God of All Comfort

God of All Comfort

God of All Comfort

 

Kimberly was always such an adorable little girl. She had dark hair and eyes and a smile that lit up her whole face. But one of my favorite stories to tell about her doesn’t light up her face at all.

 

 

Our whole family loved and still loves to go junking. My jam-packed-full garage and shelves are proof that we love it. One Saturday morning we made a trip to all the garage sales in our area. Our last stop didn’t really have much of anything, so we only looked for a few minutes before Wayne gave the signal for us to leave.

 

We had a routine. Jason went to his dad’s side and Kimberly went to my side of the van and they climbed in the front seat, over the captain chair, (this was a long time ago…big comfy seats in a big ole gas guzzling van) and into their seats behind us. Jason climbed into the van as usual. But for some reason,Kimberly started to get in on her dad’s side. Then she changed her mind and  ran toward my door to get in on my side.

 

We both slammed our doors. Wayne started the van and pulled onto the road in our neighborhood.

 

Jason said, “Daddy, Kimberly’s not in the  van.”

 

Jason, was young, about 7, but already he had quite a reputation for pulling jokes and tricks on us, so Wayne, casually commented, “Yeah, sure Jason.”

 

Jason, continued, “Dad, Kimberly’s running along behind the van.”

 

To that comment Wayne looked at the rearview mirror. To his absolute horror, he saw his pitiful, crying, little Kimberly chasing behind the van.

 

Wayne stopped in the middle of the road.By the time he stopped, I had the door flung wide open and was on my way out of the van. I ran back toward Kimberly calling to her as I ran.

 

Kimberly, my sweet, little girl, who had been crying in absolute panic, wasn’t crying any more. She was mad. I understand why she was mad. Now, please understand, we were only like two houses down from her and this story took place very, very quickly. But it wasn’t quick to her. And to  her, she had been left all alone. Now that she knew she was safe, she could afford to be mad. She whirled around and ran in the opposite direction. I finally caught her. Wayne circled the block. Parked the van and everyone calmed her down. We loaded back in the van, but this time I opened her door and buckled her in her seat.

 

It’s funny now, but it wasn’t funny then. Believe me it was scary. Our hearts were still pounding when we got home.

 

I share that story to say that as believers there are things we expect God to do for us and there are time frames we expect Him to do them in. When He doesn’t operate within those perimeters of our expectations, we are disappointed. We can get mad at God. Sometimes, we run away from God instead of running to Him. And sometimes, when people run away they stay away.

 

Rebecca Alonzo, in her book, The Devil on Pew Number Seven, recounts the horrors, and I really mean horrors, she and her family experienced at the diabolical hands of a member of their church. She shares how in her journey to move from disappoint with God to wholeness. That one day she realized that she needed God more, than she needed to blame Him. That revelation was a turning point that opened the door for God to heal her emotions. And the reality is, you need God more than you need to blame Him. We are not given the why behind everything that happens, but we are given the assurance that He is with us and His grace is sufficient.

 

Allow God to comfort you. 2 Corinthians 1:3 “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.”

 

He can’t give you comfort and peace until you give Him access…until you open your heart and allow Him to comfort and heal the broken places in your life.

 

 

The Devil in Pew Number Seven

 

 

This site uses cookies to offer you a better browsing experience. By browsing this website, you agree to our use of cookies.