The Art of Saying Goodbye

A friend confessed on Facebook that she has difficulty saying, "Goodbye.", and then leaving (or hanging up the phone). She said, "I don't know if a proper goodbye is taught anymore." I can easily relate to that problem, and wonder if that's the norm these days. Do most people say, "Goodbye." 2, 3, 4 times or more before they finally get the job done?

Well, if there ever was a person who knew how to quickly exit a situation, it was my Grandpa, Arlie White. You see, my grandpa was an engineer with Union Pacific, and whether the train schedule taught him to be prompt, or if his punctuality made him destined to be an engineer, I don't know, but he was the best "goodbyer" I've ever known.

The most outstanding proof of this is a childhood memory I have of a trip to the zoo that went wrong. It was when my family lived in Salt Lake City, and my grandparents lived in Pocatello, ID, about 170 miles to the north. Grandma and Grandpa had come to visit us for a couple of days, and while they were there we decided to go visit the Hogle Zoo. Grandpa and Grandma had planned to go home directly from the zoo.

Now, to fully appreciate what happened, you must first know that the Ainsworths are not good leavers. Perhaps this shortcoming was passed on from my father's parents, but I think my dad was just too "relaxed" to think it worth the cost of being so decisive. I'm afraid I've picked up this tendency as well, but there are trade offs. There is a plethora of useful information that I have picked up in my life after saying, "Goodbye.", that I would never have learned had I actually left or hung up the phone after saying it. If you want to know what I've learned, you'll have to say, "Goodbye." the next time we talk, then hang around a while and listen.

Anyway, back to the zoo. When it came time to leave for the zoo, Grandpa and Grandma went and got in their car. Not knowing the way to the zoo, they had to wait for us to lead them (or so we thought). What slowed us down, I don't remember. Knowing how my own family operates today, it might have been a boy (that would be me) who hadn't located his shoes yet, or it could have been a sudden need for everyone to use the bathroom before leaving, or we may have each been waiting until the others were headed out the door. Regardless, we were dragging our feet, and Grandpa couldn't stand the lack of discipline. Next thing we know, Grandpa's car is exiting our driveway. He's going home!

Another memorable time was shortly after Leslie and I had moved to Colorado Springs, CO, and Grandma and Grandpa came for a visit. It was the first time they had met Leslie. The day they had planned to go home, I warned Leslie not to be offended when Grandpa decided it was time to go home. True to form, when the time came, Grandpa thanked us for our hospitality, said, "Goodbye.", walked out the door, got in his car, and...left. The look on Leslie's face made me laugh, and I had to reassure her that she had done nothing to upset them. Maybe Grandma was always like that, too, but I sort of wondered how many times she got left behind before she learned that Grandpa meant business.

Whatever the "proper" way to say goodbye, I was thankful for the opportunity to remember my grandfather, particularly this beloved trait of his. I realized, too, that though he passed away in the summer of 2002, there was something I never got around to doing.

Goodbye Grandpa.

The True Meaning of Christmas

I recently watched a video on a major news network with this exact title. The video began with a statistic stating a study revealing that only 1.3% of ads currently running mention anything about God or the birth of Jesus. The question is, then, "Has the true meaning of Christmas been lost?" Ironically, the commercial before the video was an ad for Pajamagram, with the focus on giving your significant other sexy lingerie for Christmas. I think they may be on to something.

Sadly, though, the fact that I used the word Christmas in this article will be an offense to some, both Non-Christian and Christian. Of course, if I had subsituted the word "holiday", that would probably offend another group.

We all know that "Jesus is the reason for the season", but if you say it, some will be quick to point out that Jesus could not have been born during this season, the holiday has it's roots in paganism, Jesus is no longer a baby, etc. Add to this parents lying to their children about a fantasy character named Santa Claus, the pressure to spend money you don't have, and the expectation for happiness that can never be met, and you have a sort of "perfect storm" of emotions that bring about the opposite of "on earth peace, goodwill toward men".

It's not my purpose to tear down or mock belief systems. I have my own beliefs, and I feel very strongly about them, particularly some that are in focus at this time of year. My purpose is to encourage people to take a step back from "the front lines", and consider the person who is the central figure of, not only this holiday, but of all of history.

