Michael Seiler

Tag: Doubt

  • Who’s Your Timmy?

    I’d like for you all to imagine yourself sitting in a doctor’s office exam room, waiting to speak to a new doctor about an upcoming surgery. As you glance around the room, you see all the medical posters about the internal organs, the skeletal system, and a poster displaying the inner workings of the heart. The exam room is clean, and professional looking, and everything about the staff that brought you in, and the ambience of this room puts your mind at ease. This new doctor, you think, will definitely be able to take care of me.

    Then there is a knock at the door, and in walks a young man wearing scrubs and soft, comfortable shoes. Something at the back of your mind sparks up a bit, and you think he looks vaguely familiar. Is this the doctor? Or an assistant?

    “I thought that was you! It’s Tim,” the young man says, “It’s so good to see you again!” He shakes your hand and says, “I used to hang out with your kids all the time, back in elementary school.”

    And suddenly you recognize him. Timmy? The same Timmy that couldn’t figure out how to use a can opener? The same Timmy that used to knock things over in your house all the time because he was so incredibly clumsy? The same Timmy that flunked 3rd grade? The same Timmy that would ignore what adults told him and do what he wanted to? The same Timmy that lied whenever you caught him doing something wrong? That Timmy!? 

    Doctor Tim sits down in the chair, and says to you, “I’m so happy you’re here. You’re in good hands with me. Let me assure you that I will do my absolute best with your open heart surgery!”

    I’m sure that your immediate reaction at that point would likely be – “My surgery is  a bit more involved than using a can opener. Not gonna happen, Timmy.”

    Just like with Timmy and his amazing ability to break things, the people that knew Jesus were saying things like:

    “I remember his parents, and how he got lost in Jerusalem when he was 12! They had to come back and find him!”

    “I remember one time he built a table with one short leg, and it used to wobble constantly!”

    “Come on now! This cannot be the Messiah! I used to babysit him!”

    And they started to grumble among themselves. Those who were opposed to Jesus, because of how they knew him way back when.

    Two weeks ago, we heard the story that set up this entire talk about the Bread of Life, the feeding of the five thousand. It was there that we learned that this entire conversation is set within the context of the Passover. And that Passover setting was intended to evoke the ideas of freedom from slavery, and a new promise of God’s provision. The reference to Manna from heaven in last week’s Gospel passage also brings the readers of John’s Gospel back to the idea that something new is going on. Something big is happening. 

    We learned last week that by calling himself the Bread of Life, Jesus had upended their view of the Messiah, and shifted their thinking from seeing God’s provision as merely physical and for their present reality, to thinking of God’s provision for all eternity, and seeing that God’s freedom and provision is intended for all people, for the entire world. All that people needed to do was to believe in him.

    But here’s the problem – at least for some of the people. To believe in Jesus meant to give up control, to give up power, and to give up the hope of future power. And we all know that people in power never want to relinquish that power willingly. This is why they start grumbling amongst themselves. They heard the claims that Jesus made, they followed his logic about eternal life, and they recognized that Jesus’ way of saving the world would require that they surrender their current power, and any hope of future power – because a Messiah that refused to be made king by force would be a Messiah that would require them to make sacrifices. And so, of course, they grumble.

    The interesting thing to note here, is that the word that John uses for “grumbling” is the same word that is used in the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures for when the people “grumbled” to Moses about not having bread to eat. They “grumbled” about being hungry, and they wished that God had let them die in Egypt instead of bringing them into the wilderness. And so, God provided manna – that is, bread from heaven – and their ancestors ate from it. John is trying to make a direct correlation between the people of Israel on their exodus out of Egypt to this moment in time, when some of the people confronted with the true Bread of Heaven in the person of Jesus grow skeptical.

    Which makes Jesus’ response about manna so much more poignant and direct.

    He had already told the people not to work for the bread that perishes, but to work for the food that endures for eternal life. And now he takes their comment about their ancestors ate Manna from heaven, and says:

    “Yes. Your ancestors ate manna from heaven. But guess what? They still died.”

    Which is to say, “All that you are working for, this earthly power, this earthly wealth, this desire that the Messiah comes and does what you want – all of that is still just thinking about the here and now, this present age. Don’t do that. Work for the things that are eternal and will carry you through more than just this life by believing that God has sent me.”

