No Substitutes

Have you ever had to find a substitute for something? Maybe you were baking and needed a substitute for eggs. Or maybe you have a food allergy and needed a substitute for flour or milk. Often, when using a substitute, things just don’t taste the same. Gluten free isn’t always as good as the gluten-full food item. When I’ve baked gluten free, sometimes, the food item hasn’t even come out right. Often, substitutes are a let-down. They just don’t have the same taste as the real thing. 

If you went to public school, you’ll remember having a substitute teacher or two. Substitutes could be good or not so good. I always dreaded a substitute. I didn’t have the relationship with them that I had with my teacher. Sometimes, though, I did like the substitute teacher and looked forward to them being in the class. Even still, they were limited in their abilities to teach, answer questions, and lead the class. I needed the teacher to answer what the substitute couldn’t. 

Allergies, health issues, and substitute teachers aside, if there’s nothing like having the real thing, why do we so often turn to substitutes? I don’t know about you, but I all too often turn to a substitute, rather than to the real thing, to Jesus. When I’m sad, I turn to food for comfort. But, food’s comfort is temporary. It’s a substitute for the real comfort I get when I go to Jesus. It’s the same when I turn to TV to numb out, reading to escape reality, or shopping to fill up an empty space inside. Substitutes promise what the real thing can give, but they never deliver. And if they do, it’s temporary, leaving you needing more. 

There is no substitute for the real thing. Maybe in baking, there is a good substitute, something that brings it close to tasting like the real thing. But it’s not the real thing. Thankfully in baking, substitutes are okay, so maybe it’s a poor analogy. But it conveys my point: there is no substitute for the real thing. I need the Lord to remind me of this when I am tempted to find comfort, safety, significance, validation, etc in something other than Him. He is my source. He is the real thing where everything I need is found. Only He truly satisfies. No substitute will do. Only Him. 

2016

 I went to visit mother in the summer of 2016. She wasn’t doing well physically, and I was scared about the state of her health. It was a shock to see her. She had always been a plush woman, but the woman standing before me in the airport terminal appeared to be skin and bones. Her hair was thinner, her face gaunt, and many pounds were missing from her frame. This wasn’t the mother I last saw. It frightened me. 

She had recently moved into her own apartment, kicking my sister out and moving into a small ground-level complex for elderly and disabled persons. Upon arriving, one of the first things she pointed out was a sign on her wall that said, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” I remember her saying to me, “If you aren’t serving the Lord, you can’t stay here.” I was astonished. Speechless. Did she not know me? I had gone to church since I was little. I had gone to church when she stopped going. I walked to church when she slept in. I walked to church on Wednesday nights so I could go to youth group. I had gone to church camp. I spent years in college on the phone with her, begging her to go back to church. I loved Jesus. Did she not know me?

It would be months later that I would tell her she did not get to be a part of my walk with the Lord. She would try to tell me things that I already knew. She would try to ‘teach’ me things. She would try to preach to me. For years, church had been my safe place. Home was tumultuous. I was bullied at school. Church seemed to be the only place I was not yelled at or hit or called names or made fun of. It was the only place I didn’t wish to escape from. So for mother to try to come into that, to share it with me, raised my red flags. As a child, when I came back from church camp, there were no discussions that I can recall about what God did there. I didn’t see her praying or reading her Bible. It didn’t feel safe to let this woman who had been so toxic in to my safe place. I remember when I told her this on the phone, she hung up on me. She’s hung up on me a lot over the years. 

During my visit that summer, we went to the library’s painting event. We painted a beach scene, and decided to each add a footprint to the other’s canvas. Everything was going great and I was enjoying the painting when she stated she wanted to add a scripture verse to the painting. I didn’t feel it was necessary to add a scripture verse, but she wanted to. So, I said I’d add my favorite verse, too. She wasn’t happy with that, but allowed it anyway. I still have that canvas, though I’m not sure why. Now and then I’m tempted to take a knife to it. 

We went to the funeral home. She can’t afford a burial, but I wasn’t sure what I believed about cremation. So we went to the funeral home. It was weird, talking about death plans with the funeral home director and my mother. She didn’t seem scared, though. She seemed fine with it all. I was anything but fine. 

When I was little, I’d often sleep on the floor in her bedroom, especially when I was too scared to sleep in my own room. I’d take my bedding and lay on the floor next to her bed. She couldn’t tolerate having me in her bed with her, so it was the floor. While visiting her, I got an idea to write a poem about it. I wanted to print it on nice paper and put it in a frame. We went to Walmart so I could get what I needed. She got things, too. She insisted she make me one, and she also insisted there be cross stickers on hers. I was frustrated, as I felt that my poem had nothing to do with religion, and it was fine to not have any crosses or things of the like on it. But she insisted. What was meant to be a gift for her turned into her making it all about, well, her. I don’t even think she hung my poem in her house. 

She never wanted to pray before meals, not that we ever did before. But, she’d insist that I pray. So, I did. At church (she insisted I go to her church, not the church I grew up in), she wanted to take a picture together at bible study and in the sanctuary. So, we did. I hate those pictures. They seem fake to me. She never nurtured in me a relationship with Christ, nor did she model one for me. It wasn’t something we shared as I grew up. It was mine. I remember times she would call me, “Miss holier than thou,” when I was a teenager. A relationship with Christ wasn’t something we shared. It wasn’t something I felt I could share that summer, either. It didn’t feel safe to share. Perhaps that’s what abuse does. It takes away any safety there could be. 

I was pretty emotional during that trip. I thought my mother was dying, and it wasn’t something I thought I was ready for. I remember she took me to one of her counseling sessions, though I don’t remember why. I’m still not even sure what I think about that. 

That trip was awful in other ways, too. As I said, I was pretty emotional. She had already had time to process the changes in her body and health, while I was still in shock. I was scared. One day, she wanted to take me to a special place and get ice cream. I was looking forward to it. But my emotions hit and she left. I don’t remember what she was upset about, nor what I was upset about, but she left. She left me, still in tears. When she came back, I learned she had gone to get ice cream, and we weren’t going anywhere anymore. I was sad, angry, upset. I felt I had ruined it. Another time, we were working on a craft and she got upset and put it all away. Again, I felt I had ruined it. I’ve always felt responsible for her emotions. It was my job to keep her happy. It was my fault when she was upset, because I must have done something wrong to cause it. I was responsible for her emotions. And that belief made me feel I had ruined it. The truth is that my mother has never been able to be with me in my emotions. She isn’t capable of handling my feelings or emotions. She hasn’t been able to walk with me through them, creating safety and a sense of well-being. No, even as a small child, I have been like a ship in stormy waters, tossed to and fro, with no anchor. I’d been left to navigate my difficult, big emotions all on my own. And this visit was no different. 