The so called "Christmas Story", is well known. Jesus, the Son of God, was conceived by the Holy Ghost, and born of a virgin in Bethlehem. This miracle of God was a fulfillment of prophesy, an event the Jewish Nation had been looking for for centuries. However, Jesus' birth was not the end, but the beginning of the purpose or meaning of Christmas.

It's tragic that at a time when the world celebrates this beginning, that so many (especially those who believe the story) are at odds with one another, and also at odds with the One who came to bring peace. How grieving it must be to God to have his children arguing over the details of an event the details of which He purposely left hidden.

Some who celebrate this holiday may do so with thankfulness for a Savior who came into the world in meekness and humility. Some may enjoy the thought of a mythical character who brings joy to the entire world in one magical night. Others may simply take advantage of the opportunity to make memories with friends and family. And still others may choose to avoid all aspects of the holiday for reasons known only to them.

Whatever group a person may belong to, there is one thing all these people will have in common. No matter how they choose to worship their God, show love in the giving of gifts, build relationships with those they love, or retreat into their own sanctuary, they will do it imperfectly. With this in mind, I believe we should all exercise meekness and humility.

But what is the real meaning, you ask?

In my last post, I wrote about the new birth, and it's effect on believers whose faith may be waning. I did not fully understand the timing of the words I wrote, nor the need I had for my own faith to be stirred up. But God did. That night my son Micah came to me, and told me he wanted to be a Christian. How "soul refreshing" it was to share in this miracle with my wife and son. For me, that moment was full of the "true meaning of Christmas".

John 1:10-13 says, "He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God—children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God."

Jesus' birth was truly miraculous, and should give us pause, whenever we consider it. But, for me, the true meaning of Christmas is not that Jesus was born over 2000 years ago in the City of David, but that Jesus came so a young man could be reborn last Saturday in the town of Covington.

Born Again, Again

There is something about an infant or small child that exudes life. Just being near such an one makes you feel younger, more alive.

Having the privilege of witnessing the birth of all eight of my children, I know that when you see something like that, there is something of a rebirth that happens in the observer as well.

Perhaps it has something to do with being so close to the source of life that some of that new life overflows onto you. At least I imagine it to be like that.

Now that my children are older (the youngest is going on ten), I feel like I'm getting further away from the source. Thankfully, God has given me 3 grandchildren who occasionally pour themselves on me, giving me a taste of new life.

As I pondered this amazing process, I realized that our life in Christ is much the same. While Jesus is the fountain of life, himself, from which we must continually draw, there is something about the new birth experience that affects all those involved. Whether we are the instrument God uses to lead a new believer to Jesus, or an observer, or even if we only meet up with one recently converted, you almost can't help but get some new life on you!

And isn't that God's design? Didn't he plan for us, indeed command us, to "be about his business" not only for the benefit of the lost, but also that our faith would remain new, and our lights burning bright? Is there anything that makes us feel more alive than to be near when a "newborn" soul bursts forth into life?

We tend to look at the Scripture's teaching that the "older should teach the younger" and come to the conclusion that the younger have little to give. However, I believe they are intimately involved in OUR salvation experience. Were it not for their new life, and the hope for the future it brings, what would be our incentive for staying alive? Would a farmer continue to sow seed if it were not for the tender sprouts that spring forth from the ground, eventually yielding a harvest?

It's natural for the zeal that we initially experience after our own conversion to wane, and for the "newness of life" to begin aging. But God's plan is for us to share the water of life with thirsty souls, and in the process revitalize and refresh our own drying souls.

Some of you will remember the days of the hand pumps where you needed to save a small portion of water to be used for priming the pump. Without this small reserve, the vast amount of cool, refreshing water just below the surface could not be utilized.

If you are experiencing dryness in your Christian life, perhaps what you need is the priming influence of a newborn soul, whose water may be in short supply, but is right on the surface and overflowing. With it you will be able to tap into the deep well of water in your own heart, revitalizing your parched soul, and spilling over into a river of life.

The Perfect Child

In honor of his 12th birthday, I'm posting a poem I wrote when Ethan was just a year old.

The Perfect Child
(Ethan's Song)

You were to be the seventh child, on you our God had smiled.
The omen of the number sev'n, you'd be the perfect child.

Then at your birth, all was not right, your life was nearly lost,
But for the perfect child God would, must save at any cost.

