Hope and Love

I was a little shocked when he addressed it. “It” being the thing I’ve always secretly wondered, but have been too afraid to say out loud because it seems un-Christian and blasphemous and potentially gasp-inducing to religious ears.

No one has ever brought “it” up in my presence, so I, of course, felt “it” too shameful to even think about. Yet, Pastor Mark Brewer wasn’t afraid to give voice to the seemingly tainted inquiry. He ripped it straight from my very human head at Bel Air Presbyterian Church yesterday, as he brought up a young boy who once asked him the question, “If heaven lasts for eternity, wouldn’t it be… boring?”

“Heaven… boring?” My head snapped up with attention – others have wondered the same thing too? I thought. I’m not alone with this debaucherous musing?

I waited breathlessly for Pastor Brewer’s response.

“What could we possibly do for a billion years that wouldn’t get boring?” He continued.

“Yes, yes, what can we do? Eat?” I wondered from my pew, as usual, thinking about my stomach.

He paused to consider golfing, playing tennis, eating, before finally giving us the answer – the key to a blessed Christian life.

Love.

In the day since, I have spent considerable time thinking about Pastor Brewer’s answer. I agree with it, of course – love is the central theme of this whole Christianity business, and I do believe that it is what sustains life on this crazy planet. Love has certainly been a pivotal factor in getting me through the trials and tribulations of this past year. I don’t know that I would have had the strength to keep my head up were it not for God’s love, and the earthly love He has blessed me with through my amazing family and friends.

But there’s something else that has kept me smiling during a year when I’ve been forced to move twice, have experienced several professional set-backs and have been out on a grand total of six dates since January 2009.

Hope.

Love combined with hope is what keeps my eyes bright even when my heart is feeling dull. I have the ability to love because, even with the setbacks, I still have hope – hope for something better to come – tomorrow, next month, this coming year. And if not now -- in this life, hope that something better awaits me in heaven.

Hope is why I can smile at the stranger standing in-line next to me at Coffee Bean. Hope is why I can (begrudeoningly) let the Range Rover over on the 405. And hope is why I can forgive the date who didn’t offer to pay for my cup of Serenity tea at Urth Caffe.

My faith in a brighter future is what gives me the heart to share God’s love in the present. For even if this world does not always reciprocate that love (or buy me dinner), I know I have an eternity of love (and food) awaiting me in God’s world – heaven.

My swing hasn't been so grand

So I'm at Bel Air Pres last Tuesday right? Totally flipping my hair, adjusting my outfit, and trying really hard to look both cute and spiritual at the same time so the mysterious, handsome guy I've been "stalking" notices me. My wing-woman Katie is next to me -- doing her own spiritual thang like a good Christian, and I'm only half paying attention to the music we are singing. It's hard work trying to look sexy whilst singing praises to Jesus and the effort is requiring all of my focus.

We finish the final song, do the little meet and greet where I am stuck talking to some other guy instead of the object of my... affections, and then Keenan Barber, the young adult pastor, gets up to do his sermon. He makes some poor guy swing a golf club like fifty times in front of the entire sea of Foundrians (attractive young adults in their 20s/30s), and I'm thinking, "I should have volunteered so mysterious guy would like totally for sure notice me!"

The lights dim, and with nothing to do at this point but try to look pensive, I begin listening to what Keenan has to say. He isn't up there just to talk about golf. He has a message for us -- a group of young adults who feel dissatisfied with at least some aspect of our lives, whether that be our relationship status, our careers or our bank accounts. And I start to realize that there is a reason God wanted me at the Foundry that night -- and it has nothing to do with making a connection with some cute guy two pews away.

My relationship with God is imperfect. I forget to pray on a regular basis. I forget that I'm a Christian when someone cuts me off on the freeway, defiling the air around me with a sea of profanities. And occasionally, I go to church because I want to gawk at a guy rather than grow closer to God. My behavior is not exactly worthy of emulation, nor is it indicative that I'm ready to, as Keenan would say, metaphorically go out and hit a hole in one.

I need to practice my Christianity. Everyday I need to go out into the world and do the things that make me identify myself as "a believer." I need to pray for patience when I get frustrated - not wear out my car horn. I need to smile at the man who takes the big crunchy Pink Lady apple I was eyeing at Whole Foods -- not give him a dose of my infamous evil eye. And I need to pick-up that friend from the airport -- even if it is past my bedtime.