When I was in high school, she and I got into a big fight. I was crying and upset. She was upset. She left. I was so enraged that she left. I remember going to my room and laying on the floor, crying and screaming because I was so enraged. My sister called to tell on me. Mother wanted to speak to me, so I got on the phone. I’ll never forget her words to me, “If I hear you’ve screamed one more time, you’ll get it when I get home.” Angry and not knowing what to do, I went back to my room, found a paper clip, unwound it, and used it to scratch my arm. I had never hurt myself before. But it seemed my only option in that moment. If I couldn’t scream my anger out, I’d hurt it out of me. 

One night during that summer visit, I again was upset and crying when we went to bed. She told me to be quiet, but the tears would not stop. I was sobbing for I don’t remember what reason. But I couldn’t quiet them. She got up to leave the room without saying anything. I asked where she was going. She said she was going to go sit in the car. It was because I couldn’t stop crying. Once again, she was going to leave me. She was going to leave me in my big, scary emotions because she could not handle them. She was incapable of being with me in them, of helping me through them. I begged her not to leave, and told her I would be quiet. I stifled my sobs as best I could, my whole body shaking with each one. Finally, eventually, sleep came to me. 

It’s no wonder, then, that for years when I was out of the house, both during college and after I’d moved away, I’d want to hurt myself every time a call with mother ended. She’d often say, “Well, I’m going to go now,” or something like that. But every time, I still needed her. I needed something from her. Some validation of what I had just shared with her. Some acknowledgement of how I was feeling. But, I got nothing. She could not handle my emotions. When I learned my beloved university was closing during my second year of college, the first person I called to tell was mother. I’ll never forget talking to her as I walked down Rudisill Blvd toward campus, telling her that my school was closing. I expected sympathy, but what I got was an agitated and angry, “Well, I guess you’ll have to quit school then and come home.” There would be no salve for that wound. 

The visit in the summer of ‘16 was awful, to say the least. I’d not want to repeat it for anything in the world. With all I’ve just written, I’m sure there’s more I’m leaving out. It’s now 2023, and she’s still alive. She’s been to many doctors and nothing is wrong with her. It seems to be psychosomatic. If you want to know my theory, it is this: she has endured and taken part in so many awful things, such as my abuse and abuse from my father, and she cannot deal with it. She cannot face her part in allowing things, bad things, to happen to me. She is trying to suppress it, but it is coming out as illnesses. Maybe this isn’t what’s happening, but maybe it is. Whatever the case, she’s still alive. She’s not sick. She’s not dying. At least not yet. But I can’t be in relationship with her. 

Belonging

You know those movies about the family inheritance? They’re usually full of drama with the storyline being one of the parents cuts one of the kids out of the family inheritance. Or maybe it’s a movie where someone is pretending to be a part of the family so they can get their hands on a large inheritance. Whatever the storyline, I’m sure you know what I’m referring to. It’s about a family, an inheritance, and one person trying to get in on it. 

The thing is, to receive an inheritance, you have to belong. No one outside of the family can be in line for it. You have to be a part of the family, have the family name, to be considered. 

Ephesians 1:11-14 says that anyone who is in Christ has an inheritance. Now, anyone can say they are in Christ, and a lot of people do. Many people call themselves ‘Christians,’ but don’t really belong. They have not received Him, believing in His name, as John 1:12-13 says is necessary to being His children. So, how do you know you belong? Ephesians 1:14 says the Holy Spirit is the down payment for our inheritance. He is the proof we belong. He is the family name, so to speak. Romans 8:16 says the Holy Spirit bears witness that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs. Heirs receive an inheritance. 

Jesus made a way for all of us to belong. He adopted us, giving us His name and putting us in line to receive an inheritance. Then, in case we doubt our right, He gave us His Holy Spirit as proof and guarantee that we belong. He sealed us. It can’t be undone. We belong. We are His. 

Growing Up

 I’ve been thinking about my mother again lately. And just a fair warning, this post will stray from my usual posts. It’s not pretty, my experience with my mother. It’s not the typical mother-daughter relationship portrayed in movies and TV. Honestly, it’s quite the opposite and, not to mention, confusing. 

Growing up in a single parent home with my younger sister was fine. That’s about as typical as my experience gets. From there, it strays into dysfunction, the kind of dysfunction that’s not really talked about. I didn’t know it was dysfunction until a few years ago. To me, it was normal. 

My parents divorced when I was three because the night my father beat me, the sexual abuse was discovered by hospital staff. Growing up, I didn’t remember what had happened, but I knew from hearing mother talk that I had been “molested” by my dad, whatever that meant. I knew it was something bad, though. Then, she would use other words, like “sexually abused.” I definitely knew that wasn’t good. As I got older, she would tell all of my teachers about it, making me step out of the room when she talked to them. I remember times in the grocery store lines where I didn’t know the people or person in front of us, but she would be talking with them and I’d hear her say, “She was sexually abused by her father, but looking at her you’d never know it.”  As if that wasn’t bad enough, it didn’t stop there. During orientation weekend at my college, I found out she told the chancellor and his wife. When I expressed anger about it, she said she was “making sure you knew you had someone to talk to.” I was frustrated. She had made it my identity and I was finally going to go to college where no one knew and I could start new. But no. It would still remain my identity, hammered in by mother’s incessant need to ensure someone knew about it. 