As time went by, 'twas evident, imperfect you would be.
I cried, "I do not understand! Please Lord, help me to see."

I prayed that God would make you whole, and glorify his name.
But from the perfect One on high, the answer quickly came.

"Son, look again, the six are flawed, perfect the number sev'n.
They all must die and be re-born, before they're fit for Heav'n."

Dear Ethan, you God to us gave, the path to help us see.
Lead us to God and teach us how to love Him perfectly.

What's On Your List

A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook a list of 100 well known books of which the BBC says most people will have read only 6.

If you do a search of "100 best books", you will find many such lists. Because these lists are subjective, they will likely share some of the same titles, but will not be identical.

After complaining to my friend that her list favored Jane Austen and Charles Dickens, and lacked some of my favorites, I realized that there is only one list of 100 books that is essential, and that is the one you build yourself. Everyone should have a list of at least 100 works of literature that they have read.

The National Endowment for the Arts recently released a survey showing that over the last six years, the percentage of adult Americans who read works of literature has increased by about four percent. According to the N-E-A, more than half of adults read fiction, poetry, or drama. While this may show a good trend, it still means that nearly half of American adults never pick up a book, read a poem, or enjoy a play.

These days our minds are occupied with Facebook, Twitter, movies and television, and video games. So why is it important to read? The problem with entertainment is that so much of it is passive, not requiring our minds to be engaged. When I watch a movie, I don't need to use my imagination to picture the scenes because that's already been done for me. I may have the impression that I am engaged, but the fact that I don't remember the movie I watched last week tells me I was only being amused.

A literary work, on the other hand, asks me to get involved, to use my imagination and exercise my memory. And it asks me to make judgments on what I've read.

Another benefit of reading is vocabulary building, which has been linked to intelligence. Think of it as growing your brain in order to hold more words. Exercising your mind, by reading or some other mental stimulation, has also proven to ward off dementia.

One advantage technology has brought us, is the availability of great literary works in digital form. When I purchased my iPad, I did not have this benefit in mind, but with iBooks (Kindle, etc.) I now carry an entire library of books wherever I go. Now, when I find myself standing in line, waiting on my doctor, or flying on a plane, I can open any book in my library and make good use of the time. And even more wonderful, many of the books that you will find on these "best books" lists are now in the public domain, and can be downloaded for free!

So if you don't already have a list of your own, use one of the "100 best books" list as a place to get started, or ask a friend for recommendations. The important thing is to get started. And if you've already got a list, keep expanding it.

Ray Bradbury's book, "Fahrenheit 451", tells of a time when books are outlawed and burned, and the only way books are kept alive is for an underground organization to "become" books by each member memorizing one. It's ironic that today, if all the books were burned, nearly half the population wouldn't miss them.

Remember, "The person who doesn't read good books has no advantage over the person who can't read them." - Mark Twain

Who are these people?

Leslie and I went to a symphonic concert at Bass Performance Hall (home of the Fort Worth Symphony Orchestra) for my birthday. The concert featured works from Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninoff and Ravel, culminating in Ravel's Bolero, a favorite of ours.

We enjoy going to these concerts to add a little refinement and culture to our lives, in an atmosphere where professional musicians combine with excellent acoustics to provide a truly wonderful experience.

Of course, the fact that the building is designed so that the most delicate note can be heard in the farthest reaches means that the patrons must maintain quietness to keep from spoiling the experience for others.

In spite of directions to this point, and the explicit instructions to silence cell phones, there is always someone who neglects to do this, and this concert was no exception.

To my astonishment, I heard cell phones ringing, and people coughing and talking. Worst of all was the woman sitting behind us who spoke loudly to her friend about what she was hearing.

I was thinking, "Who are these people who cannot follow simple directions in order to be considerate to other people?", especially at an event such as a symphony? Then my own cell phone began shouting it's answer to my question!

You see, when I set an alarm on my phone, it still sounds even when my phone is on "silent", and about 3/4 of the way through the concert, it reminded me that I needed to call my mother, something I want to be sure to do every week.

So, who are these people? They are people just like me, who intend to do well, but have moments when they fail. People who suffer embarrassment when, in spite of their efforts, come off looking like a buffoon in a very public setting. Furthermore, just like me, they are souls for whom Christ died.

The next time you are tempted to criticize someone for their behavior, remember that you, too, are one of those people. I know I will.

