The Truth About Six Feet

This is not another tirade about covid. It is here. It is part of the world we all navigate daily whether we like it not. I pray this space is about exposing lies and inserting truth. Lies come in all shapes, sizes, and packages. They are dressed to deceive. They can appear logical and safe, wise even. We can so easily tell lies and believe lies with no foul intention at all because those lies counterfeit the truth so well. Satan the deceiver is good at his job.

Jesus tells the truth because He is truth. (John 14:6)

The world told us not too long ago to remain six feet apart. Six feet would keep us safe. Six feet would protect others. Just six feet of distance. Yet, I have found those first six feet are a critical piece to the puzzle of life.

Jesus tells us to go into all the world and preach the gospel (Mark 16:15), and no matter where you go to fulfill that commandment and calling upon your life as a Christ-follower, your influence only begins within the first six feet of interaction with another person. Your influence is the first six feet in diameter around you. The six feet in diameter around you at any point in time during your day is your ministry. That is your mission field. It’s within this six feet Jesus broke bread and ate with sinners. It’s within six feet the bleeding woman found healing just touching his cloak. When Christ said, “Let the little children come unto Me (Matthew 19:14),” I’m sure He didn’t stop them at six feet. When He commands us to visit the prisoner and care for orphans and widows, this is done most effectively within the first six feet.

I just feel like it’s important to notice, call out, and debunk the lies our world so gently sells us or plasters to the ground every six feet inside a store.

You see, the devil knows the power of those first six feet. He knows how a hug gives comfort and hope. He knows how learning from someone and with someone side-by-side builds trust, loyalty, and a sense of camaraderie and belonging. To be in someone’s presence is to be seen, to be heard, and to be known. Go look up the term “deep fake” to see just how far the devil has used technology to remove truth from our daily lives. His plan is to isolate, separate, and divide, then attack, steal, kill, and destroy. Just watch any nature channel hunt to understand how separation from the herd leads to death.

Truth is a Person (John 14:6). Truth lives and breathes (Hebrews 4:12). It moves and has substance and purpose (Acts 17:28). Truth touches your soul as physically as a helping hand. Truth can hurt, but usually far less when a healthy relationship is in place. Because truth is a Person and not an idea, it can be observed over time, shared in trusted, intimate spaces, and be held with your own two hands when you read the inerrant words breathed by God Himself in the Bible (2 Timothy 3:16-17). All within six feet. To do any of this from a further distance or vantage point, is to be an observer, not someone who experiences. It’s the difference between being a follower in the crowd of Jesus or a disciple of Jesus. If you want to be in the room where it happens, you get up close and personal with the One who makes it all happen.

Not only do I want to be always within six feet of my Jesus, but I also want Him to use me as His hands and feet. I want to be the ambassador for Christ He calls me to be within the six feet of influence He gives me every day (2 Corinthians 5:20). Right now, that six feet mostly touches the lives of the three people living inside these four walls with me. So, I’m asking the Lord to open the eyes of my heart to the perimeter of my six feet of influence at any point in time and give me the words to speak and actions to take within my window of opportunity and influence. To the grocer ringing me up at the store or the self-checkout clerk. To the neighbor walking their dog on my trip to the mailbox. To the police officer who shows up at my door when I accidentally set my alarm off. To the woman who sits near me at Bible study, but I don’t know her name. To the soccer mom at practice who doesn’t know me and my story.

Every interaction with another person within six feet is an opportunity to share the light of Jesus with an ever-darkening world. Sometimes that person just needs to see you smile. They need you to make eye contact and see them. They may need you to hold their door or return their shopping cart. They may need the respect of a handshake or the gift of an attentive listener.

My world is small these days. My six feet of influence feels smaller than usual, but the truth is it’s always been six feet no matter what. My family are the ones who experience those six feet of influence the most, and I can choose to share it with them willingly with a joyful heart or allow sour attitudes to scare them away, making them flee away from my circle of influence. One day soon, their feet won’t pass through that circle so regularly and so close. I don’t want to waste my days of ministry at home yearning for days of ministry outside my home. No matter where I am, my field of influence is still only going to be six feet.

So, for now, I spend my days crafting Bible verses to pin to bulletin boards, tape to mirrors, and sprinkle in decoration around my home because that’s my six feet of ministry. I walk through the house and put things where they belong, straightening, organizing, creating a space for my family to feel at ease and safe—creating a space where than can feel seen, heard, and known because that’s my current six feet of influence. I walk around our home and say prayers for their future husband and wife as I pick up their messes and roll my eyes at their carelessness.