    And the people grumbled.

    One of the phrases that may be going through your mind right now is, “Familiarity breeds contempt.” And that is definitely what is going on with Jesus and those who opposed him. Just like we wouldn’t want a clumsy little oaf like Timmy doing our open heart surgery, these people didn’t want to wrap their heads around the idea that the future of their faith revolved around a carpenter’s son, someone they had known all of his life.

    For those of us who come to church, we may be thinking, “Oh good! I already believe in Jesus. I’m not opposed to thinking of Jesus as the spiritual manna from heaven.”

    But there is more to the Bread of Life than just the belief that Christ died and rose again to begin our reconciliation with God. There are the promises that Christ made for those that follow him, such as peace, joy, love and patience. There is the matter of life, eternal life, and even, the promise that Christ came that we have “abundant life.”

    What is this abundant life?

    Every Sunday, here at St. Alban’s, we sing the song, “Let there be peace on earth,” right before the Passing of the Peace. And the words within that song state that if God is our creator, then we are all siblings, and all of us are children of God.

    What that means is that the promise of abundant life, the promise of peace, of joy, of patience and forgiveness of sins has been inherited by all of us. We are all living members of the body of Christ and heirs of God’s eternal kingdom.

    In Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, our New Testament passage today, he says:

    Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you. Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.

    God has offered all these promises through believing in Jesus, the Bread of Life, and you, and I, and each of us, has become an heir in God’s kingdom because of it. And if each of us is an heir, then we ought to treat each other as royalty and respect the dignity of everyone. It is when we are imitators of God, that this abundant life begins to take hold, and this blessed ideal of peace, love, forbearance and tolerance starts to take shape in our minds and we can almost touch and feel and see how an abundant life could form among a community of believers. We can smell the sweet fragrance of love, joy, peace and gentleness wafting through the room, as we imagine what a life of sacrifice for God and each other can manifest in our lives and community.

    And then Timmy walks in. Clumsy, oafish, not-so-bright Timmy. Timmy, whom we know just a little too well, and whom we cannot trust to do the right thing. Timmy, who irritates us at our core, and makes us not just skeptical, but whose actions grab our heart and harden it, so that we directly oppose the idea that anyone should show any sort of love and patience to him. Timmy, whom we wish could be taught a lesson.

    For Timmy’s sake, of course. 

    This response is the exact same response that those who opposed Jesus had. Just like them, we do not wish to give up any kind of power, and we most certainly do not want to imitate God, and offer ourselves as a sacrifice and fragrant offering for God’s work of reconciling the world to himself. Especially if the person who needs to see our sacrifice is Timmy.

    But this is precisely the work that is needed.

    And this is why we too, sometimes, grumble and complain, and stand in opposition of the work that God is doing in this world. 

    We all have at least one Timmy in our lives. Sometimes multiple Timmys. We need to identify the Timmy in our life, and recognize that they are just as much a child of God as we are. That they have inherited eternal life and forgiveness of sin, just like we have. That they have the promise of eternal life, just like we do. And we need to try and understand why we are so opposed to them and what they do – because our opposition is often more based on what’s going on inside of us, than what’s going on with Timmy.

    And then, we offer them the Bread of Life through the same compassion and love, through the same grace and mercy that Jesus offered us when he offered his life for our sake.

    Because then we will in fact, begin to smell the sweet fragrance of Christ in our midst.

    And we will recognize that the Bread of Life is food for everyone.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on August 11, 2024.]

  • The Food That Endures

    If we were to look at today’s Gospel as one episode of a miniseries, we would start out with a tableau of Jesus feeding the five thousand people. We would see the people laughing and patting their bellies because they were so full, more full than they had ever been. … Fade to black … then we come back in, and the people are talking to themselves, “We should make him king!” And then a scene of a horde of people chasing down Jesus, whom we see running off, and hiding. .. Another Fade to Black scene … and then the opening credits for today’s episode.

    And despite this being a new day. The only difference is that instead of running from the crowd of people, Jesus stands up and confronts them.

    You see, when the crowd figured out that Jesus had disappeared, they too got into boats and went searching for Jesus. When they found him, he was in Capernaum. They were still looking to make him their earthly king, and they were still in search of provision, of food, and of securing their future. They had seen the miracles of healing and glories unimaginable – and they were swayed instead, by Jesus feeding them with an abundance of food beyond their capacity to eat it all.