I know right where everything is!

"Don't touch anything on my desk, I know right where everything is!"

I don't know how many times I heard my dad make statements such as this when trying to explain to my mother that she shouldn't try to organize his desk.

As I sit at my desk, laptop nestled into a spot I cleared for it, writing this article, I'm convinced that this organizational method is hereditary.

My wife, through the years, has learned that cleaning up my desk (much like she cleans up my sons' room when she can no longer stand the disarray) is no favor to me, nor to her.

But today I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm admitting that my "organized chaos" is inefficient, and unproductive (which is harmful), and stems primarily from procrastination (which is also harmful). So today I'm going to sort, reduce, prioritize, label, assemble, file, and systematize everything on my desk and in my office. Then I will begin the process of changing my habits to prevent the chaos from returning.

I'm certain that once this project is completed, I will be much more efficient and productive (which is helpful).

Except for one thing. Right now I know where everything is. In fact, as I look over my desk, I see my dad. And as I consider my habits, I see him, too. What if in the process of organizing myself I lose him? Right now I know right where he is.

I think this project can wait a while longer. I miss you, Dad.

That You May Be Sons

Back in May I was caught speeding on my commute to work, and received a ticket.

There were extenuating circumstances: I had been driving in the HOV (High Occupancy Vehicle) lane for several miles, being tailgated by a silver SUV (the HOV lane there has barriers on either side, prohibiting passing). Though traffic was moving at 75 (10 MPH above the speed limit, but normal for that time of the morning), apparently the driver behind me thought I should go faster.

Those who know me, understand that there is no driving offense that can raise my blood pressure like being tailgated, so I was vexed.

As soon as the HOV lane ended, I started looking for a spot to move to the right, but there was none. In a fit of pique, I accelerated briefly (apparently to 82 MPH) to get into an opening and relieve my stress. To my dismay, that's when the officer's radar gun was trained on my vehicle.

Since the fine for going more than 15 MPH over the speed limit is considerably higher, and because I felt I was not completely at fault, I chose to go to court.

My day in court finally came September 1st, and, to "cut to the chase", I was given 90 days probation instead of a $225 fine and a ticket on my record. The fact that I had to pay $190 in court costs took a little luster off my "victory".

Where am I going with this? Well, this past week it happened again. Not to me, however, but to the tailgater. In the very same spot, I was being tailgated by a silver SUV (no, not the same one). Knowing I will pay dearly if I receive another citation within the next 90 days, I was only doing 70 this time (if you drive the speed limit, you're a hazard in the morning rush), and when I reached the end 0f the HOV lane, I waited to find an opening to the right, this time without much difficulty.

As the tailgater blew passed me, I remarked out loud, "Don't mess with the City of Allen.", but she ignored my warning. As if on cue, a police cruiser entered the highway from the shoulder, moved over behind her, and turned on his lights, all as I watched from "the front row". Retribution! Right?

I must admit that I had a certain feeling of gratification at first, but that was quickly replaced by guilt. I knew I should not rejoice in anothers calamity. "Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when he stumbles, do not let your heart rejoice", there it is in Proverbs 24:17.

I suppose it would be okay to feel a little pleasure in the fact that justice was triumphing, after all, she was guilty of a crime. However, to be consistent then, I would have had to have felt the same way when I got my ticket, and I did not.

So what is it in us that brings elation when an enemy falls? Her punishment (assuming she got a ticket also), will in no way reduce my own, so why should I feel better? Is it because misery loves company? If that's the real reason I feel better, than I am miserable indeed.

No, I believe it's that ungodly part of us, our flesh, that rejoices when another suffers, even if they "had it coming". When Jesus disciples asked him if they should call down fire from heaven to consume their adversaries, Jesus answered, "You don't know what spirit you are of." And as children of God, we cannot let that spirit have control.

"But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous." (Matthew 5:44,45)

This Spirit, the one that does good to enemy and friend, is the one that we want ruling us. He is the one who must be ruling us if we are to be sons (or daughters) of God.

Changing Your Perspective

As I begin typing, I can feel that the skin of my fingers is still wrinkled from the hot dishwater. Yes, I have dishpan hands. From washing dishes. All by myself!