Practicing my faith won't make me perfect (nobody is), but it will improve my swing, and it will improve my relationship with God. When I'm fully there -- in the state-of-mind where I'm truly living my life for His purpose rather than my own, I'll be ready for that mysterious guy. Or another mysterious guy. Or a not so mysterious guy.

It's really up to God. He knows what He's doing with my life even when I don't. All I have to do is keep swinging that golf club and have faith that my "hole-in-one" will happen when I'm ready.

Why I gave up chocolate for Lent

There are two types of people in this world. People who live to eat and people who eat to live. It will come to no surprise to my friends and family that I fall into the former category. I don't just love food -- it is one of my greatest passions. There are few things I enjoy more than sharing a great meal with someone I care about or cooking up a storm in my kitchen or writing about a fabulous new restaurant on my food blog, Diana Takes a Bite. In many ways, food is a driving force in my life that can only be paralleled by my faith and relationship with God.

Recently, I have begun to notice that my focus on food has started to detract from that relationship with God. Instead of giving my complete attention to Pastor Mark Brewer's sermons on Sunday mornings at Bel Air Pres, I'm half-thinking about what I'm going to order at brunch after. Instead of reading the Bible on a regular basis, I spend my spare time reading cookbooks and perusing food blogs and sites. And instead of surrounding myself with fellow Christians, I surround myself with fellow foodies.

For some time I have been concerned that my love affair with steak, ice cream, peanut butter, pasta, cheese, etc. has been interfering with my growth as a Christian woman, and it became even more apparent to me a few Sundays ago when Pastor Brewer preached a sermon about Matthew 6. He quoted the following:

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes.... So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well..." (Matthew 6:25-33)

While Pastor Brewer's message was not specifically referencing my particular situation, the words stuck in my head. I can't shake the sense that God is telling me that I need to re-shift my focus and make sure that my faith is the first priority in my life. Part of me wants to ignore it -- to continue letting my foodie-ism define me -- but in my heart I know that my most noteworthy characteristic is not my ability to whip up a fabulous shrimp risotto or chicken marsala. My most noteworthy characteristic is my faith.

This year for Lent, I am, as usual, giving up chocolate. It is my favorite thing to eat, and it is the rare day that I don't have at least a little piece of chocolate after both lunch and dinner. Forgoing my favorite treat is always a struggle, but this year it seems to be even more so. Intertwined in my commitment to not eat chocolate for 46 days, is also a commitment to be more focused on living like Christ rather than living like a foodie. It's not just about not eating chocolate, it's symbolic of an attempt to recalibrate my world view to be not of this world, but rather of the world that awaits me in Heaven.

I wish I could end this post by saying that I've been successful in this pursuit. I wish I could describe how I no longer care what I eat for dinner or what I order at a restaurant. I wish I could take off my "food" goggles like I take off a pair of earrings. Unfortunately, I haven't gotten to that point yet. I'm not sure that I will ever be able to not care about what it is I put in my mouth, but I am thankful that I at least know that there is something more important. And I am thankful that I can be reminded of that every time I resist the chocolate bars in the check-out stand at the grocery store, every time I watch my mom eating a chocolate cookie, and every time I drink a cup of tea without a piece of chocolate to go with it.

The Little Things

I wasn't in the best mood on Wednesday morning. At all. Traffic on the 10 fwy had been especially horrific (it took me 50 minutes to drive 7.8 miles), and when I finally arrived at work 20 minutes late, I had several unpleasant e-mails waiting for me in my inbox. It was enough to send me straight into the hallway, tears ruining my not-so-carefully applied mascara, as I begged God to help me out a little. (Or a lot.)

The bad start to my day sent me into the sort of funk that I didn't think could be eradicated by anything. Except for maybe winning the lottery or a fabulous trip to someplace exotic or tropical (I could really use a tan).

Then, later in the morning, I had to go pick up a gift certificate from Burke Williams Spa in Santa Monica. As I left the building, certificate in hand, I noticed a Leonida's Belgium Chocolate shop just down the block. Pushing aside the nagging voice in my head that told me 11 am is too early for chocolates, I popped in to check out the loot. The cheerful girl behind the counter immediately welcomed me into the nearly empty chocolatier and seemed completely happy to wait for me to hem and haw over my pivotal purchasing decision.

