Several years ago, I was privileged to attend an adoption ceremony that touched me deeply. A special family was adopting a precious little boy. As the official proceedings took place, I experienced a fresh insight into our relationship with our heavenly Father.

There’s one thing about the Holy Ghost. You just never know when he’s gonna make something into a teaching moment. So, a couple of weeks ago, when I was thinking about the Kingdom of God, and praying, “Your kingdom come, O Lord,” the Holy Spirit said something that upended some of my theology. 

“Don’t you mean our kingdom?” 

For a second, I didn’t know what to think. 

Twenty-four years ago, I wondered what role women had in Church, beginning a lifelong journey of questioning, serving, and then questioning some more. All while simply being available to where God would have me.

My questioning stemmed from having been raised as a missionary kid (MK) in France with exposure to various theological perspectives from multiple denominations. Because there were so few evangelical Christians in France, our local church was composed of a Mennonite family on one end of the evangelical spectrum to a Pentecostal family on the other end. At one time there were 17 different nationalities represented in our congregation of just over 100 people. As an elder-led congregation, each member of the board taught when we were in-between pastors. Different male and female worship leaders led the congregation in a time of worship, Scripture reading, and prayer before the sermon. So, I was accustomed to experiencing the Bible from various denominations, geographical influences, and social economic brackets.

During my first trip to Israel in 2004, I had a revelation of what God did on my behalf when he hung on the cross and just how much God loved me. As I strolled through the Garden of Gethsemane I wondered if he saw my face before I was born. I walked over to the nearby Church of All Nations that was built over the rock slab on which Jesus prayed before his betrayal by Judas in the Garden. I knelt by the rock and reflected on the night before his crucifixion. As I reached out and laid my hand on the rock, I began to sob, racking sobs. In that moment I realized just what he had done for me. It became real to me. When I think back on that experience, I realize just how powerful God is and how that increased my confidence in who he is, who I am, and my security in him.

Have you ever felt jealous of God’s choice of someone to fill a position you wanted? I have.

Have you ever felt disappointed because God chose a different path for you than you wanted? I have.

Have you ever felt angry because God allowed someone inferior to you to become your boss? I have.

I think everyone has felt jealous, disappointed, or angry at some time or another and yet I doubt any of us would have concluded we were calling God not very smart. Well, maybe I must confess I did realize it at the time—now that I think about it.

Do you have a “Jesus’ spot”? A special chair or corner that you have designated for your quiet time, prayer, and Bible study? I do. I have a chair in my room with a small book shelf next to it. I have cups of pens and highlighters, several journals (each with their own purpose), my current Christian read (“The Signature of Jesus” for the 4th time,) and of course my Bible. It’s all very orderly. Maybe a better word is composed. 

I think I have the same system in my spirit. There is a composed version of myself I present to God.

I leaned my head against the window as the plane began to ascend.  

How long will I have to fly alone? I thought to myself, as I pushed my head harder against the window and felt that familiar tinge of loneliness. Another long flight by myself. Another lonely night in a hotel room. Another weekend of ministering to women, yet still feeling the burden of doing it alone.  

Even when you’re ministering to a room full of women, it can still feel lonely, and even overwhelming.  

Glorious sunlight rose over the mountains, illuminating thunderous waterfalls lining Yosemite Valley. Early in the morning, before the crowds arrived, I sat in the meadow. My ears soaked in the sounds of birdsong. My eyes witnessed gravity pulling water down granite walls. My awe-struck soul marveled at God’s creativity and sustaining power.  

It had been a week. My dad passed away and four days later my dear friend, Jan, also passed. Grief paralyzed me. I needed to get out. I mean, I needed to get outside. Hence, the trip to Yosemite.  

As God sustains the mighty waterflow, he is sustaining us, even when we feel crushed under the weight of schedules, responsibilities, and grief. Life feels foggy sometimes. We feel overwhelmed and under-qualified to lead lives worth of the call of Christ. During those days, where do we turn? Where does our help come from? Who can we trust? 

We live in a world where we often feel like life has become topsy-turvey, as if we have fallen through the proverbial rabbit hole in Lewis Carroll’s Alice and Wonderland. I often find myself praying for the ability to see things more from heaven’s viewpoint.  I am comforted by the truth that God’s viewpoint, his judgments and actions are holy:

 “There is no one holy like the Lord,,,” (1 Samuel 2:2)

It was a moment I never saw coming. Sure, things were weird. There were red flags whipping in the winds of something I could not control. I prayed, I confronted, I prayed again, I waited. I tried and prayed again. Yet, here was the truth of the affair. And there I stood watching as my husband of twenty years (who was a pastor) drove away. He was leaving me, our daughters, and our church. My life changed in an instant and where was God?

Psalms 33:11 tells us God created the world and all that is in it. And by his power and the power of his Son, it is sustained. He does not change and his Word never fails. So, God in his perfect wisdom, before I was even born had a plan for my days.

 But what about that day? What about the plans I had for my life at that time? What about my hopes, dreams, and expectations? I prayed, worked, planned, and did all the right things. Yet, on that day it didn’t matter. As I stood there nearly paralyzed with pain and fear, I questioned everything except God. Why? Because I knew from experience he could be trusted.

Where did we get the idea that some things – like books or movies or professions or fast food restaurants – are Christian and some are not? We even push that idea to believe that certain nations are Christian (or at least God-fearing) and others are not. Our classification of inanimate objects as good or evil, and even considering something secular because it doesn’t contain God’s name or have Scripture verses in it, is nothing new.

Before I became a Christian, I was raised in a home full of prejudices of every kind against those who were of a different nationality, race, social status, and even church denominations!

Anyone who was different in any way from my family was to be judged as somehow unacceptable. As an adult, I continued to see this same warped way of viewing those who might be different in any way. Neighbors who looked down on other neighbors, family members refusing to accept other family members, nations hating other nations, etc.

When I became a Christian and invited Jesus Christ to come and dwell within me through the Holy Spirit, something truly unique and miraculous happened.