As I began to wash them, I took in the view that I so seldom see. Standing in front of our stainless steel, double sink, a pile of dishes to my left, and an empty dish rack to my right, I gazed out the kitchen window at the falling rain. As if on cue, a black-chinned hummingbird alighted on the feeder, pausing long enough to allow me to examine it's iridescent colors. What a privilege to be standing at that place, at that moment.

As my hands worked with the bubbles to separate the dished from the yuck, I realized I was standing on a desk. No, not literally. I remembered the movie The Dead Poet's Society where professor John Keating takes his students through an exercise of standing on a desk to gain a new perspective on life. At that moment in time, to the best of my ability, I was seeing the world from my wife's perspective. For the first time in a long time, I was seeing what she sees on a daily basis.

I decided that I was going to make the best of this opportunity. As I worked, I decided to take in every sound, every smell, every sense of what she considers normal.

I could hear the children NOT doing their schoolwork. I dried my hands repeatedly to answer the phone and computer chats, and attend to the children's needs. And I perspired! The heat from the water caused me to soak my shirt every bit as much as I did yesterday while doing the "manly" task of rotating the tires on my car.

I also enjoyed the blessing of looking out on God's creation and hearing Him speak to me through it. I had time (probably twice as much as my wife usually does) to meditate and reflect on and sort through the thoughts of my heart.

And, perhaps the best blessing of all, my appreciation and love for my wife grew. What I was able to accomplish once (find gratification in doing a menial task out of love for another), she does on a daily basis, not only in the dishes, but in all the duties of making our home a home.

So much of our lives become routine, and when we fall into the rut of routine, our lives become ordinary. To prevent this, we must choose to alter our routine. To live extraordinary lives, we must purposely change our position in order to see things in a different light. What is revealed in doing so may startle us.

You may be wondering: Where was my wife while I was doing her job (I'll probably catch grief for that!)? She was visiting and blessing our daughter who had requested her company. And what did she do while she was there? She washed her dishes...while standing on a desk.

I also decided to watch The Dead Poet's Society again. What a wonderful film, with such a powerful message. Each of us has a voice, and we must find it before it is too late. But that's for another post.

Sown in Weakness, Raised in Power

I saw the signs, while zipping down my interstate, saying, "Construction Zone Ahead", but I was unaware of how rough the road was going to get, nor how long my journey might be delayed.

With the recent passing of my father and several friends during this short period of time, God has asked me to spend some time contemplating eternity, slowing me long enough to, allow the truth to settle deep into my heart.

This past week the time of sojourn for my friend, Barry Johnson, ended. Barry had fought hard to survive melanoma, but finally succumbed to his illness. Watching this battle from a distance, an important truth has become crystal clear.

With all illnesses (like cancer) that claim the life of their victims over time, the eventual death is often described as "losing the battle". And this is true. For those who conquer such a disease, there is a rightful feeling of victory. Also, for those whose battle ends in death, there is an appropriate sense of defeat.

But, as Barry's days on Earth drew to a close, God reminded me that his battle was not with the cancer. Indeed, though we try to hold off death as long as possible, none of us can expect to "win" this battle. We are all mortal, and therefore our bodies will all perish.

But the good news is: This is not the end! Barry, as his life here and the voice of many witnesses testify, HAS triumphed over cancer! And not cancer only, but over death itself. He is in a place where there is no more sickness, and is alive forever more. Barry's body was "sown in weakness", but has been "raised in power".

Whatever we may face in this life, "our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms." There is only one victory - faith in Jesus Christ as the Son of God, and there is only one defeat - unbelief.

This is the truth that God has been teaching me these past months, and I am ready to resume my journey, whether the road be rough or smooth. Lord, "I do believe! Help me overcome my unbelief."


1 Corinthians 15:43
Ephesians 6:12
Mark 9:24

A Secret Revealed

The boy (who for some time had had boys of his own) sat beside his father’s hospital bed. As he gazed upon the feeble figure before him, he longed to tell him the secret that he had known so long, and yet had been so fearful to tell. His fear was not based on a lack of conviction, but in the possibility that sharing the secret with his father might tarnish their relationship, which was one of the boy’s most cherished treasures.

From the beginning of his memory, until this very moment, everything of value that the boy had learned (except for this one thing) he had learned from his father. Of course, through the years, there had been many useful things that the boy had discovered while apart from his father. But the things that really matter; the things of real consequence had been passed on from this old man.