Not only did I experience sexual abuse, but domestic violence, as well. As an adult, and even as a young adolescent, hearing people argue, scream, yell, and even seeing children being spanked scared me. Growing up, when mother said she was going to spank me, I’d cry and beg her to let me use the bathroom first, because I knew if she didn’t, I’d pee myself because I was so scared of being spanked. There were times, though, where I didn’t know it was coming and she’d slap me across the face. Those were the times I’d pee myself. I was terrified when that happened, terrified because I’d peed myself and what would she do because of that? One time when I was in my teens, she slapped me across the face so hard that I lost my balance, fell back against the wall, hitting my head on it, and peeing myself. At some point when I was older, maybe in high school, she told me that when I was going through counseling as a small child due to the abuse, she was told not to hit or spank me because it would traumatize me. They were right. But she didn’t listen. 

No child is always well-behaved. It’s the parents’ job to teach them when they misbehave. When I misbehaved, my mother taught me terror. I remember several times over my childhood where she would threaten to send me to live with my father when I was misbehaving. I’d cry in terror, thinking she really would do that. She’d threaten to call the judge and tell them that I needed to go live with my dad because she couldn’t handle me. In addition to the terror that would course through me, I wondered how she could want to do something like that. She knew what my father had done, yet had the audacity to threaten to send me there. It told me she wanted him to hurt me. It taught me that if I didn’t behave, I’d be sent away. It taught me that I was only wanted when I was behaving myself. Sometime when I was in high school, she told me she never was going to do that, send me to my father’s. She only said it because she didn’t know what to do. She made me promise not to tell my sister. Sometime after that, she and my sister were yelling at one another, mother from the living room and my sister from the back of the apartment. Mother threatened my sister she would send her to live with our father. When she said that, she looked at me and winked. Like it was our secret she wouldn’t do that. I still cried. I felt the terror that was already ingrained into me. Knowing she really wouldn’t do that didn’t take the terror away. She had already done damage. 

In Kindergarten, I would find rocks on the playground and put them in my backpack. I thought they were pretty. Mother would do “backpack checks,” to ensure we didn’t have anything in our backpacks we weren’t supposed to. I remember one time, I was in the bathtub after school. She left me in there to go check my backpack. She came into the bathroom and spanked me on my bare butt because she found a rock in my backpack. She was so angry. I was never to bring rocks home again, because if I did, I’d be spanked. She didn’t see what I saw in rocks, and to her, they were just garbage. She couldn’t appreciate her child’s interests. That’s how it felt all through my growing up years. When I was in high school, I participated in two school musicals. It didn’t seem like mother was very supportive, as I didn’t have her to pick me up from after school practices. Instead, my drama and English teacher had to drive me home. On opening night, I didn’t expect mother to come. What kid doesn’t expect their parent to come on opening night of a show they are in? Me. I didn’t. I felt like an inconvenience to her. It felt like she couldn’t be bothered with the things I was interested in. The night before my college graduation, there was a parent and grad dinner and chapel service. I had told my mom I wanted her to be there, and that I’d pay for her dinner so she could be there with me. I wanted her there. I reminded her about it. I told her it was important. The night came. I ate dinner by myself at a table with some other peers and their parents, because my mom wasn’t there. After dinner, as I sat in the chapel, watching it fill with grads and their parents, I called my mom to find out where she was. She was at the hotel. Twenty minutes away. And she didn’t come. When I told her I was disappointed, she yelled into the phone, “I’m such a disappointment, I’m such a bad mother.” I cried as I hung up the phone. I cried as I sat through the chapel service without my mom. I cried after the service when I went to the music room to play the piano, the one thing I found comfort in. She couldn’t be bothered to come to an event that was important to me. Years later it still hurts that she wasn’t there. 

Mother was not mentally stable when I was growing up. I remember sometime when I was in high school, she came out after a shower without a shirt. She put her shirt on in the living room where I was, and as she did, I saw her stomach. There was a huge, ugly, purple bruise on her stomach. I panicked, because I didn’t know what happened. She had been stabbing herself with her insulin needles, she told me. I didn’t know what to make of that. Another time, she had a huge, red, raw spot on her arm. I presumed she had taken my nail brush that was hanging in the shower and rubbed her arm raw. Another time, she had a huge burn on her arm that I suspected she did on purpose. As I went through high school, I’d go home most days expecting to find she had killed herself. In college, I expected a phone call saying she had killed herself.

“You’re my friend.” What I needed was a mother. When I told her this, she got angry and yelled that she would be my mother, then threatened to make my life miserable. I recanted. She could be my friend. I was in high school. That day I decided I didn’t need a mom. I’d been doing fine without one, anyway. 

She would do weird things. Once, while we were getting the laundry ready to take to the laundry mat, she directed me to come to her. As I got close to her, she grabbed the bottom of the shirt I was wearing and blew her nose in it. She laughed. I was disgusted. There were times I’d be in the shower and would get out to find she had hung my bra and underwear in the hallway on the wall. She’d scare me while I was in the shower, pushing in the shower curtain with a loud noise, or turning the light off while I was in the shower. She thought all of these things were funny. 

You’d think that after moving out and away the abuse would stop. But, it didn’t. I moved to CA in 2012, and in 2013 or ‘14, cut mother off for about 9 months. I felt like the worst daughter. I wrestled. It was a tough time. When I finally broke the boundary, I found she had gone back to church, been diagnosed with ADHD and Bipolar, and altogether seemed to be a different, healthier, mom. After some time passed, her old self reared its head. For the next several years, I would go back and forth between having communication with her and cutting her off. She’d often say hurtful things and couldn’t understand me. 2016 was the worst. She wasn’t doing well physically, so I went home to visit her for a few weeks. It was the worst visit. She was shockingly different in her appearance than the last time I had seen her. I was afraid I’d lose her. While she had had time to process her stuff, I had not. I was emotional during the visit. She couldn’t understand why I was so emotional. Not only that, but at the start of the visit, she subtly threatened that if I wasn’t serving the Lord, I couldn’t say in her house. That hurt, as I had been a believer since I was a child, and had continued serving Him when she had not. She didn’t know me at all. Then, during this visit, there were times where I’d be upset about something and she would leave. I felt abandoned. She never was able to handle my emotions, and me being an adult was no different. She still could not handle my emotions. Rather than helping me with them, she left. Not only was that trip the worst visit, it was also very hurtful. 

My final straw was in 2019 when she texted 6 of my friends, blind texting, as she had no idea who she was texting, tell them she didn’t know what I was telling them and if it was true, but that she was worried for my mental health and that I wasn’t serving God where I was, but was whining and crying about wanting to go to Africa. She told them she was my mother, but my sister in Christ, and she had things to teach me. She did this because I would not talk with her when she wanted me to. I had set a boundary with her, and this was retaliation. I was so hurt by her words and actions. 