My six feet of influence may not always be full of people, but it is always full of Jesus. He walks with me, talks with me, and assures me I am His and I am doing His work. When my six feet needs to cross paths with more people, He is fully capable of making that happen. So, I endeavor to remain faithful in the talents He has entrusted, to steward what He has gifted well—that includes my time, energy, thoughts, and emotions, not just my money and my skills.

I cannot control or hope to influence outside of my six feet. None of us can. Therefore, Facebook rants and tirades in comments to others will never effect change. There’s too much distance between the influencer and the influenced. We must close the gap. It’s why rallies and peaceful protests can be effective—real people, rubbing shoulders inside each others’ six feet for a cause that matters to them.

Who gets to experience your six feet of influence? Do you need to reprioritize who those people are? Do you need to take time to bring your six feet closer to home? Or do you need to get out and take it to more people? Both are needed. Both are important. Where is God wanting you to steward your six feet of influence for this season of your life? Have you stopped to ask Him? Do you stay within six feet of His presence at all times, so you’re ready to turn on a dime when He says to the right or to the left? (Isaiah 30:21)

“Lord, break my heart for what breaks Yours. Keep me needing to be in Your presence. Use me to bring salt and light to a hurting world. May the six feet of influence You’ve given me for this life be used to glorify You and lead others to my Jesus and the abundant life He can fit into just six feet of diameter.”

Refilled and Poured Out

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves. 2 Corinthians 4:7

 "Lord, all of You. None of me. Please just fill me up. I really have nothing to give."

This was my heart's desperate, quiet plea right before going on a mission trip. Before the trip even began, I was keenly aware I was leaving on empty. Emotionally, I was managing grief. Physically, I was managing sickness. Mentally, I was drained by the preparations for leaving my family at home to go and minister to others besides them.

My Jesus showed up. Every day in a different way, God just showed up. All week.

Looking back, I just marvel. I was drained in every sense of the word, but also filled with a peace, joy and satisfaction that only comes from being an empty vessel used for God's purposes. Life felt abundantly full, yet I was keenly aware of just how empty I was in all the best ways.

I remember a friend questioning me at that point in my life. She thought I was stretched too thin. She cautioned something had to give eventually. Right? Maybe? Maybe not.

What if our capacity for serving God and being used in His kingdom is simply a matter of how much capacity we allow for being completely emptied by Him for His purposes every day? By how long we are willing to sit still in His presence and be refilled for the pouring out? What if it's that simple?

People say, "I can't do that. I don't have the money for that. I'm not gifted for that. That's not my strength. I could never commit to that. I can't give up that. I don't know how I can make that happen. I don't think I have the time."  And the list goes on. I've said all these things at one point in my life.  

Enter truth. God doesn't fit inside a box of I that I create. I'm limited, but He isn't. I can't sometimes, but He always can. Where I am weak and empty, He is strong and overflowing. However, I rarely experience His abundance because I'm too busy operating within the box of I where I create and I control. Inside this box are the things I know I can do, the things I know I am good at doing, things where I already have the resources, and the things I'm sure of accomplishing in my own ways and strength.

I can live a good, moral, godly life accomplishing those things inside the box of I, but I only experience the promised ABUNDANT life when I'm at the very end of myself with nothing left to offer or give, and yet I still say, "Yes," to God's calling, ways, plan, will, commands. I still walk through those open doors of opportunity He presents even when it's scary and hard, and I have nothing to offer but a vessel willing to be filled by Him.

Today, I'm sitting in a season of refilling. For a type-A, productive personality, this desert of activity feels like a punishment. Yet, I know and trust my Jesus. This is not a punishment; it is a gift--a season of refilling. I'm in a place where I know I need more of Him and His ideas and His plans and less of mine. Oh, I'm still trying. Trying to fill my days and my time, but He keeps putting me right back in my home and whispering, "Wait. Renew. Refresh. Find Me with you here. In this space."

The seasons of refilling are just as important as the seasons of pouring.

I wonder how many of you are willing to let go, take a step of faith, and step into a yes to God in your life that does not fit in your box of I? I wonder what glory and power God will display through you when you do? I wonder how many of you need to accept your season of refilling and discover God's abiding presence in your desert of activity?

"Father, I know my box of I well. I know what I'm good at, where I can serve, where I can add to Your kingdom, but I submit to Your plan, Your process of renewal. I will wait, I will pray, and I will seek Your face, and should the day ever come again when the rate at which I'm being poured out seems too great and too much, I will cling to You in that day as well, knowing You alone can turn water into wine and make two loaves of bread feed 5,000. You are the Source and the Gift; I am just the vessel. Use me as You see fit, Lord."