Looking away from the bed to the floor, he began to reminisce. He remembered that, even though his father was a busy man, he was always there when the boy needed him: coaching his Little League teams, staying up all night with him to finish a school assignment that the boy had waited ‘til the last hour to start, stealing the boy away from school to play hooky on the golf course, sharing his love for words and word games, and even delivering the appropriate firm lecture or supple switch.

He remembered that his father always had close friends of every race, religion, and economic class, and he remembered that his father counted his friends as treasures.

He remembered that his father always rose above life’s misery, choosing to be joyful in spite of challenges that defeated lesser men.

And he remembered the cups of "hobo coffee" they had shared, too infrequently, over the years.

Most importantly the boy remembered how his father loved without holding back. How he sacrificed for those he loved, always giving if he had it to give, and sorrowing when he was unable to give; how he unashamedly wept over his loved one’s anguish, and rejoiced over their triumph; how he loved life itself, taking time to delight in the beauty of God’s creation. And how could he forget how he had loved the boy’s mother, carrying a torch for her that still burns in the innumerable love poems he had written to her.

The boy also remembered how his own spiritual journey had caused a distance to develop between them. Their love for each other had always been able to bridge this gap, but most of the boy’s adult life they had spent watching each other across the abyss. The secret that the boy held was the thing he hoped would close the gap, but feared would destroy the bridge.

As these memories washed over the boy’s mind, a new understanding dawned on him, and the secret began to take a different shape. As he yielded himself to the notion, a new conviction overtook him, and he realized he needed to voice it out loud.

Without raising his eyes, he began quietly, “I know, Dad, that our understanding of who God is and what he requires of us is different. I also realize that I’ve allowed this difference to affect our relationship in a way that you would not have chosen. Though this probably caused you pain, you always respected my belief, and never loved me less because of it. Thank you for that.”

With tears now welling in his eyes, he sighed, and confessed, “All these years I’ve been afraid to speak plainly of my faith for fear you’d feel like I was preaching to you, or judging you. I’ve hinted, and probed, but I’ve been too frightened to be completely honest. I feel badly that I didn’t trust you enough to share something with you that is so important to me. I should have known that our love could withstand it, whether or not we agreed.

But what I just now realized is that you are the one who taught me to love God. You did it by manifesting his attributes during my years at home. And when I launched out on my own, there was a void in my life that only God could fill. Because of you, it was inevitable that I should be a follower of Jesus Christ. It is important that I be here now, not in the hopes that I might save your soul. I know now that I just needed to thank you for saving mine.”

Looking back up to the bed, he discovered that his father had fallen asleep. The boy wondered how much, if any, his father had heard. Somehow the boy knew his father had known this secret all along. “Rest in peace, Dad. I love you.”

Patrick Evan Ainsworth

January 13, 1933 - July 23, 2010

I thought of you today

A friend was shopping at a thrift store recently, and found a coffee mug that reminded her of me. She bought it, and gave it to me at church this morning.

Maybe you're thinking that this is not a remarkable event. But that's because you're not me.

You see, we all want to matter. Everyone wants to make a difference.

And by thinking of me, and buying this little token of my influence on her life, she was saying to me that I made a difference. That blessed my day.

The next time something reminds you of someone you care about, go the extra mile and let them know you thought of them. The importance of validating people's existence by these little gestures cannot be measured.

By the way, Tina, every time I drink from this cup, I will think of you, and will know that you've made a difference, too. Thanks!

Peace in the Midst of Chaos

Are you experiencing a trial so difficult that you wonder how the world can keep turning while your life is turned upside down? Perhaps you have lost a loved one, been diagnosed with a terminal illness, divorced your spouse, lost a job, are facing financial ruin, or are just feeling alone. And, yet, the world keeps turning. The sun rises and sets, the flowers bloom, rivers flow, birds sing, people laugh and rush through their lives as though nothing is wrong. You are sure that if God cared about your situation, he would bring all this to a halt, at least until you have regained your equilibrium.
However, God's design is to comfort you by allowing everything to continue as always. In the midst of your chaos, his personal message to you is, "Peace, be still. I am still on the throne. Though you are shaken, I am not. I will hold you until this passes, and it WILL pass. Joy will return. Peace, be still."