Since then, things haven’t gotten better. In the summer of 2021, I sent her two letters, telling her things I had always kept from her because I was afraid of her. The letters described how I felt about things she had done. Using a third party, because she was blocked on my phone, she said that I could send more letters if they made me feel better, but she would send them back to me unopened. She also said I needed God, then a psychiatrist. 

It’s hurtful to me that she could never be a mother. I’m not sure she’s capable of being a mother. She tried to be my friend, then my sister in Christ. Once, after hearing a sermon at her church, she had the audacity to suggest that our relationship was like that of a married couple, where both of us needed to give 100%. Rather than being my mother, she wanted to be like a married couple. She didn’t feel I was giving enough to our relationship. But, she is the mother, I’m the child, albeit an adult child. I’m still her child. 

I often feel stuck in childish ways, because I never got to be a child. I feel stuck behind my peers mentally, emotionally, and developmentally, because of all the years of abuse I’ve endured. I used to think that the abuse from my father was the hardest thing to get through. It was hard, but to be honest, trudging through and healing from over 30 years of abuse is much harder than healing from 3 years of abuse. Yes, I have been abused by my mother for over 30 years. There is so much more I could share regarding the things I went through with mother. Perhaps I’ll share in another post. Probably reading these things, you are thinking, “So what? That’s abuse?” Please understand that without walking in my shoes, you can’t possibly know the depths of the hurt and pain I have experienced with this woman called my mother. Narcissistic abuse, as well as mental and emotional abuse, are often hard to identify. It has taken me about 30 years to see that her treatment of me is indeed abuse. This was part of my growing up. And in ways, I’m still growing up. 

From the Ashes

 Over the last several years, parts of California have been devastated by wildfires. Flames ravaged communities and forests, destroying thousands of acres of woodland and wrecking havoc in towns and cities. Several towns have been burnt to nothing but a heap of ashes. Driving past previous fire areas, one can see the burn scars on trees where whole forests were destroyed. As time has passed, one can see something else, too: new life sprouting up from the ashes.

Throughout my life, I have often felt like a wildfire has swept through, destroying everything in its path. Hopes and dreams have been burnt to the ground through abuse, betrayal, rejection, and abandonment. Relational bridges have been destroyed, leaving only ashes. So many places in my life seem to have been devastated, specifically by trauma. I can see the burn scars where the proverbial fire has swept through. But, as time has passed, I can also see new life coming from the ashes. 

It’s fascinating that forest fires can be helpful in encouraging the growth of new trees and plants. Forest fires can help clear dead trees, leaves, and competing vegetation from the forest floor so new plants can grow (mylandplan.org). In California, for example, “prescribed fires” are used by forest managers to add nutrients to the soil and rejuvenate plant life. However, for large, unprecedented, destructive fires, active efforts to assist recovery are often needed (frontlinewildfire.com). 

In my life, there have been ‘fires’ used by God, my Forest Manger, to encourage new growth in me. And at times, there have been destructive fires used by my enemy to try and destroy me. I am so thankful for those who have assisted me in the recovery from the destructive ones. And I’m extremely grateful for the “prescribed fires” God has used to grow me, to clear away the muck and dead things and even the things that compete for my attention, in order to sprout something new. From the ashes, new life is born. May it be true in my life and in yours. 

Good Soil

 I got a new plant last weekend. A few days after I got it, I stuck it in the pot with my honeysuckle, as I intended this new one to be a ground cover for the base of the pot. A few days after I planted it, I noticed it was looking a bit pathetic. It was droopy and failing to thrive. I decided to uproot it and place it in a different pot. I was pretty sure I knew what the problem was.

Prior to getting this new plant, I'd placed some sphagnum moss on top of the soil in the honeysuckle pot. When I planted this new plant in that pot, I planted it in the sphagnum moss, rather than the soil. The soil was too far down and the plant wasn't getting nutrients. The sphagnum moss looked like soil and felt like soil, but it had no nutrients for the plant. A few days after planting it in the pot with no sphagnum moss on the top, it perked up and began to thrive. Why? Because it was finally in real soil. It had good soil, soil with nutrients to help it grow and thrive. 

I was thinking about this just now as I sat outside, looking at my now thriving plant, and felt like it pertained to church. What kind of church are you in? Are you in a church that looks and feels like church? Are you growing and thriving? Or are you slowly dying because the church lacks the nutrients you need to grow? What is the teaching like? Is it encouraging your roots to grow deep, or stay surface level? We need good soil to grow and thrive, or, like my plant, we will whither away and die.   

A Good Gardener

Just got done planting a bunch of bulbs that were sprouting. I love how so many things can be connected to spiritual principles.

There comes a time when God lovingly has to uproot us to plant us elsewhere. It's for our good, even though we don't like it. We may have grown comfortable where we are, but He knows that the soil is not good for our roots. He knows we need to be replanted elsewhere so that we can grow and bloom into what He intended for us to be. Like my bulbs today, He pulls us from the nutrient-less soil, pulls away all of the dead stuff encasing us, and intentionally places us into new soil. He then waters us, thus beginning the patient process of watching and waiting.

I'm so thankful He knows what's best for me. And His timing can be trusted. If I'd planted those bulbs too soon, they wouldn't grow into what they were designed for. Planted too late and the outcome would be the same. He not only knows where we need to be planted, but also the right time.

He's such a good Gardener.

 A few weeks ago, I brought home a Russian Tortoise. Since then, I have fallen more in love with this shelled creature than I thought was possible. I needed him in more ways than one, only I didn't know it until I had him. 

The other day, I decided to take him on a walk. Imagine a tortoise on a leash and that was the scene as we slowly walked across the driveway together. When we got back home, I had him out on the deck with me, watching him closely as he explored his new surroundings. Sometime later, I needed both my attention and my hands free, so I took him back inside and placed him in his enclosure: a 50 gallon plastic tote that he can't see out of. 

As I went about what I needed to do, I stopped to check in on him every now and then. Each time I did, he was as high as he could get in the enclosure. One time he was on top of his log, while the next he was standing in the plant with his body pressed flat against the wall. He seemed restless. He had tasted freedom and was trying to escape.