    And Jesus calls them out for this behavior, telling them that they are not looking for him because of the signs – or miracles – that they saw, but because they had eaten their fill of food.

    It’s important to note that in John’s Gospel, the word “signs” is used where other gospels talk about “miracles,” because in John’s Gospel, all the miracles that Jesus does are actually “signs” that are pointing to Jesus’ true nature as the Messiah, the chosen of God, the beginning and the end of God’s purpose and provision.

    So, what Jesus is saying to them here is basically, you are not looking for me because you saw the signs and recognized that I am the Messiah. You are only looking for me because of what I did for you, and what you think I can do for you in the future. You’re not concerned about me as God’s Chosen, you’re concerned about me as your meal ticket, your provider of the miraculous, your servant who does what you want.

    And then Jesus shifts their thinking, from the old way of looking at God’s provision as physical safety and comfort to faith in the Son of Man. He says:

    “Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For it is on him that God the Father has set his seal.”

    And so they ask, “What must we do to perform the works of God?”

    And Jesus says, “This is the work of God: that you believe in him whom God has sent.” In other words, Jesus is saying, I am God’s provision for you; believe in me and what I am and will teach you, and God will provide for you in eternity, because I am the one whom God has sent for your salvation. Or, more bluntly put, I am the Messiah.

    And the people respond: “Well, that obviously can’t be you. If it was you, then you would show us a sign – a miracle – to prove it. Our ancestors gave us manna in the wilderness, Our ancestors gave them bread from heaven to eat. Sure, Jesus, you fed us beyond our capacity, but that’s just not a good enough sign to show us that you’re the Messiah.”

    Have you heard of the concept of a paradigm shift? The idea is that we have lived with one paradigm – one way of looking at the world – for so long, that when another viewpoint comes along we initially throw up our hands and remain skeptical. Skeptical even, to the point of resistance, because the claim seems to be so cataclysmically different than what they have known that the shift simply seems too grandiose and outrageous. 

    One such moment in history came when Nicholas Copernicus published his book arguing that the earth revolves around the sun, and not the other way around. “Heresy!” said the members of the church – both protestant and catholic alike. God created humankind, and because we were God’s chosen, the concept that we were not the center of the universe simply could not be. Oddly enough, the views expressed by Copernicus were not immediately refuted, because Copernicus was actually well known in the Catholic church, and respected. It was when other scientists, less involved with the church, began to build upon the knowledge that Copernicus provided with new ideas that threatened the status quo, that Copernicus’ books were banned, and his ideas placed under quarantine. Change was coming, and it was coming too fast for some people to bear, and so they responded with skepticism and resistance.

    This is essentially what is going on for the people here. They had been looking for a Messiah, and had been looking for signs that would show him to be God’s Chosen, but they were expecting a Messiah of their own making, and not the Messiah that God had actually sent. They were looking for Jesus in the old paradigm, and signs to fit that viewpoint.

    This is the start of their skepticism and resistance, and while they are expressing their disbelief, Jesus confirms exactly what they are thinking:

    It wasn’t your ancestors who fed you with bread from heaven, it was God. God sent that provision, and God also gives you the true bread from heaven. And that bread, that bread alone gives life to the world.

    “Sir,” the people responded, ”give us that bread. And not just now, but always.”

    And Jesus responds: “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

    If you thought people were skeptical before, imagine their skepticism now. If there was ever a grandiose claim to be made, this is a paradigm shift of epic grandeur:

    I am God’s provision for you. 
    I am the one whom God has sent to save you and to care for you.
    I am the one who will provide for you for all eternity. 
    I am life, and life abundant.
    Believe in me and you will never hunger, and you will never thirst.

    People wanted a messiah who would work for them according to their desires, who would provide for them as a king would with physical provision and safety. And instead they got a messiah that God sent them, a messiah who would be best for them. They got a messiah that said that for all eternity, they could live a life without hunger or thirst, as long as they believed in what the Son of Man would give them.

    One of the questions that the people listening to Jesus, and therefore the people listening to John’s Gospel would have wondered is this: “How can this man, this Jesus be the bread from heaven? How can he be manna from above? And more to the point, how can he be our provision so that we never again hunger and thirst?”