Only Still Waters Ripple

My days and my season are quiet. I’ve moved my family and spent the past month creating a home of comfort, support, and safety for them. The pictures are hung, furniture placed, and food is in the pantry. If I were to do nothing else from this day forward, my home is lovely, inviting, and cozy.

Now what?

There is a quiet in this home I have not known before—a stillness begging to be absorbed. Like so many I know, my mind and physical body rage against stillness. Stillness in my mind is equated with uselessness, laziness, and lack of purpose, drive, and achievement.

Yet here I am. Feeling forced to be still for lack of no other choice. My Jesus is faithful to meet me here. I am never alone. This morning, in my reading, He gave me this promise and this challenge:

“The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me. Psalm 138:8……What a blessing to lose our own strength, wisdom, plans, and desires and to be where every ounce of our being becomes like a peaceful Sea of Galilee under the omnipotent feet of Jesus!” (Cowan, Streams in the Desert, pg. 345, 1997.)

The Lord WILL fulfill His purpose for me. In my mind’s eye, the word will is bold-faced and in all caps every time I read that verse. It’s as if the Lord is stamping His promise into my soul to keep the fires of hope alive. He does see me, exactly where I am. He is working His purposes even in this stillness. He has a plan for my life He will fulfill. My Jesus wants me to cling to Him and wait and not lose hope.

He is Lord of the insignificant too. What I often view as meaningless, He is already weaving into the plan of eternity. I hear Him whisper in the quiet, “Trust Me.” If it wasn’t so quiet in my life right now, I wonder if I would hear Him so clearly?

Then the challenge! To consider it a blessing to be given a clean slate, to be stripped of my strength, wisdom, plans, and desires?!?! I’m not sure I’m there yet, but I can tell you the process is painful. To wake up every day with only the day before you, trusting God to fill it as He sees fit, unable to use the gifts He’s given except in the small realm of the four walls where you generally just exist. Every fiber of my being rages and strives, and I inwardly scream at the Lord, “Give me more! There must be more I can do for You! There must be more You want me to accomplish!” Only to be answered by the quiet stillness of this home, this season, this space in time, and my Jesus’ abiding presence.

You see, my soul is not a peaceful Sea of Galilee…yet. Lucky for me, my Jesus walks on the water in the middle of the storms of life as well, and He brings the peace with Him. I do want my life to be a peaceful sea for His feet to tread. I want His every step on my life to ripple as far as the eye can see, so that when people encounter my life, they can’t help but be touched by the ripple effect of His feet walking across my deep waters.

Only still waters ripple.

“Father, forgive me for raging against the stillness You have given. Make my life as still as it needs to be for You to ripple across the surface, for all who encounter me, to encounter You.”

Forgiven, Not Perfect

There’s a misperception about Christ-followers that we are perfect people with perfect lives. That joy flows from our pores; unicorns and rainbows our constant companions. Even as a Christian, I often feel I have failed to represent Jesus well when these are not my realities or outlooks on life. But that’s not truth. Truth is I am a broken woman even after 35 years of following Jesus. I live in a broken and hurting world, and I am just as affected by the marching beat of its sin as the next person.

The difference is I choose to look to Jesus to save me—not myself, a job, a calling, a passion, or another person. Even in pursuit of Him, I fail.

Truthfully, I haven’t spent much time in God’s Word these past few weeks, not with the regularity that saved me and kept me sane during quarantine, not daily. Since the move, I’ve been low, down, fighting feelings of uselessness, worthlessness, and meaninglessness. I know all these feelings can be combated with time in God’s Word, allowing Him to fill my heart and mind, but the depression begs me to sleep.

It beckons me to stay in bed and pretend another day doesn’t need my presence a little while longer. It is a sneaky, difficult foe to fight. The worship music I play around the house is a soothing reminder of my Jesus keeping the darkness at bay.

I always wonder why I allow myself to fall into this trap. Why don’t I make time to fellowship with the Lord? Why do I allow myself to neglect time with Him when I know it only helps and never hurts? When I reflect, I come up with three deeply honest answers…

One, I silently, secretly blame God for putting me in this season, in this waiting room. In response, I think I can “punish” Him by withdrawing my fellowship. What a fool, I can be in my own pride. As if the Creator can be punished by the created. The truth is I only punish myself because fellowship with Him is the breath I breathe, the very air in my lungs. (Job 33:4) Not to mention, what a petty, vindictive way to treat the Man who wants nothing but the best for me; Who’s sacrificed everything to prove His love for me and asked only for my trust in return.

