I’m tired. I’ve pushed hard for several years to write the memoir, to work through Jerry’s cancer, to market my speaking. And I’m tired. This is a transition/sabbatical year. I’m waiting on God to purify my heart so I’m not angry about how this is playing out. It’s not what I’d expected. I’m asking him to help me rest in him and know that productivity does not equal value. I’m wondering if it’s okay to say, “I’ve done my part. I’ve saved several people’s lives as a therapist.” And “I’ve been obedient to the call to write the memoir.” As several people have said to me recently, “Perhaps the memoir is an offering, a sacrifice, to the Lord.”

Yes, perhaps it is a whole burnt offering. Unlike other Old Testament offerings, a whole burnt offering doesn’t leave anything for the priest. And I think of David who says he won’t offer a sacrifice that costs him nothing. Yes, I know of a few people whose lives have been changed by Trading Fathers. Sales are a tiny trickle these days, though, and it feels nearly at the end of its useful life, though I have many hundreds of books left. Other writing hasn’t gotten much response, either.

Nor do I feel a great need or desire to write. Or even to speak. I will, if someone asks, but I’m reconsidering the whole enterprise.

I’m tired. Maybe I’ll feel differently in a year. God knows. Maybe this is one of God’s death/resurrection motifs.

Or maybe it’s just a death that I will grieve and go on to something else. In any case, my word for this year is “minister to those I put in front of you.” That’s the last word I’ve heard from God. Not necessarily the “last word” but the most recent.

In this vein, I’m suspending this devotional blog for a season. I’m on Facebook and Pinterest if you want to hear from me. There are more than three hundred devotionals on this website which will stay up. If you have feedback, I’m happy to hear from you. karenrabbitt at gmail.com.

Father, we need your wisdom, your guidance, your strength, your comfort. May your will be done here on earth, in our lives, as it is in heaven. For your glory, Amen. 

Second Corinthians 5:21 is the core of the gospel. Today we commemorate the cross from which our blood-bought wholeness flows. The crucified Jesus was made sin so that we might be made right with his father and ours. Glory. So be it.

Father,  please enlarge our hearts to receive all you’ve provided.  

Photo Credit: Tom via Compfight

When the woman touched  the hem of Jesus’ cloak and was healed, Jesus says, “Someone deliberately touched me.” The disciples, when Jesus asked who’d touched him, had said that the crowd was pressing against him and how could anyone tell who’d touched him? But Jesus was asking about a deliberate touch, one that had taken healing power from him. He had felt the power leave.

Sometimes people say, “If God wants he heal me, he will.” With the implication of “I don’t have to ask him specifically or repeatedly or in particular circumstances for him to heal.” The report here in Luke 8:45 suggests otherwise. Though the woman’s request was implicit, it was deliberate.

Most aspects of healing are mysteries to me and to most of us. But here’s a clear message: Be deliberate in our requests. Seek to touch Jesus. I don’t know what that might mean for you, today, in your circumstance. But it means something specific, measurable, and particular. Go to a healing room and request prayer from one of their small groups dedicated to healing prayer. Go to a healing communion service. Get alone with God in the night and cry out with your whole heart to be healed.

I wish he healed more regularly. I wish for less mystery. And yet, I am grateful he heals at all. Had he never responded to my desperate requests, my life would be far different.

More, Lord. More. We need your deliberate touch. Give us grace, this Easter season, to stretch out our hands again to reach the hem of your garment. For your glory. Amen.

Today I’m recommending Beautiful Battle, Mary DeMuth’s new book.

Though I’ve only read the Kindle preview at Amazon, I trust Mary’s writing, wisdom, and authenticity. She understands that Satan plants his lies through traumas and challenges. Those lies undergird our weaknesses. Those weaknesses create battlegrounds where Satan seeks to destroy us.

She points us to Jesus whose victory is sufficient for our victory. I especially appreciate that she talks more about the state of our hearts than about outward techniques. Much of our warfare is about learning to rest in the Father’s faithfulness. And Mary knows the territory and will help you through the minefields.

Father, thank you that your faithfulness will bring us to your heavenly city, for your name’s sake and for your glory. Amen

It’s a phrase I’ve seen alot lately. “Everything is okay.” Or, “Everything will be okay.” In what sense is it meant? I just ran across it in a picture of a an artwork as I was checking out topsy.com, a search site for social media. I’ve seen it in a store window. A search on topsy.com of those phrases returns hundreds of hits.

Does it mean a current state of personal distress will pass and good feelings will come again? Does it mean human beings will work out all the political and social problems of our time? Does it mean we will all be together in harmony with God in the end?

I can agree with the first one. Emotions come and go.

But the second two? Human beings cannot even agree on what the problems are, much less agree on solutions. And while I wish the third idea was true, I don’t see it in the Word of God.

If we are walking with Jesus, then, yes, there is an expectation that all will be okay in the end.

Otherwise, it seems like whistling in the dark. A phrase to allow those in danger to keep spirits up as they bump through the night. Would that they would reach for the Light of the world to illumine the path. Only through Him will our paths lead home, where the porch light awaits.

Father, for Jesus sake, shine your light in this darkness. Have mercy on the wanderers. And on those of us who believe we see.  Amen.