But he couldn't. The walls were too high and there was nothing for him to grab onto for climbing out. He was helpless. Only I could free him.

How many times have we tasted freedom, only to be enslaved again? How many times has our Master set us free, only to find ourselves being put back in our prison? Just a few weeks ago, I was basking in the fact that I had been set free from something. Then, before I knew it, tempting thoughts and feelings were assaulting me and I was in a fight. There was one particular moment when thoughts of going back were swirling in my head. I found myself shouting, "No! I have been set free from that!" Scripture says, "He whom the son has set free is free indeed." I was free indeed, and not about to allow myself to be put back into slavery. 

Yet, sometimes it happens. Sometimes I find myself back in my prison, unable to free myself. It’s then that I need Jesus to lead me again to freedom. And thankfully, He is faithful to lead me every time. 

More Than the Sand

There are a few people in my life whom I care about deeply and think about often. I'm sure you have them in your life, too. And I also have a few people in my life who know me pretty well. They know my likes and dislikes, my quirks and even my faults. You probably have a few of those people in your life, too. Those are the people who can read me like an open book. 

However, as much as they care about me and I about them, our knowledge of one another is limited. We can never know all there is to know about one another. There is only One Who knows all there is to know about us and Who cares about us more than anyone who loves us ever could. 

I was reading Psalm 40 today and was struck by verse 5. It reads, "Many, O LORD my God, are Your wonderful works which You have done; and Your thoughts toward us cannot be recounted to You in order; if I would declare and speak of them, they are more than can be numbered" (NKJV). David wrote similar words in Psalm 139:17-18: "How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God! How great is the sum of them! If I should count them, they would be more in number than the sand..." (NKJV). 

If I should count them, they would be more in number than the sand. 

 I don't know about you, but it leaves me dumbstruck to read that someone, anyone, would think of me that much. And yet, He does. If you look at a small sampling of sand, even that is an innumerable amount. And yet, His thoughts about us outnumber all of the grains of sand.

Scripture also says that He knows the number of hairs we have on our head (Luke 12:7, Matt. 10:30). My best friend doesn't even know that about me. I don't know that about me! Yet He does! He loves us and cares about us so much that even the number of hairs on our head matter to Him and are known by Him. When one falls out, He's aware of that. I'm not even aware of that! 

We are loved and known and cared about more deeply than we realize. I cannot begin to comprehend His love and tender care for me. There's a song by Steffany Gretzinger called, "No One Ever Cared for Me Like Jesus." This, my friend, is the truth. There is no one we have ever known who has ever cared for us like Jesus. No one ever has and no one ever will. It is more than we can comprehend, but it is the truth. It's incredible to think that the one person in your life who loves you and cares for you more than any other does not love you nor care for you like Jesus. He is the One Who promises to never leave you nor forsake you. He promises to take care of you. He is the only one worthy of your affection. He is the God who loves. He is the God who cares. He is the God who sees and knows and is there. 

And He thinks about you more than all the grains of sand. 

Magic Eraser

When I taught preschool for my local Head Start program, we had to clean up at the end of every year. By that time, things had gotten, well, if you have children, you'd understand. The walls had darkened smudges on them from little grubby hands and the tables had a few crayon or marker scribbles here and there. When the cleaner and a rag didn't work, a Magic Eraser did the trick of getting those marks up and of getting those grubby hand smudges off the walls.

You've heard of a Magic Eraser, right? It's a little white 3D rectangle made of some magic material that somehow erases smudges and marks that other cleaner refuses to make budge. I've noticed that as I use the eraser, it becomes dirty. It takes on the dirt, so to speak, of whatever it's being used on. After a few uses, the white eraser is no longer white, but pretty dirty looking. However, it has done its job.

I was listening to Natalie Grant's song, "Clean," tonight on repeat. If you've never heard it, I'd encourage you to give it a listen.



I've been walking through a journey of healing from trauma and recently had a major deliverance of some pretty gnarly stuff. As I've been processing the last few weeks, I've noticed that I feel shame for the things that happened and the things that I did and was made to do. Today, as I was processing with the Lord, this song came to my mind, and I was struck by the line, There's nothing too dirty, that You can't make worthy.

See, I don't know about you, but there are some things that I just think are too dirty. There are things that I try to clean up by myself, but they just won't budge. I can't get clean. But, just like the Magic Eraser can erase dirt and grime that other cleaner can't, my God takes His righteousness, mercy, and blood and, with hardly any elbow grease, erases all my dirt, filth, and grime. He makes me clean. Like a Magic Eraser, He, a perfect, pure, white, spotless lamb, takes on my dirt and filth, leaving me clean in His wake.

Are you feeling a bit dirty today? Take heart knowing that there is nothing too dirty that He can't make worthy. He can make you clean. All you have to do is ask Him. He's more than willing and ready.

A Tangible God

Throughout the last decade of my life, I have often been frustrated that God is not tangible. Many times I've just needed a hug from Him, or have just wanted to snuggle with Him. I've often cried out, "Why can't you just be tangible?!? I just want to feel you." I know He's with me, even though I can't feel Him. But, I just want to feel His arms wrapped around me. I want to hear His heartbeat as my head leans against His chest. I want Him to be touchable.

But, I know it's better that He's not. He told His disciples that it was better for them that He go away, so that He could send His Holy Spirit. His Spirit would be able to do what He could not. He could not be with each one of them at the same time no matter where they were, but His Spirit could be. Even though I know it's better that He's not tangible, I still want Him to be. I long to feel Him in a real, physical way.

I was journaling about all of this recently, asking Him if I could feel Him like I can feel my friend. So often I don't think I can feel Him. I try, but it doesn't feel real. In a moment of wanting Him to be so real, I wrote, "If you're real, I want to hear you. If you're real, I want to feel you. What do you smell like?" I have a sensitive nose. When I go into someone's house or meet someone, I notice their scent. Everyone's is different. Some of those scents are comforting, because they are associated with people I'm close with. It only seems to reason that God must have a scent, right?