By the time I finally decided on the "Louise," a milk chocolate covered caramel-flavored praline, I was convinced that I'd driven her half-way to crazy with all my questions about her favorites, the most popular, etc. Yet, she continued to be as sweet as the candy in the display case and didn't reveal a hint of irritation at my indecisiveness. Instead, she told me that they also carried the "Louise" in dark and white chocolate and asked if I'd like to sample one. This was an easy one -- of course, I wanted to try the dark chocolate! She put the dark and milk chocolates into a small plastic sack, and as I reached for my wallet, she waved me away.

"No need to pay -- you can just take them." She said.

I stood agog, not quite sure how to respond to her kindness. I finally found my voice, a bit shaky with emotion, and said, "Thank you. I've had the worst day, and you've made it so much better."

She gave me a shy smile in return and sent me on my way with wishes that it continued to get better.

And it did. Her simple act of kindness quickly turned my sour mood around. The whole situation reminded me of my grandmother who was also fond of those small gestures. She was constantly baking pies and cookies for her friends, knitting dishclothes for them, or sending little notes to brighten their day. I'll always remember her for those small acts of kindness and the twinkle she'd get in her eye when she'd turn to us and say, "I've done my good deed for the day."

Her words and the chocolate shop girl's actions are reminders that the Lord doesn't always answer prayers or make His appearance in a grandiose manner. His presence is often most apparent in the humble displays of kindness -- like a couple pieces of chocolate, a smile from a stranger or a hug from a friend.

Missing the Mustard Seed

I'm just going to go ahead and say it. I zoned out at church today.

I didn't mean to. I had the pew pencil in my hand so I could take notes and even managed to scribble down something about government being created to combat anarchy and distribute wealth. See? I was totally primed to get something out of this morning's sermon at Bel Air Pres!

But then the pastor started talking about some rulers from the eleventh century (or was it the seventh?) and my stomach started rumbling, and before I knew it I was fantasizing about the quiche I was going to get with my mom for lunch after church. I managed to get my head back in the game when we were asked to turn our Bibles to Matthew 3:31, and I confidently chimed in with the rest of the congregation as we read about how a great big tree with lots of branches can grow from just a tiny mustard seed. (Point being - just a little bit of faith or a little good deed can reap great things.)

"Okay," I thought, "this is good -- I can relate to this parable."

Happy that the pastor was quoting the New Testament and the always entertaining Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, I was back at full attention. Or at least I was until he started up with the First Crusades and read us some propaganda that was circulated about the Muslims during that time. Suddenly, my focus went AWOL again.

I was eager to leave the church as soon as the service ended so that I could get started on my hour drive down to Orange County, but I knew I'd have to go to the bathroom before I began my trek down the 405. I contemplated going before the sermon ended so I wouldn't have to go after and get stuck in all the crazy parking lot traffic, but I didn't want to be the "Excuse me, pardon me, can I just get by?" girl who makes everyone move during the pivotal moment of spiritual enlightenment. I might not be getting anything out of the sermon, but that didn't mean that my pew friends weren't!

Before I knew it, the pastor was wrapping things up, and TJ and the band were heading back on stage.

"That's it?" I thought. "But wait! I didn't get anything out of that! I already knew about the mustard seed!"

My silent protests were futile -- it was too late. I'd missed the boat, missed the message and missed out on an opportunity to grow a wee bit closer to God. Yes, it was just one sermon out of the 52 I hear every year, but it still could have been a mustard seed for some sort of action in my life. While I'm not a ruler and am not living in anarchy, there is still loads of anarchy going on in my head!

So here I am. At home in OC, wondering what it was that Pastor Mark Brewer said when I was so busy worrying about getting to that quiche and my mom as quickly as possible. The quiche was good, but it would have been just as good if I'd eaten five minutes later. In the grand scheme of my life, it was inconsequential. I ate it, it was satisfying, and then it was gone. God's word is never gone. It is a living word that never passes away, and like that little mustard seed, can grow into something truly magnificent.

Next week, I'll be listening. And I'll be sure to eat a bigger breakfast.

The Pearl Necklace

The thought of spending another hour in my car was daunting. It was cold outside (for LA), I'd just finished a lovely glass of Zinfandel, and all I wanted to do was curl up in my new blue fuzzy sweatpants, eat the frozen brownies I have stashed in my freezer, and watch "Fringe" with my roommate.

