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Walking down the boardwalk, I anticipate the view.
I know I’ve seen it a million times but every time I wonder what it will look like.
Will the shells all be washed up on the shoreline?
Will the sand be piled high or shaken evenly across the beach?
Will the clouds be billowy, like a blanket canvassing the oceans below? Or will they be absent as the blue of the sky takes over?
However it looks, I always know this to be true: Things changed. The same Maker painting a brand new picture of mercy every morning—His paintbrush coloring and covering as the rest of creation collaborates by the sign of His hand.
Our lives are just like this.
We know what we see and only He knows what we don’t.
We pray for what we hope and He discerns what we struggle to voice.
We often wonder, “How will this work itself out?”, “What is the solution here?”, “Will things ever get easier?”, “Will my heart still feel like this?” or “Does God hear me?”
And then—we see the view.
Mercy and grace have been shifting and shaking and stirring and surging and strategizing and sanctifying and serving—all while God let us rest.
Like the clouds, the covering over our lives looks different.
Prayers have been answered—sometimes in how we hoped and other times not how we expected—but deep down, we realize that whatever answer provided formed the beauty, wholeness, and peace we ultimately were craving.
We now understand why our patience was necessary, our endurance had to be fortified, and our obedience was required.
We can’t guess it.
We can’t predict it.
We can’t understand it.
We can’t figure it out.
But we surely can trust it.
We have the revelation once again, that God is always doing a million things beneath the surface.
And that though our view will be different, it is the eyes in which we are seeing it that are the greatest blessing.
Eyes that knows the Creator is everywhere.
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