You’re still God, even on the days when I can’t understand how in the world this could possibly be good for me.
You’re still God, even in the middle of my overwhelm.
You’re still God, even when I can’t find You.
Even when You feel a million miles away.
Even when I wonder if deliverance will ever come.
You’re still God.
I won’t listen to the lies from the enemy that You’ve abandoned me, or that I’m on my own.
Self-dependence is something I fight against. As a Christian I can’t rely on myself, no matter how tempting it might be, but as someone who has been let down in many different ways, my natural instinct is to trust in myself alone.
So on the days when I look around at my circumstance and wonder, “What on earth are You doing?” I will choose to look back.
I will remember all that You’ve done.
I will remember all the saving moments. All the moments when I couldn’t understand You, but now looking back it all makes sense. So now, when I look back on things I still can’t understand and still don’t make sense, I can lean on what I know you have done and trust you have just as good a reason for everything else.
You don’t follow traditional deliverance methods. You don’t adhere to the movie scripts, or the books, or what we humans imagine when we think of rescue. Sometimes You’re loud, but often You’re quiet. So, so often You work in the mundane details. The smallest thing that we don’t think twice about becomes the most important thing a year later.
Last year I was angry.
Today I am joyful.
Last year I was alone.
Today I can say with 100% certainty that I have found my place with my church family.
Last year I didn’t know if I would sing again.
This week I worshipped with the most precious people I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.
Last year I struggled to understand God’s Grace.
Today I rest assured in my salvation.
Last year I was sick, and dying.
Today I am still sick, but healing, and when that weighs too heavy, I seek prayer and I remember.
A few weeks ago, as I reflected on all God has brought me through spiritually, this was shared with me by someone God has used profoundly in my life: “Being in the wilderness makes you even more grateful for the oasis. Hunger leads to thankful satisfaction. Your joy today is a harvest from seeds planted during times of despair. Let this be an altar of remembrance in your heart.”
We humans forget so quickly. We fail to remember all God has done for us within moments of Him doing it. We pray, pray, pray for deliverance, and when it comes we move right on to the next thing we need delivering from.
“Let this be an altar of remembrance in your heart.”
That has stayed with me. I’ve mulled it over and over again in my mind.
Brick by brick, blessing by blessing, I want to build an altar of remembrance in my heart.
Within each stone etched a praise to God.
Thank You, God, for the spiritual bondage broken for me and the people I love.
Thank You, God, for healing.
Thank You, God, for my church.
Thank You, God, for the people you’ve blessed me with.
Thank You, God, for all the answered prayer. For all the deliverance, for all the mercy, and grace, and love. Thank you for every moment you were there, even when I didn’t feel You. Thank You for being here in all the here and now moments, if I don’t always see You.
I will lift my hands, unashamed.
I will lift my voice, and praise You from the rooftops.
I will pray, and I will ask for prayer boldly.
I will seek You in every moment of my life.
Because even when I feel so far from You, I can rest in knowing that You’re still God.
You are the same God that spoke the stars into existence and sprinkled them among the heavens to light up the dark. You are the same God who paints the skies in brilliant splashes of orange and pink. The same God who whispers through the wind how much You love me. The same God who held me all those nights in the hospital. You are the God who took away, because You had better things to give. You are the God who allowed me to feel the depths of loneliness, that I might rejoice all the more with my faith family. It would be impossible to list them all. It is impossible to fully describe the depth of joy You bring. It is impossible for me to find another phrase more comforting than “You’re Still God.”
He is still God, Beloved.
Even when you don’t know what He’s doing.
Even when you hate what He’s doing.
Even if you never know what He’s doing.
He is still God.
We can rest in that, because our faith isn’t in our emotions, our faith is in an unchanging, unending, ever-present, miraculous God.
He is still God.
Praise the Lord, He’s still God.