After asking God what He smells like, my thoughts went into overdrive. I began to write,

You sound like the water trickling in the stream. You feel like a warm blanket wrapped around me. You smell like the earth after it rains. You sound like birdsong. You feel like cozy pajamas. You smell like fleshly bloomed flowers. You sound like the wind blowing through the trees, and you feel like the wind blowing through my hair. You smell like my favorite candle burning. You sound like the rain dripping on the roof. You feel like a warm shower. You smell like fresh brewed coffee. You feel like the sun shining warm on my face.

Scripture wasn't kidding when it was written that, "...the whole earth is filled with His glory" (Isaiah 6:3). He is all around me. All I have to do is look around to tangibly see, feel, hear, and smell Him. To smell Him, I just have to discover what scents bring me joy. To hear Him, I listen for what sounds bring peace to my soul. To feel Him, I think about what I can feel that brings comfort. And seeing Him? Well, I just look around.

He may not be tangible like you and me, but He's still a tangible God.

Living Hope

I was born in to a dysfunctional family. Maybe you were, too. If not, I'm glad for you. If so, I empathize with you.

My father was abusive in many ways fathers shouldn't be. And my mother? Well, she was a maternal narcissist. Both treated me in ways children shouldn't be treated by their parents. Both caused much trauma to me, starting practically from the time I was born.

As a child, I didn't see the dysfunction. Now, as an adult, I see it. I see it and wonder why both of my parents had to be abusive. Not only were my parents abusive and dysfunctional, but my sister as well. It hurts to realize that all three members of my immediate family abused me in multiple ways, and as a result, I don't have a relationship with any of them.

It's easy to think that I'm alone and to give in to the feelings of anger and immense sorrow over all that has been lost. I was working through some Scriptures regarding my identity in Christ when I came across 1 Peter 1:3:

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead"....

I've often wished that I had been born to different parents, to ones who loved me unconditionally and who didn't abuse me, keeping me safe, instead. When I read this verse, I realized that I've been given just that through Christ Jesus.

I have been born to a Parent Who loves me unconditionally and Who never abuses me. In fact, He hates abuse. He keeps me safe (1 John 5:18 says so). He is the best Parent I could ever want. I have been given new birth into a living hope. In the family I grew up in, I had no hope. So often I felt hopeless. But now, in this new family I've been born into, I have not just hope, but living hope. This is a hope that will never disappoint.

I could spend time wishing I'd been born to safer parents, but the truth is that even if I had been, they still would have disappointed me. But this Parent, the One Who gave His very Son so that I could have life and hope and everything I never had with my earthly parents, He will never ever disappoint me. I never could count on my earthly parents, but I can count on Him.

I have a new birth into a living hope. And I am never alone.

Light Always Wins

Have you ever watched a series that you couldn't get enough of, so much so that you watch it a second time? I never have, until I discovered a show on Amazon Prime titled Niko and the Sword of Light. I absolutely cannot get enough of this show.

The series is about a young champion whose mission is to defeat the darkness and free his people forever. Sounds like another Champion I know. Each episode finds Niko, the young champion, fighting darkness, making it flee, and freeing those whom it had held captive. It's such a beautiful parallel to Jesus fighting the darkness to set us free.

In a few episodes, it appears that the bad guy, Narest (the darkness), has won. But every time, somehow, Niko (the light) wins. Light always defeats darkness. Somehow.

But in those moments where it appears that darkness has won, hope seems lost for the characters. I wonder if that's how it was on the day of Jesus's crucifixion. The disciples must have lost all hope, for their Champion was now defeated. At least that's how it looked. There are moments in my own life where it appears that darkness has won. My hope wanes in those moments. But then, from somewhere, a glimmer of light appears. Light always defeats darkness.

And I'm thankful that light always wins. Darkness never overcomes light. It simply isn't strong enough. Go in a dark room and turn on a flashlight. The darkness cannot overcome it. Turn the lights off and light a candle. That single, tiny flame cannot be overcome by the darkness. No matter how small the light, darkness cannot overcome it.

It looked like darkness had won on that crucifixion day. But the Light of the world could not be overcome, no matter how dark death was. Darkness was strong, but the Light was stronger.

What darkness are you facing? What darkness looks like it's winning? Take hope knowing that there is no darkness strong enough to overcome light. And hold on to the Light of the world. He's your Champion, defeating the darkness and setting you free forever.

Fear or Faith?

Have you ever been in a boat on a lake when the wind is strong? I have. I went with a friend a few years ago to kayak on the lake. It was a windy day, which made rowing difficult. The wind made the water choppy and kept pushing me farther away from shore. My kayak bounced to and fro, and rowing was more exhausting than usual. Except for the kayak part, it reminds me of a story in the Bible.

Jesus had just fed five thousand people and, in need of some time to pray, had sent the disciples by boat to meet him on the other side of the lake. Scripture tells us that later that night ‘the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it. Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear. But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”' 
-Matthew 14:24-27

Now, I don’t know about you, but what happens next isn’t something I would have expected. I would have expected the disciples to say, “Oh, it’s You. Whew!” But, that’s not what happens.

“Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.” “Come,” he said. Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!” Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?” 
-Matthew 14:28-31

I don’t understand why Peter responded the way he did, but I do know that Scripture is for our benefit. Second Timothy 3:16-17 says that, ‘All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.’ Through these Scriptures in Matthew 14, I see an important principle God wants to teach me.

When Peter had his eyes locked on Jesus, he was able to walk on the waves. But when he put his eyes on the wind, everything changed. It wasn’t seeing the wind that made Peter sink; it was fear.
In a conversation with a friend the other day, I realized that I have been looking at a situation when my eyes should be on Jesus. When the situation appears to be getting better, I feel hopeful that everything is going to be okay. But when it looks like it’s not improving, my hope sinks. Not only does my hope sink, though, but I become afraid and I sink.

When Jesus reaches out his hand to catch Peter, He says to him, “You of little faith...why did you doubt?” Maybe Peter doubted Jesus’ ability to sustain his walk on the water in spite of the wind. Maybe he doubted who Jesus really was. I don’t know for sure what Jesus’ question was regarding, but I do think that if I am truly believing Jesus is who He says He is, then I don’t have any room for doubt or fear that He can’t do what He says He’ll do. When I look at the situation and become afraid, what I’m really doing is doubting that Jesus will take care of me. I’m giving way to fear rather than faith. And fear makes me sink.