Second, I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m in the process of healing. It takes time to recover. It takes energy—heart, mind, body, and soul—to recuperate from a hard hit. Big life changes are hard hits. Even the ones you see coming, the ones for which you think you’ve prepared, still hurt on impact. My Jesus knows this, and He gives grace to the weary. I may not be reading His Word the way I know I should, but I also know He’s pouring His grace out over me and into my life. I can feel it when I close my eyes and give thanks for the small things. He never leaves me.

Third, like most people I know in life, I hate admitting when I’m wrong. There are days I willingly choose not to engage in God’s Word. I choose television, tasks, chores, phone calls, word games, internet scrolling, shopping, sleep, or even exercise, but I won’t choose time with my Jesus. Because I am stubborn, and I know meeting with Him requires a humbled heart willing to confess my sins and ask for forgiveness. It requires a willingness to let go of what I want in life, so I can receive what He wants to give. Sometimes, my stubborn, prideful heart just wants to hold on to what I want a little while longer. Yet, I cannot receive more of Him while also holding on with both hands to what I want.

Right now, when I do read my Bible, I’m reading through Acts. This past week there was one verse in the chapter that has held my mind’s eye ever since, even on the days I’ve chosen not to engage in His Word.

Acts 3:19: “Therefore repent and return, so that your sins may be wiped away, in order that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord.”

Isn’t my Jesus precious? Isn’t He gracious and good? When I read this verse, when it replays in my mind, it is not the voice of a sidewalk preacher. It is the voice of the Lover of my Soul pleading with me to come home and be with Him. Not begging as if He needs me but pleading out of love and concern because only He knows what is best for me, and He wants me to choose what’s best. He wants me to choose Him. To repent of my pride and foolishness and stubbornness, and simply return to His side where He promises my weary, hurting, healing heart, mind, and soul will be refreshed by His presence.

This friends, this makes all the difference. Christ-followers aren’t perfect; they are forgiven, and when we’re doing it well, when we’re living in the freedom of that forgiveness, there is a peace and joy and love that flows from the Holy Spirit dwelling with us. Emmanuel, God with us. You see Christians mess up just as much and just as badly as anyone else in this world, sometimes worse. But we’ve learned the art of admitting/confessing our mistakes, owning them, asking for forgiveness, and moving forward with another clean slate in the eyes of our God because of the shed blood of Christ. His mercies are new every morning and great is His faithfulness to His children (Lamentations 3:22-23)!

“Father, forgive me for my childishness. Forgive me for thinking I could punish You, Creator of the Universe. Forgive me for leaning into my weariness instead of leaning into You. Forgive me for my pride. Thank You for always being with me. Thank You that You never leave or forsake me no matter how often I leave and forsake You. Thank You for the promise of refreshing in Your presence. I’m here, Lord, with open hands. Fill me with more of You.”

Count Your Blessings

This blog is both old and new. I started writing it years ago I think, but today it hits fresh as I commit to this practice once more. Challenged by a friend to join her in being grateful, I then combed through my writings to find this—a reminder of where I once was, and where I am again, and how God gently reminds us to be filled by Him, His Word, His promises, His commands. In this season of emptiness, but being filled, I need this discipline. I’m asking the Lord to give me eyes to see the things for which I can be grateful.

 

So, I've started counting my blessings—again—and literally. I've taken to the simple task of making a list of 5-10 things every day for which I'm grateful. Lists of gratefulness, lists of gifts, lists of blessings. Sometimes I jot them quickly at the beginning of my day and sometimes at the end. I even find myself speaking them out loud in my car sometimes, "I am grateful for...."

 

And once again, I'm blown away by the change this simple discipline is making in my life.

 

You see, we talk about the knowledge of the things we know. We know we have things for which to be grateful. We know we are blessed. Our head acknowledges this, but does our heart feel it? If you want to feel a thought, we all inevitably must put action to it. The Bible calls it obedience (James 1:22). His Word says to give thanks, over and over again in scripture. 1 Thessalonians 5:18 actually says it is God’s will that we do so in everything! The thoughts in my head are only that...thoughts. God knows them, but Satan doesn't, your family doesn't, sometimes even we ourselves are not cognizant of them until they have flesh and bones, until they are words written on a page or given the breath of life by being spoken out loud. 

