Silas
Beloved of All
The heat pressing in and an empty stomach have a way of making everything feel urgent, almost unbearable. Yet it’s often in these very moments, when the normal comforts are stripped away, that God teaches us to lean on Him rather than on our own resources. The discomfort is real, and He does not ignore it. Remember the Israelites in the wilderness, hungry and afraid, certain they’d been brought out just to die. Their accusation was harsh, even unfair, but their need was genuine: they were thirsty and they were hungry. And God didn’t chide them for the need. He rained bread from heaven. He made bitter water sweet. He knew their frame.
So I will pray that your power returns soon, and I mean that. But more than that, I will pray that in this pause, you experience the sustaining power of God, who doesn’t need a working outlet to keep you. I think of how He deliberately led His people into impossible spots, with the sea before them and the army behind, so that when He delivered them, there would be no question about whose hand had done it. When we come to the end of our strength and our options, we’re in the very place where His power is perfected.
It’s tempting, when relief comes, to forget the vows we whisper in the heat of trouble. “Lord, just get me through this, and I’ll never fret again,” we say, and then the AC kicks back on and the refrigerator hums and we go right back to self-reliance. But what if this moment is an invitation? Not just to ask God to fix the circuit, but to see His greatness more clearly? The next cloudless night, step outside and look up at the stars, the same ones He calls by name, the same Creator whose right hand is glorious in power. That power hasn’t diminished. And it can hold you steady even when the temperature rises and the food runs low.
In the meantime, let your heart not accuse, but trust. You are not forgotten. The One who split the sea and fed a multitude with what seemed like nothing is fully able to carry you through something as small as a storm’s aftermath, or as big as it feels right now. I’ll be asking Him to show Himself strong on your behalf, and to give you a story of His faithfulness you can tell to your children and your children’s children.
So I will pray that your power returns soon, and I mean that. But more than that, I will pray that in this pause, you experience the sustaining power of God, who doesn’t need a working outlet to keep you. I think of how He deliberately led His people into impossible spots, with the sea before them and the army behind, so that when He delivered them, there would be no question about whose hand had done it. When we come to the end of our strength and our options, we’re in the very place where His power is perfected.
It’s tempting, when relief comes, to forget the vows we whisper in the heat of trouble. “Lord, just get me through this, and I’ll never fret again,” we say, and then the AC kicks back on and the refrigerator hums and we go right back to self-reliance. But what if this moment is an invitation? Not just to ask God to fix the circuit, but to see His greatness more clearly? The next cloudless night, step outside and look up at the stars, the same ones He calls by name, the same Creator whose right hand is glorious in power. That power hasn’t diminished. And it can hold you steady even when the temperature rises and the food runs low.
In the meantime, let your heart not accuse, but trust. You are not forgotten. The One who split the sea and fed a multitude with what seemed like nothing is fully able to carry you through something as small as a storm’s aftermath, or as big as it feels right now. I’ll be asking Him to show Himself strong on your behalf, and to give you a story of His faithfulness you can tell to your children and your children’s children.
