I work out most of my life’s problems when I take a walk with Jesus each morning. While the humidity hugs my skin and the song of the birds fills my ears, I talk about my problems with Jesus.
On this day, I was preparing to write a message called “Hold on to Hope.” But the problem was that I felt totally unequipped and unqualified to teach anyone about hope. I had not been a stellar example of holding on to hope myself. I needed someone to teach ME how to do it!
As I poured out my fears and concerns to Jesus, I pleaded for Him to help me, to show up, and to supernaturally give me the words. I entreated Him not to abandon me now.
“Jesus,” I begged, “please don’t leave me standing at the altar.”
Photo by Shardayyy Photography on Unsplash
The praise and worship was wonderful, and I was enjoying every minute of it. But the men who comprised the worship band were an unlikely combination. The twenty-something pianist and drummer had a hippie look going on….long hair and a scraggly beard. The teenage guitarist had a youthful, boyish face. Then there was the middle-aged and straight-laced backup singer.
He stuck out like a sore thumb. The other band members were sporting their ratty T-shirts and blue jeans, and this gentleman had on a brightly-colored ironed golf shirt and neatly-pressed slacks. His hair was closely cropped and at nine o’clock at night he did not even have a five o’clock shadow.
One of these things was not like the others.