 

Give thanks. Give is an action, not a passive thought. Give of your time by making the list. Give of your energy by saying the words out loud. Give simply but give. Obey. Even when you don't want to, especially if you don't want to. And when you can't give thanks, when life hurts too much and you can't see a single gift to count, ask a friend what they see in your life and give someone else the gift of being a blessing to you in your darkest need.

 

I have been in dark places. Sat in dark pits of my heart and mind. I chose to quest for joy some time ago. I chose to treasure hunt for joy because I love Jesus, and He says joy is a fruit of His Spirit which I know resides within me (Galatians 5:22), so I have a right to joy, my life in Christ produces the byproduct of joy, not just for others to experience, but for myself as well.  If I believe this to be true, then I need to know what joy is to experience it in my life. I need to know how God defines joy, how He sees it, how He gifts it, and how I can recognize it in my own life.

 

It is a quest for sure, maybe a lifelong one. Psalm 16:11 has proven to be truth time and time again: I have found joy to be God's presence. Anywhere, anything where you can actively acknowledge, see, proclaim the presence of the Lord, there is joy. I find Him in His creation, so I take long walks on the beach and could stare at the ocean for hours. (Well, this was a favorite. I’m trusting God to fill this area as well with something new.) I find His presence in small blessings throughout my day, but to appreciate all those blessings, I need to write them down, to capture the thought, to make it captive to daylight and pen and paper and reality (2 Corinthians 10:5). 

 

Counting God's gifts releases joy from a spiritual plane into our earthly one. I need this in my life right now. I need the power of the Spirit to be fresh wind and fresh fire in my soul here, now, in this physical world. I want the Spirit Himself to fill my sails and propel me forward into where God is leading next, so I will begin with the simplest of disciplines. I will give thanks.

 

Thank You, Father, that I know Georgia is where You alone have led us.

Thank You that I don’t have to second guess this decision.

Thank You for gifting us a home that is just the right size.

Thank You for a husband who sees me and our family in our pain and seeks to serve You first and us second.

Thank You for children who love You, Father, who are rooted firmly in Your truth.

Thank You for the school You built in California that prepared them to be light in Georgia.

Thank You for the truth of Your Word that is an anchor to the soul.

Thank You for being with me when I seek Your presence.

Thank You for the gift of Your only Son, so I can experience the gift of Your very presence with me every day.

Thank You for the blue of my pool in the backyard that reminds me of the ocean.

Thank You for the towering trees of green wrapping this home in beauty.

Thank You for white paint and daylight light bulbs to brighten a space.

Thank You for sunlight that filters through the shade to enlighten dark spaces adding beauty, warmth, and shine as it does so.

Thank You for all the ways Your creation declares Your glory, Lord (Psalm 19:1). May I be a reflection of You as well.

 

 

Getting Comfortable with Uncomfortable

I can feel the rumblings of a new beginning. I’ve been here before. I am resistant. That’s the problem with getting comfortable in life.

Seven years ago, when I was alone and uncomfortable in life, I walked the California beaches alone and prayed desperately for God to meet me and to bring friends into my life. He answered far above and beyond what I could have hoped or imagined.

In time, life got good, comfortable. I stopped praying to meet new people. I stopped praying for God use to me because I was being used daily within the circle of people He had already given. In some ways, I stopped needing Him because He had provided all that I had trusted Him to provide.

That’s not a bad place to be! If I’ve learned anything, I want to recognize and enjoy the good gifts of the Lord—every day. I want to be grateful for His blessings and answered prayers while also always seeking Him for more. Not more things or people or experiences, but more of Himself, more of what He wants for my life. That’s what you stop doing as much when life gets comfortable or predictable even. You forget Jesus is always calling you to more of Himself.

Don’t you think God knows this? He knows that change is good for us. It feeds our souls. It stretches and strengthens us in ways we cannot orchestrate for ourselves. I truly believe if we ever get too comfortable and slow the pace of seeking His face, He will gift change to break the spell of comfort. We can seek change for ourselves willingly, or we will be given change unexpectedly. We can accept this is what is best, or we can fight tooth and nail against the changing tide. Change is inevitable in life, much like death. To refuse to acknowledge the presence of either in this life is foolishness.

And much like death, change must be grieved. Anger, denial, sadness, acceptance—these are all part of the process of change. Our culture doesn’t like the emotions of anger, denial, and sadness. It frowns upon their presence. We don’t know how to sit and just be with people who are angry, in denial, or sad, so we often leave them alone until they’ve reached acceptance. When they’ve had time to accept is when it’s safe to reach out. Until they’ve reached acceptance, investing in them means weathering hurt feelings, irrational outbursts, frustrating mindsets, and tears—so many tears.