    Over the centuries, during wartime and famine, Christians have obviously confronted hunger and thirst, and have even died from that hunger or that thirst. So what did Jesus mean when he said, “I am the bread of life?” What did he mean when he said that those who came to him would never hunger and thirst? Well, he meant that he would be God’s provision for them in all situations, but that the provision he spoke of would transcend life and death, time and space. It shifted the paradigm from one in which Jesus would be the salvation of Israel in their lifetime only, to one in which Jesus would be the salvation of the world, for all eternity.

    While Jesus calls himself the bread of life, and is compared to manna from heaven, the fact that Jesus is the bread of life has nothing to do with eating or drinking, and instead, has to do with the identity of Christ himself, and who we consider Jesus to be.

    Years ago, I was struggling with something, and couldn’t keep myself from turning to a particular vice to cope with my frustrations and anger. In a conversation with one of my mentors, he said: “When you are confronted with this issue, ask yourself this question: ‘Why isn’t Jesus enough?’” My initial reaction was confusion, and then anger. The answer to that question is often simply this: “Because Jesus isn’t around right now, and I need an immediate result.” Or, “Because Jesus isn’t here in the flesh, and I cannot ask him for answers directly.” Or, in reality, any number of responses that showed that I wanted Jesus to act according to my own desires and my own paradigm.

    This question, “Why isn’t Jesus enough?” can be applied to any situation in our lives, even though it seems like one that might be applied to matters of the heart more than matters of the body.

    I’m struggling to buy groceries. Why isn’t Jesus enough? Because I’m broke and need immediate help, and I fear I might starve.

    I’ve just lost my job, and am facing eviction from my apartment. Why isn’t Jesus enough? Because I’m running out of money and am frightened for my family’s safety and my own.

    I’ve just been diagnosed with a chronic illness that will eventually leave me broken and bedridden. Why isn’t Jesus enough? Because there is no medical cure, and it’s been a while since I’ve seen a miracle of that sort of magnitude, and I fear the future.

    If you’re paying attention, you’ll notice that all the answers to the question of why Jesus is not enough have to do with our fears and our desires. They still have to do with what Jesus can do for us, rather than the presence of God as the provision of our lives. They have to do with Jesus feeding us physically, rather than the food that endures for eternal life. These answers show us that our needs are still at the center of our own universe.

    But the Son of Man does not revolve around us. 

    Rather, it is each of us that revolves around the Son of God, working together to bring about the work of God. In the letter to the Romans, Paul writes that “all things work together for good, for those who are called according to God’s purpose.” It doesn’t say that all things work together for our good. It says that all things work together for good. And the good that is discussed here is God’s work in this world. The work that Christ called each of us to take part in, which is to reconcile the world to God.

    It is a hard pill to swallow to realize that this does not mean that all things will work out well for us, but rather, that all things will work out for the good of God’s purpose in this world. And that means that sometimes, our pain, our suffering, or even our misfortune can be used by God, for God’s greater purpose.

    This is a huge shift in our thinking, for sure. But this is the reason that we commemorate the lives of the saints, especially those who were martyred for their faith. They faced death, and yet their lives inspired multitudes of Christians to go and serve God with all that they had, and despite the hardships they might face.

    Mother Theresa, who worked with the poorest of the poor in the slums of Calcutta, had a moment early in her life in which she felt the presence of Christ incredibly deeply. But after this, she struggled with spiritual darkness and the feeling of God’s absence for the vast majority of her ministry. Rather than lamenting the loss of God’s presence, she embraced it, and continued her work, remembering that foretaste of eternity that she had felt so many years before. Christ had become for her, even in the midst of her own suffering, the bread of life that sustained her in her work and ministry, until the day she entered the heavenly banquet of God’s presence at her death.

    And so it is for us. It is when we can shift our thinking to see the good even in our own suffering that we can begin to understand how Jesus can be God’s provision beyond our earthly needs, how Jesus can be God’s Bread of Life, how Jesus can be the food that endures for eternal life.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on August 4, 2024.]