But then I heard it.

The bittersweet sound of my good conscience.

"You should go, Diana. You can't drive an hour for God?" It said.

I wanted to ignore it, but I knew in my heart that I needed to go to the Foundry, Bel Air Presbyterian's youth group, that meets on Tuesday nights. I quickly responded to my friend's e-mail asking if I wanted to join her.

"I'll see you there!" I typed and then hurried to finish making my dinner so I could make it in time.

As usual, that pesky little voice that I often try so hard to drown out, was right. I really did need to be there last night. Without going into an exorbitant amount of detail, an opportunity presented itself to me yesterday, and I was struggling to decide whether I should grab hold of it with all my might, or drop it like a hot potato. In the end, I went for the hot potato method.

While it would be nice, neat and Hollywood cute to say that I made my decision all because of the story that the guest speaker preached to us last night, I already knew in my gut that the opportunity wasn't right for me. Regardless, the story struck a chord with me -- so much so, that on my 30-minute drive home last night, I relayed it to my mother. And now, I will relay it here (with a few of my own dramatic embellishments).

----

Once upon a time, a young girl named Sammie and her father were having dinner at Cici's Pizza, a pizza buffet-type restaurant that is apparently absurdly popular in areas other than Southern California. As Sammie was polishing off a greasy slice of their pepperoni, she noticed the arcade section tucked away in the corner of the eatery. There was the usual Pac-Man, some sort of race car game that did not appeal to her feminine sensibilities at all, and "the Claw."

Sammie abandoned her pizza and approached "the Claw" game. She peered through the glass and saw a beautiful pearl necklace in the middle of the mostly egregious pile of toys. Her eyes grew large with desire, and she begged her dad to let her play. He agreed, and Sammie immediately beginning feeding her hard-earned allowance into the machine. Yet try as she might, she couldn't seem to catch the necklace. Her dad was beginning to grow impatient, but Sammie was so enamored by the necklace that she couldn't walk away. Finally after 30 minutes had passed, she was down to her last quarter. This was it. Her last chance to get the necklace.

She slipped the quarter through the slot and narrowed her eye in concentration. She moved quickly -- pushing the controller so the claw stopped just above her coveted prize and held her breath as she watched it drop. Please, please, please, she thought as the claw closed around the necklace. Maneuvering the claw over to the exit hole, her heart nearly exploded in joy -- she'd won it! She'd won the beautiful pearl necklace!

For the next few months, Sammie wore the necklace every day. It went with her everywhere she went -- the park, school, even to the swimming pool. As time passed by, the necklace started to show its age. The paint was chipping off, the thread was wearing thin and it no longer had the lustrous sheen it did when Sammie had first seen it at the arcade. Yet despite its appearance, Sammie still loved it -- it was her most prized possession and she never took it off.

During this time, Sammie's father had begun a strange ritual every night when he tucked her into bed. He would always ask her the same question -- "Sammie, can I have your necklace?" and Sammie would always give him the same answer -- "No Dad, I worked so so hard for it and I spent all my allowance on it and I love it so much! I can't give you the necklace."

After months of this back-and-forth, Sammie started to think that maybe she should give her dad the necklace. If he kept asking for it, he probably had a good reason to want it. One night, before he came in to her room, she decided that this time when he asked she would give it to him. Her trust in him was greater than her love for the necklace.

When her dad came in, he again asked her, "Sammie, can I have your necklace?" and Sammie looked up at him, at his wise compassionate eyes, and nodded. She slowly took the necklace off and slipped it into his hand. Her father smiled, patted her head and took a velvet bag out of his pocket. He reached in and pulled out the most beautiful real pearl necklace that Sammie had ever seen -- better than anything she could have ever imagined or ever bought for herself with her measly allowance. It was perfect.

-----

The message that comes across here is one of sacrifice -- giving up something that we think is important to obtain something more amazing than we could ever imagine from God. To me, the beautiful pearl necklace signified the opportunity I am meant to embrace -- not the crusted, tattered one that I wanted to be the right thing earlier in the day. Even if the connection isn't picture perfect or, as I mentioned earlier, "Hollywood cute," I still felt as though it was somehow relevant to my crisis.