And I don’t know about you, but I want to walk on the water.

Lord, please help me to keep my eyes on you, and not the situation around me. Jesus, increase my faith. I believe; help me overcome my unbelief. Amen.

Whose Strength?

Things have been hard lately. Not just hard, but unexpectedly hard. If I’m honest, I’ve been floundering. I’ve not been the strong Christ follower I want to be in the face of adversity. But, I guess it’s an opportunity to grow, right?

Several times throughout this last week I have found myself saying, “I can’t do this,” whatever ‘this’ is. Tonight on my drive home after a time of worship, Philippians 4:13 came to my mind. It’s one of those verses that I under appreciate. If you aren’t familiar with it, it says, “I can do all things through Christ who is my strength.”

Notice the word, ‘all’. It doesn’t say, “I can do some things through Christ who is my strength.” It doesn’t say, “I can do most things through Christ who is my strength.” It doesn’t even say, “I can do all things through my own strength.” Because let’s be honest, we can’t do much on our own strength. I know I can’t. Well, I’m learning that I can’t.

“I can do all things through Christ who is my strength.”

I am a limited being. So are you. But Christ, He is unlimited. He never runs out of strength, unlike me. Yet too many times I depend on my own strength. No wonder I crash and burn in the face of adversity. If I can do all things through Him who is my strength, then why don’t I depend on His strength? Maybe it’s because I really don’t believe that I can do all things through Him as my strength. I think I need to reexamine what I believe.

Here’s the deal. I can try to do this thing called life in my own strength and fail, or I can do it in His strength. Whose strength am I going to choose? I hope I choose His strength. It’s amazing and pretty ridiculous that the God of the universe, the strongest being the world has ever known, offers me His strength so that I can do all things. And to think that I want to walk in my own strength. I think that’s the more ridiculous thing.

Because my Strong God offers me His strength, I can absolutely do whatever ‘this’ is. I can handle whatever comes my way, because I’ve got His strength to walk in. I can do all things, but only through Christ who is my strength. Whose strength are you walking in?

Do You Believe, Even When?

You know the old saying, “Easier said than done?” Well, a lot of things are easier said than done, especially when things aren’t going so well.

These last two weeks have been filled with days of fear and anxiety, worry and dread, anger and grief, uncertainty about what’s up ahead, and lots and lots of tears. And in the midst of it all, God has been asking me, “Child, what do you really believe?” 

Believe about what? you’re probably wondering. Well:

Within the last two weeks, I’ve had to look at the possibility of having to move out of the home I’m living in at some point in the near future. God has been asking me, “Do you really believe that I am your security, even in the uncertainty?”

I’ve also had to turn down house sitting jobs, of which I was relying on to help get me through this summer while I’m laid off. God has been asking me, “Do you really believe that I am your provision, even though there’s no money coming in?”

My best dog friend had to be put to sleep, and I have been grieving. He brought me comfort when times were tough. God has been asking me, “Do you really believe that I am your comfort, even though your source of comfort is gone?”

Some of the people in my life whom I rely on haven’t been available when I’ve needed them. God has been asking me, “Do you really believe that I am your friend, even though no one else is able to be there right now?”

These last two weeks have been anything but peaceful. In the midst of the storms, God has been asking me, “Do you really believe that I am your peace, even though things are chaotic and scary right now?”

My counselor had to have minor surgery, and so has been unavailable to help me through all that has been going on. God has been asking me, “Do you really believe that I am your counselor, even though your counselor isn’t able to help you right now?”

I don’t have a healthy relationship with my mother, and the grief I’ve been walking through has emphasized my desire for a mother. God has been asking me, “Do you really believe that I am your mother, even though yours isn’t able to be a mom to you right now?”

In essence, I think He has been asking me, “Do you really believe that I am all that you need, even when you have nothing and no one?” 

And in response, I honestly have to say, “I don’t know.”

It’s easy to believe when things are going well. I think Peter understands this. He said he would die for Jesus (Matthew 26:35), but when it came down to it, three times he denied ever knowing Him (Matthew 26:69-75). It wasn’t so easy to believe when things looked grim and the darkness was pressing in.

Seven years ago, I heard God say, “You don’t get to pick and choose which parts of the Bible you believe. You either believe all of it, or you believe none of it.” The other day, I heard God say something similar. He said, “You can’t be a part-time believer. You either believe me all the time, no matter what is going on around you, or you don’t believe at all.” 

God, in Rev. 3:15-16, says, “I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth.” He doesn’t want us to believe only when it’s convenient for us, or only when things are going well. He wants us to believe all the time.

May we ask ourselves: Am I willing to believe Him in the light and the darkness? Am I willing to believe Him, even when the earth is crumbling beneath my feet? Psalm 46:1-3 says, ‘God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.’ Do I really believe that? Do I really believe that He is my refuge and strength? Do I really believe that He is my ever-present help in trouble?

If we really believed all of these things, I’m convinced that nothing would be able to shake us. I don’t know about you, but that’s where I want to be. But, I recognize that I’m not there yet. So, with the father in Mark 9:24, I pray, “Lord, I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”

His Magnificent Temple

I’ve been reading in 1 Kings about the building of the Temple. King Solomon had it built of the finest materials, imported from out of town. It took him seven years to complete. Seven is the number of perfection. It must have been the perfect dwelling place for the LORD.

After Solomon builds the temple, he then spends thirteen years building his palace. When he’s finished with both, he has the ark brought to the temple, then dedicates it. But before he can dedicate it, the glory of the LORD fills it, preventing the priests from performing their service.

“When the priests withdrew from the Holy Place, the cloud filled the temple of the Lord. And the priests could not perform their service because of the cloud, for the glory of the LORD filled his temple.” - 1 Kings 8:10-11

Solomon then tells the Lord, “I have indeed built a magnificent temple for you, a place for you to dwell forever.”  So much hard, careful work was put into building the temple. Not only was the temple magnificent, but it was a most holy place. 1 Kings 6: 7 tells us that “no hammer, chisel or any other iron tool was heard at the temple site while it was being built.” I can’t help but think the reason for this was because of the fact that it was a holy place.

Solomon intended for the LORD to dwell in that temple forever. But, as we know, nothing lasts forever. Eventually the temple was destroyed. The Lord, however, had another temple in mind where He would dwell.