  • Seeing the Unseen

    A friend of mine turned me on to Lectio 365 and one particular week, they were working through the Questions of Jesus. On the Thursday of that week, I think, the question was all about Jesus asking his disciples: “Do you Trust Me?” The meditation ended with the call to action to ask what question God might have of us.

    So I did just that.

    And what should happen but God asked me the very same question: “Do you trust me?”

    Immediately, I knew exactly what that question was about, and what exactly I was supposed to trust God with. And, more to the point, I immediately knew my answer:

    “Yes. I do trust you. Just not as much as I want to. … Don’t you see what’s happening?”

    Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

    Hebrews 11:1
    Foggy Morning at St. Mary’s Episcopal Convent

    This past Easter Weekend, Holy Saturday to be exact, I was sitting on my patio at the convent where I was staying. The sisters had graciously agreed to let me stay there for a longer period, after an abrupt need to move out of my housing situation. I had been there a little over a week at that point, and on that foggy Saturday morning, drinking a cup of coffee, I was reflecting on how peaceful life had been that past week, and how relaxed I felt.

    And at that very moment, God said, “Now that you’ve had a chance to collect your thoughts, and remove all your distractions, I have some things I need to show you.” 

    Some things. What an understatement. From that Saturday morning, until Monday afternoon, I wrote a full 45 pages of college lined note paper. And it continued after that, though not with the same intensity, for another month. During that time, I told a few of my friends that I saw a transformation happening; or rather, that God had a transformation in store for me, and that I could vaguely see the end result, but that it frightened me, because I knew that who I would be was radically different from who I was.

    And those changes came, step by step. Graciously, with a few weeks, or even a month of reprieve in between them, until we came to this question of trust.

    Until this question where I had to say, “I do trust you, but not as much as I want.” When what I really meant was: “I trust you, as long as you let me stay in the boat. Those waves look frightening.”

    Several years ago, in the process toward ordination, I had a set back, which left me shocked and confused. The next day I sat on the patio of the church, and spoke to God, asking, “I thought you wanted me to do this?” By which I meant ordination. God replied, “I did want you to do this. And I do want you to do this.” To which I had to reply, “Were you not paying attention? Did you not see what just happened?” And a smiling God replied, “Trust me. You will do this. Just not right now.”

    Hope. Hope of things to come, but as yet unseen. 

    So many years later, the path is coming to completion. But not without being tossed around by the waves of doubt and uncertainty in the process. My friends could tell you stories about my ranting and raving, my confusion and doubts, my questioning, and ultimately my repeated return to the promise. Until I learned to walk in it, unwavering, seeing only the hope, and not the waves.

    I am gifted with a great imagination, and an analytical mind, and getting out of the boat, like Peter, to walk on the water toward a promise God has given me, makes me realize just how big those waves of doubt and uncertainty can be. Like a heads up display, I see every possible scenario, both good and bad, with its probability firmly floating above the wave, either granting hope, or threatening impending doom. 

    Just like Peter, I focus on the waves and their clear probabilities so proudly displayed above them to indicate how much credence I should give them. I see the unseen, the imagined, and grant them more confidence than they deserve.

    Until I find a thin sliver of a thread that glistens with divine mercy in the spraying mist of this emotional ocean. And when I focus on the thread, I follow it through the waves until I see a smiling God standing at the other end, reminding me: “This is my promise.” And suddenly the waves of unreal, probable scenarios are gone, and the sea is calm; I see only the promise, not the imagined tidal waves of destruction.

    And this lasts sometimes a day, sometimes three, sometimes a week. Until I focus on the probability waves again, and lose sight of the unseen promise represented in that glowing thread of hope that leads directly to the sacred heart of Jesus.

    Though it feels like it, this cyclical, emotional buffeting on the unseen waves of doubt and uncertainty is not insanity.

    It is merely the process of developing my water walking legs.

    Different seas require different legs. And no sea, no area of my life, will be entirely without the waves of doubt and uncertainty, but the more often I am willing to get out of that boat to walk on the water toward the open arms of God, the easier it will be to keep my balance and my direction when next I am confronted with ambiguity and unbelief.

  • Can God Really Do That?