Today, as I set on my couch drinking another glass of red Zin, I felt perfectly at peace. I know that God has a plan for me, and I know that it will be better than I can even begin to imagine. I just have to trust Him and give myself fully to His grace.

Praises: Looking on the Bright Side

It's been one of those weeks. The ones that inspire books like Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, and turn into lyrics like "You tell me your blue skies fade to grey, you tell me your passion's gone away" from that Daniel Powter song that "American Idol" ruined. The whole lot of frustrations from this week makes me want to cry, pout and drown my sorrows in a tub of Trader Joe's Soy Creamy Cherry Chip ice cream (don't judge -- it's good!), but then I remember that God never promised that life would be easy. He did promise, however, to hold our hands through those bad times. It is that hand-holding that has gotten me through this week's bouts of traffic jams, panic about my future, exhaustion, and criticisms from my boss.

Well, that and a few other reminders that God is not only really great at that whole "lean on me" stuff, but also knows when to bring around small bits of joy when I need it the most.

While it is not always easy to find the bright notes in what can feel like a swirling sea of misfortune, looking back over the past five days, there are some things I can feel thankful about. Here are ten of them:

1. Mexican Coke - Made with real sugar cane, as opposed to corn syrup like the stuff made in the US, it's addictively delicious -- and the perfect cure for a case of the mid-day slumps.

2. Sarah, the receptionist at Bar Method - After just five minutes of chatting with her before my workout yesterday, I was all sorts of perked up. Plus, she called me "delightful" when I left, and as a result, I felt... well, pretty darn delightful!

3. Shana - My best friend from 4th - 11th grade who has reentered my life and become an incredible source of support as I figure out my next step. Just knowing that people are rooting for me to succeed is an amazing feeling. I feel so blessed that God has peppered my life with wonderful friends like her.

4. Tea & cookies with Joanne - This past Wednesday night, I got together with one of my dearest friends in LA for tea and treats at one of my favorite local spots, Susina Bakery. As we nibbled and sipped on our scrumptious purchases, I was reminded that sometimes the simplest pleasures are the most enjoyable. It doesn't always have to be tasting menus and expensive spa treatments. (Though those are nice too!)

5. My blogger friend Esi who posted the following comment on my "Diana Takes a Bite" blog post about this week's episode of "Top Chef:" "I think my favorite part about this show are your reviews the next day." I think my favorite part of yesterday was reading her kind words!

6. "Top Chef" - Watching those crazy chefs try to make magic in a pan brings me spoonfuls of joy. Pun intended.

7. Reruns - I was so glad that so many of my favorite shows were reruns this week so I could catch up on some much needed sleep! (Feel free to judge me for this one.)

8. E-mails from my friend Ali. I love having her to e-mail with during the day. It makes me feel connected to someone and that I'm not alone in the world of my yellow-walled office. (Even if she does sometimes send me messages about how her classroom has a questionable odor.)

9. Babies - I was overjoyed to receive an e-mail this morning telling me that a friend gave birth to a beautiful, 8 pound, 4 ounce baby girl. It was a squeal-worthy moment. (Just ask my co-workers within hearing range.)

10. Positive feedback about this blog. I was really nervous when I starting writing about such a personal and sensitive subject, so I am thrilled that it has been embraced by so many of my friends. Thank you for your kind words of support!

Do you have a praise from your week? Post it below!

Changing the GPS of My Life Coordinates (One Post at a Time)

When I created this blog two months ago, I did so with the intention to touch other people's lives with a catalog of my own struggles and breakthroughs as a Christian. I thought that by sharing my faith, I might reaffirm others' by extension. It never occurred to me that the greatest impact might be on my own relationship with God.

That's not to say that I wasn't aware it might be a potential positive side effect of my blog. Anything done in the name of the Lord can be seen as an opportunity for spiritual growth, and this was part of the reason I wanted to start a blog about my faith rather than another one about food or about my dating failures with the boy who didn't offer me a ride home or the boy who took the leftovers (don't ask).

Yet today, as I sat in my usual pew at Bel Air Presbyterian Church listening to Pastor Mark Brewer preach about becoming what we worship, it occurred to me that my blog is already starting to impact the way I live. It is, to quote Brewer, "changing the GPS of my life coordinates."

