When you trust in God. :) And I know you've heard me say that a million times, but I'm telling myself constantly. Constantly. Over... and over... and over... again... because it's something I do so horribly, and forget to do, and don't want to do. And then there comes the battle of the wills... which Paul describes so well in Romans 7. What I know I should do and don't, and what I know I shouldn't do and do. Something like that... And when I don't trust him, then I end up getting all bitter, and I snap at my siblings, and I go around the house all melancholy and when mommy asks me what I've accomplished that day, I stare blankly because quite frankly I did nothing at all.
Well I do procrastinate a lot but I think that's off the point...
But when I DO trust him, I experience a very hard crisis, and then I can close my eyes and I think "Be still, and know that I am God..." and my soul calms, and I forget everything, and I think: "He knows it all... He sees it all... He knows exactly what he's doing. He's not working for my destruction. It's all for my good. He is God and who am I?" And I experience the sweetest bliss because I am put back into my place of the Human, and my knees are bent to the Lord of Heaven and Earth.
Anyways... That was just a thought I had. As the hymn says... "'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus, just to take him at his word..."
He'll take care of us. He has it all under control. In fact, nothing is OUT of his control - and how comforting is that?!
I also have a story.
When I was a little girl... (was? what am I saying?!)
When I was oh... six or seven years old, I remember sitting around the table with my family on Resurrection Day. We were having a Seder. My father was, of course, explaining to us how this lamb that was roasting in our oven used to be a bleating white fluffy thing prancing around, without a care in the world. And then somebody butchered it, and we bought it. "Just think," he said, "this used to be living!" My eyes opened wide, and I thought how cruel we must be to eat the poor thing.
A dead silence ensued around the table as daddy cut into the delicious smelling lamb.
I heard something between a moan and a "ba-a-aahhh." I looked up with wider eyes still, and my father had a look of horror on his face, as if to say: "O goodness, what are we doing?"
But we ate the lamb, which was very good.
As I went to bed that night, I puzzled over this question.
"How did the dead lamb make the noise?"
Can anybody guess how many years it took me to figure out where the noise came from?