In the New Testament, we find that we are now the temple of the Lord. Paul tells us in 1 Chronicles 6:19 that our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit.

“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God?”

He then says, “You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies” (1 Chron. 6:19b-20).  In Colossians, Paul talks about a mystery; the mystery being “Christ in me, the hope of glory” (Col. 1:27). The other temple God had in mind was us. He now dwells inside of you and me. We are now His magnificent temple!

Some of us don’t feel magnificent. We might not look magnificent on the outside, but to God, we are absolutely stunning. David declares this to the Lord in Psalm 139:13-14:

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful.”

Just as King Solomon took great care in building the temple of the Lord, God took great care in knitting us together. Where the Lord’s temple took seven years to build, you and I take nine months for God to craft into the magnificent temple He hopes to indwell. The temple was perfect, so why wouldn’t God want to dwell there? You and I are’t so perfect, yet God desires to dwell in us forever. Despite how we see ourselves, God sees us as His magnificent temple. (Wow!)

This should have some implication, then, on how we treat ourselves. For much of my life, I have held a low view of myself. I have not always treated my body with the respect and honor the temple of the Lord deserves. I also have not cared for it in a way that is worthy of the Lord’s dwelling place. My prayer today is for forgiveness for the way I’ve treated the Lord’s temple, my body. I also pray for His help to care for it, to honor it, and to be constantly aware that I am His temple: His magnificent temple.

Stop Doubting and Believe

Tonight at worship we sang the song, King of my Heart. The chorus is a repeating phrase declaring to the Lord that He is good. As we sang that chorus, something I read in my quiet time this morning came back to me, and I felt God speak to my heart.

After Jesus rose from the dead, He revealed Himself to a few people, including 11 of the 12 disciples. Thomas was not with them when Jesus revealed His resurrected self to them. When he heard that they had seen Jesus, however, he said, "Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe" (John 20:25). A week later, Jesus walks through the locked doors of the house and addresses Thomas: "Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe" (John 20:27).

I don't know about you, but I find myself often being a doubting Thomas. I say things like, "Jesus, I'll trust you when I see you do this." Or, "Lord, I'll believe you are good when you do this." Tonight as I sang that chorus, proclaiming to Him that He is indeed good, I felt Him speak to the doubt that is in my heart. I felt Him say, "I am good. Now stop doubting and believe."

What are you doubting? What are you hoping to see before you'll believe? Trust that He is good and He is faithful. "Stop doubting and believe."

The Red Path or Waypoints?

Yesterday I wrote about my hike at Red Hills and the waypoints that other people had put on the electronic map I was using. Had I followed them, I would have been following something I couldn't see, because that person's trail wasn't outlined in red as the designated trail was. I shared how it was similar to the voices we can choose to listen to. We can listen to the Shepherd's voice, or the voice of a stranger. Hopefully, we'll listen to the Shepherd's voice.

As I was having my quiet time today, a verse came to me that had briefly popped in my mind yesterday as I wrote. Yesterday's post took me quite some time to get it right, and I'm still not sure it's right. For a post to take hours to compile is pretty rare, which makes me think there's another principle I can apply to it.

Remember how I shared that the trail on the map was outlined in red, so it was easy to follow? If I had taken the suggestions made by others (the waypoints), I would have strayed from that red line and had no way to know which way to go next. Once I strayed, I was dependent on other people's suggestions to help me finish the hike.

Psalm 119:105 says, "Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path." Just like my map, His Word illuminates the way for us so that we have no doubt which direction to go. Unfortunately, we get bombarded with waypoints from people who think they have a better route. When we stray from His Word to follow those other suggestions, we are walking blindly, guided by the world rather than the Originator of the trail. When we choose to follow the suggestion of another, we can't be certain where we'll end up. But if we'll stick to His highlighted path, paying attention to His words in red, we can have certainty about where they'll lead us.

Jesus says in John 10:27-28, "My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand." That's the promise and certainty we have when we follow His Path.

Maps and Voices

With today's cooler temperatures and dreamy breeze, I decided to try a hike at Red Hills again. This time I was able to make it all the way around. Even though it wasn't as hot as the other day, I still felt as though I was wandering in the wilderness. If I wouldn't have had a map, I'm sure I'd still be wandering.

Hiking at Red Hills is a little tricky because of the many forks in the trail and lack of trail markers. The map I had was on an app called 'AllTrails.' It's like a GPS for hiking: it allowed me to see my location on the trail relative to the whole route, outlining the trail in red so it was easy to follow. Acting like a compass, it allowed me to choose the right direction when I came upon one of the many forks. It surely is a lifesaver of an app for hikers, mountain bikers, runners, and anyone adventuring on a trail.

Something I noticed both times I have used the app to navigate the trail at Red Hills is that periodically along the map outline are little yellow dots. These are waypoints from other people who have traversed the trail. Most of them said things like, 'Turn left at the fork,' and listed coordinates for that spot on the trail. When the map showed that I was at one of those waypoints, it also showed me that if I turned in that suggested direction, I no longer would be following the designated trail as outlined on the map.

I'm sure that, had I taken the suggested direction, I would have eventually found my way back to the parking lot. The hike was a long one, so perhaps taking the waypoint would have meant a shorter hike, but I wouldn't have had the certainty of following the red line on the map. In fact, it would have been useless, and I might have gotten lost.

Isn't this a bit like our Christian walk? God has a designated trail marked out for us to follow, outlined for us in His Word. But how many times does the enemy come along with his waypoints, tempting us to stray from the long path ahead of us? And how often do we decide to listen to his voice instead of God's?

I'm reminded of a few things Jesus says in John 10:3-5, about the Shepherd and His sheep. He says, "The sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. A stranger they will not follow, but they will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers."  I knew the path outlined for me in red on my hike today. I saw other suggestions, but I wouldn't follow them because I didn't know them. The outlined path was sure; not so with the suggestions.

Whose voice are you going to listen to? Whose path will you follow? Psalm 23 says He leads us along paths of righteousness. The trail is already marked out in red. The question is, will we follow? Or will we follow a stranger's waypoints? Will we follow His voice, or a stranger's? I hope we choose Him. He's the only surety we have of not getting lost.