Why does God seem farthest when we need Him most?



Good question. 

I don’t have a good answer. 

In the throws of depression, grief, tragedy, I’ve often asked for prayers and felt unable to pray for myself.

But…maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Maybe when He feels farthest we need to look closer.

Maybe God is near, but not in the ways we suspect. Not in a loud voice or a burning bush. Not in an earthquake or a storm, but rather…

…in the prayer of a friend who cries out for you.

…in the steady fall of rain on a spring garden.

…in the memory of someone who believed in you years ago.

…in the taste of warm soup on a cold winter day.

…in the curl of a dog’s wagging tail when you get home in the evening.

What about you?

What are some of the still, small ways God is with you that maybe you haven’t looked close enough to see? 

*****

In my new novel, Then Sings My Soul, the main characters (Jakob and Nel) are asking the same question. What they find  you. Read their story and how they find hope. Available wherever your favorite books are sold.

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remember. a poem.

did you
hesitate
before you did
what you did
helpless like you once were
too, fresh and pure and
alive
well things turn awful
red when they’re left growing
wide open in
the hot sun scorching the pretty
little petals until
the first frost
and then after
winter cold and white
the hot crimson petals
push through and
remember

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What would old McGregor say: thoughts in an autumn garden

What would old McGregor say if he wasn’t too busy chasing rabbits and stopped long enough to notice the creeping ebb of color

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If he quit worrying long enough about the straight rows

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And saw that the fruit wasn’t ripe within the fences but rather

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Well beyond them

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What would old McGregor say

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If he noticed the sun angling lower along the horizon igniting truth in long forgotten places

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And secrets waiting to be told

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