    My God is so big, so strong and so mighty
    There’s nothing my God cannot do
    My God is so big, so strong and so mighty
    There’s nothing my God cannot do
    He made the trees
    He made the seas
    He made the elephants too

    My God is so big, so strong and so mighty
    There’s nothing my God cannot do
    My God is so great, so strong and so mighty
    There’s nothing my God cannot do
    My God is so great, so strong and so mighty
    There’s nothing my God cannot do

    The mountains are his
    The rivers are his
    The skies are his handy works too
    My God is so great, so strong and so mighty
    There’s nothing my God cannot do
    There’s nothing my God cannot do
    There’s nothing my God cannot do
    For you

    Traditional

    I remember singing the children’s song “My God is So Big” in Sunday School as a child. It was always a fun song to sing, because there were body movements that went along with the song. We would make an elephant trunk, flex our biceps, and describe the greatness of God as little tiny kiddos.

    Like with many children’s songs, this one broke down the theological concept of God’s omnipotence into a few short verses that I’m sure anyone who sang it will find hard to forget. 

    The words. Not the concept.

    It seems the concept is something that we tend to forget as we get older: as we begin to learn more about the physical world around us, the science of all things. Or, as we come to understand that not everything in life gets an answer from God that we are looking for, and as we experience more of life’s disappointments and tragedies, we begin to consider the possibility that God might not be as capable as we learned in Sunday School. We begin to accept the idea that the physical world has limitations, and that the power of God must therefore, somehow, fit into the realm of reality. 

    In short, we begin to doubt that there’s nothing our God cannot do.

    As I pray through the Morning Prayers, I most often choose to end the prayer with the verses from Ephesians, which read, “Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen..” Ephesians 3:20-21

    Since we stop and offer our prayers for those in our church family – and authorized intercessions – this conclusion is a perfect reminder that we don’t just pray into a vacuum, but that we expect things from God. We expect big things from God. Because God can and does provide them.

    Even if God sometimes doesn’t answer our prayers. 

    Or even if God doesn’t answer the prayers in the way we had hoped. 

    If we experience too many of our prayers going unanswered, we may come to a point where we believe that God is incapable of answering prayers, and that God is incapable of moving beyond the physical world to effect God’s change in this world.

    Whatever the reason, it seems that we forget the concept of an omnipotent God who is able to do more than we can think or imagine. 

    And then we forget to ask. We refuse to pray. We begin to look for our own solutions, because our minds hold an image of a puny little god who is somehow subject to the great, fantastic world that God created. 

    Talk about a contradiction.

    It is very true that God will not always answer our prayers. Or that God will not always answer our prayers in the way that we had hoped. It is very true that God might simply seem to ignore us, and our prayers fall upon deaf ears.

    But that still doesn’t mean that God is incapable. Our prayers just become so narrow that we will not accept anything beyond the scope that we have defined. 

    These are not God’s limitations. They are limitations that we have placed upon God. Or, better said, they are limitations we have placed on what we will accept from God.

    We do not realize how much more we could have. In James, we see that sometimes we do not get our prayers answered because we ask with motives guided by our own desires (James, 4:2b-3).

    Several years ago, the entire development team at my work was told that we would all be losing our jobs. We were given two choices on when to end our service to the company; if we chose the later date, our severance package would be bigger. Naturally, I chose the later date, and began looking for new work in the meantime. For months, I turned in resumes and job applications, all to no avail. The last day of work came and went, and I still did not have work. My prayers revolved around asking God for the very specific type of job I wanted, but my prayers went unanswered.

    Finally, a month after my last day of work, a Friday, I remembered the words from Matthew, just a few verses before the Lord’s Prayer (Matthew 6:5-15). And my prayer became, “Lord, I’ve had no luck finding work for three months. You know the type of work I need and what would be good for me. Provide the job you know I need.”

    Three days later, on Monday, I received an email from someone saying they had received my resume from another company I had applied for a few weeks earlier. Did I want to hear about a job opportunity? Two days after that, on Wednesday, I had a job interview. A week later, on Thursday, I was offered the job. 

    The job did not match the work I had been praying for, nor did it fit the type of work I had been doing for years. But the work fit my skill set well, the pay was better, and the fringe benefits were much better than at my previous position.

    Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

    More than I could ask or imagine.

    And so I sing again the children’s song:
    My God is so big, so strong and so mighty, there is nothing my God cannot do.

    God is able to do immeasurably more than we can ask or imagine. As long as we are ready to accept it when it comes.