the mighty God who is infinitely bigger than any giant I may face.

Even Darth Vader.

My hope is that you will learn to do the same.  There is great joy in realizing we risk nothing to follow God’s plan for us, and there is unmeasurable sorrow if we don’t.  My prayer for you is joy.

“This Book of the Law shall not depart from your mouth, but you shall meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do according to all that is written in it. For then you will make your way prosperous, and then you will have good success. Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.”  Joshua 1:8-9