Because I am now writing about my relationship with God, I have begun paying closer attention to His voice in my everyday life -- and more importantly, listening to it. I let the rusty Honda Civic get over on the 405 fwy, I pause to smile at a stranger (and not just the cute male ones with dreamy eyes), and today, I got together with an old friend who I let drop from my life when it started becoming "too hard" to spend time with her. Seeing her wasn't easy, but I knew in my heart that it was what God wanted me to do. He wanted me to show her the love that He gives all His imperfect children -- even the really bratty ones who decorate their grandmother's white walls with Crayola art (oops).

But beyond the exponential growth of my WWJD-inspired behavior, the process of thinking and writing about God's presence in my life has also strengthened my belief that He actually is there. In his sermon this morning, Pastor Brewer reflected that expressing something intensifies the feeling -- like when a boy tells a girl he loves her or vice versa. I know I certainly feel angrier when I vent to my mother about the jerk who took my primo parking spot in front of my apartment -- much angrier than if I merely kept the LA atrocity to myself.

Similarly, by putting voice to the jumble of faith-related thoughts in my head, I am transforming them from miscellaneous musings into coherent ideas/beliefs. That was God telling me to offer an encouraging word to a friend going through a difficult time at work. That was God telling me to be grateful for my stable job. And that was God telling me that as much as I love writing about the risotto I made for dinner last night on my food-related blog, it is the "breadcrumbs" I leave here that are the ones that really matter.

Patience: The Greatest Virtue of All?

I have never been patient. When I was a young girl, my parents used to have to physically restrain me from opening my Christmas presents before my brothers woke up, and I would regularly throw fits when I had to wait my turn to play Nintendo Super Mario Bros.

In other words, I was a brat. (My brothers have the scars on their arms to prove it.)

While I am much more mature today (I only throw fits in my head when I have to wait for something), I still haven't quite mastered the patience virtue that my mother, an elementary school teacher, commanders with such ease. I get frustrated when I'm stuck on the 10 FWY going 5 mph, I get cranky when I have to wait too long for a table at a restaurant, and I get irritated when a movie has too many previews at the theatre. Like many in my general age bracket (and coincidentally, most age brackets), I crave instant gratification -- I want what I want when I want it.

The problem with the whole "instant gratification" kind of mindset is that life doesn't work that way. More specifically, God doesn't work that way.

For the past twenty or so months, I've been struggling with what some might call a quarter-life crisis. I'm not sure if what I am experiencing can fall neatly under that label, but I do know that I feel scared about what I'm doing with my life. I worry everyday that I am not using the gifts and talents God has given me in the right way -- professionally, socially and spiritually. While I know that Earthly pursuits - ie. fame, money and a fancy career with fancy business cards -- aren't the point, I can't help but think there is more out there for me than my current 9 to 5 job. And not just because I really hate all the filing.

But even beyond the whole career woes and questions of "what am I doing with my life?", I feel a general sense of malaise that things haven't turned out the way I planned when I graduated college nearly four years ago. I didn't expect that life would be this hard. That I wouldn't be promoted into greatness at my first job, that I would lose friends as quickly as I made them, that my roommate would move out, that I wouldn't immediately find the love of my life (or even someone to love for a minute). At times, the whole lot of it makes me wonder if God has forgotten about me. And then I go to my Sunday church service, and Pastor Mark Brewer says something that seems so absurdly relevant that I know He hasn't. That I just have to practice a little of my least favorite virtue, patience.

This past Sunday, Pastor Brewer preached the gospel of Habakkuk, a prophet who complained to God, "How long, O Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen?" (Habakkuk 1:2) when the leaders of Judah were oppressing the poor in his nation. As I listened to his lament, it didn't escape me that I have been thinking, though not saying, those same words about my own life. In the end, God answers Habakkuk, telling him that the solution he seeks is coming, but not until the right time, and in turn, Habakkuk praises the Lord, and prays, "I will wait patiently for the day of calamity to come on the nation invading us... I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior." (3:16-18)

Sitting in my pew on Sunday, I was overwhelmed by the way the sermon seemed to be speaking directly to my current situation. It was, in one of God's mysterious ways, the answer to my prayers for help and direction. God hasn't abandoned me, He hasn't forgotten me, but He is working on a different time schedule than me. I need to be patient, to trust, and to have a little faith that when the time is right I will find my way -- through His way.