Owls, Night Seasons, and the God Who Sees in the Dark
Did you know you can learn a lot of theology from a bird with big eyes and a funny hoot? I didn't either—at least, not until my Bible study on the animals of the Bible landed on the owl. Suddenly, this "spooky" night bird became one of my favorite little professors.
In Isaiah 43, God says something that stopped me in my tracks: "The beast of the field shall honour me, the dragons and the owls..." (Isaiah 43:20a). The owls honour Him... in the dark. They don't sing like the sweet little songbirds at sunrise. They don't trill in the bright blue sky. They hoot in the lonely, desolate places when everyone else has gone quiet and gone home.
Most birds are at their best in the sunshine, but the owl is built for the night.
When Doubt Knocks on Faith’s Door
There's a man in the Bible whose story has always comforted me, especially on days when my faith feels shaky and my doubts feel louder than my convictions. He is never named but is identified as the father of the demon-possessed boy, and his story is found in Mark 9.
This man brings his son to Jesus' disciples, desperate for help. The boy is suffering terribly, seized by a spirit that throws him to the ground, makes him foam at the mouth, and grinds his teeth. The disciples try to cast out the demon, but they can't. Finally, Jesus arrives, and the father falls at His feet with one of the most honest prayers in all of Scripture: "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief."
Let that sink in for a moment. This man is saying, "Jesus, I do believe in You. I have faith in Your power. And I have doubts. I'm not entirely sure. Help me with the parts where I'm struggling."
When Pain Becomes Your Prayer
Do you ever feel like your body has become a battlefield instead of the temple it's supposed to be? I certainly do. As someone who wrestles daily with chronic illness, I've learned that some mornings the greatest act of faith is simply swinging my legs out of bed and placing my feet on the floor.
Yesterday was one of those days. The pain in my back, neck, and shoulders had me practically immobilized, and as I struggled to type out a few sentences, I found myself staring at the ceiling and asking the age-old question: "God, what are You doing?" It's a question I've asked more times than I care to admit, usually through tears and with a hefty dose of frustration thrown in for good measure.
For years, I approached my chronic pain like it was an enemy to be defeated, something standing between me and the "real" ministry God had called me to do. I prayed for healing. I begged for relief.
Prayer Works Better Than Worry
My daily devotions have been remarkably persistent lately. Trust God. Don't complain. Believe when things seem impossible. You know what that means, right? A test was coming!
Saturday was our annual community-wide family fun day, our biggest outreach event of the year. Picture bouncy houses, obstacle courses, carnival games, and excited children everywhere. It takes an army of volunteers to run each station smoothly.
As the coordinator, I'd been struggling with the volunteer roster. We were already at least two people short, forcing me to consider doubling up some staff. Several potential helpers responded with those dreaded words: "I might be able to help, but I can't commit."
The anxiety was building as the day approached. Then Friday evening, the phone rang. One of our core volunteers had a family crisis and needed to bow out. Completely understandable, but my heart sank. I took a deep breath, committed everything to God (again), and told myself I absolutely would not panic.
A Captive Audience
I'll never forget the first time I had to give a gospel presentation here in Wales. My hands trembled as I rearranged my notes, watching people file into the tiny community hall. I'd been looking forward to and dreading this day for weeks. Back in the States, I'd spoken to groups of ladies regularly, but here in this unfamiliar land, I felt painfully inadequate.
"Lord," I whispered, "I'm trapped. I can't back out now."
As I looked around the room at the expectant faces, a strange thought struck me. Was I trapped in this situation... or were they trapped with me?
That's when I remembered the Apostle Paul.
Picture this: Paul, the mighty missionary, chained to Roman guards day and night. Talk about being trapped!