Yet, those are the people I treasure! The ones who lean in and take nothing personally when “attacked” because they’re wise enough to know there’s more going on under the surface than themselves. They stay. They connect. They seek the ones who can’t seek for themselves right now.

Isn’t that what Jesus did? He went to the people hurting and seeking and always met them right where they were. He leaned in and got dirty and sat with them in their homes. He listened to their cries, spoke with them in the dark, and gently showed them truth. He gave them the gift of Himself—His presence, His attention, His truth, His time, His acceptance of their shortcomings. He spoke most harshly to those who would judge these in their anger, denial, and sadness.

My life just got flipped, turned upside down, and I’ve been taking a minute to process here in Georgia. I’m back to the lonely days of just me and Jesus. I’m back to seeking His company first. I probably should have never stopped. I’m soaking in my time with just Him because I’ve learned it’s during this hard season of quiet stillness and waiting, when Jesus sits with you that the enormity of His presence fills and stretches the heart slowly. For me, He uses this time to not just allow wounds to rest and heal but to strengthen the muscles of my heart I will need to move forward, to enlarge and make space in me for what He will provide to fill.

It’s uncomfortable to be stretched, sometimes even painful. But like I said, I’ve been here before. I trust the process a little bit more this time around. I know these quiet days won’t last. God will fill them in His time in ways He sees best; I need only wait and watch and be ready.

“So, Father, fill me with You. Fill all of me. Stretch me with Your great abiding presence. I will wait. I will wait for You to move first, and where You go, I will go because I know now, You’ve already walked the path ahead of me, and You know what I need today to be ready for tomorrow. So, I trust You bottle all my tears, Lord. Not one of them is shed in secret or in vain. Thank You for valuing and loving me enough to change me, to mold me into Your unique creation. Thank You that even in the pain of the grief of change, You are with me. I am never alone.”

Further In and Further Up

At the end of the Last Battle by C.S. Lewis, as the world of Narnia is ending, a magnificent door is opened to Aslan’s land and all who enter gain a renewed strength and vigor and joy. As they begin to run faster and faster with no effort or strain or difficulty, Aslan encourages them with these words, “Further in and further up! Further in and further up!”

Those words ring in my ears as we begin to close the final chapter of our California book. My Jesus has opened a new door in Georgia, and I can hear His encouragement, I feel His presence by my side, and while I am not taking my steps daily without much effort, every movement forward feels like trudging through a muddy mire, difficult, tedious and laden with sadness, still I hear Him gently whisper, “Keep going. Further in and further up.” And in that encouragement, my soul stirs with small sparks of hope. There is more ahead and more beyond.

Onward and upward. The way through the muck and mire and mud of life is always further in and further up, forward and higher ground. I find myself re-reading and meditating on Psalm 121 through these difficult days. A psalm of ascent, nonetheless. How fitting.

Psalm 121 (NIV)

A song of ascents.

¹ I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
² My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot slip—
    he who watches over you will not slumber;
⁴ indeed, he who watches over Israel
    will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The Lord watches over you—
    the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
⁶ the sun will not harm you by day,
    nor the moon by night.

⁷ The Lord will keep you from all harm—
    he will watch over your life;
⁸ the Lord will watch over your coming and going
    both now and forevermore.

As I read this psalm, I realize the traveler is not ascending…yet. They lift their eyes because the ascent is ahead. Onward and upward, further in and further up. They are probably still in the valley, maybe the valley of the shadow of death. They must keep going and go through what lies ahead, but their help comes from the Lord where they lift their eyes to focus.

This is where I am. Resolute in lifting my eyes daily to Whom my help comes from. The tears will fall, and the steps are hard, but I am determined to go further in and further up with my Jesus on the path He has charted. Not once has He left my side. Never once have I ever walked alone.

Maybe you too find yourself in the muck and mire and mud of life. The steps are hard and sticky. Lift your eyes. Set your gaze ahead. Further in and further up. The valley and the bog will have an end, but until they do there is always more of Jesus to know. Dive further into Him, and He will lead you further up. He makes the journey worthwhile. He gives it meaning.

I’m going by the upper road, for that still holds the sun,

I’m climbing through night’s pastures where the starry rivers run:

If you should think to seek me in my old dark abode,

You’ll find this writing on the door, “(S)he’s on the Upper Road.”

–selection from Streams in the Desert, July 2. (Emphasis mine)