The Spirit in Our Minds

We always knew what to expect. After half a day in the car, we’d arrive in the wee hours of the morning and literally crash into the soft, quilted bed. Two or three hours later, we would be awakened by a gentle knock and an anxious call: “Y’all are going to have to get up. I can’t stand it anymore.”

At that point, my husband and I would stumble out of bed, open the door, greet his ninety-three-year-old grandmother, and begin the breakfast routine. Grandmother had some difficulty maneuvering, so she would stand at the stove and prepare the biscuits and cream gravy, while Steve and I set the table and shuttled items back and forth between the kitchen and the dining area.

When everything was ready, we sat down to our hot meal, only to wait. She required two things before we could consume any food: a prayer and a blessing over the day. The words offered in prayer varied from time to time, but the blessing never wavered. It was always the same. Grandmother folded her hands, as only she could, looked at us, and declared with confidence, “This is the day that the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.”

One might assume this was a ritual for the family’s matriarch. Instead, it was her way of breathing life into her day and declaring her faith. By speaking those words, Grandmother made a firm decision that nothing—pain or difficulty, suffering or stress—was going to happen to deter or disrupt her joy. It was a done deal. God had given her another day to live, and, therefore, thankfulness and rejoicing would excel above all else.

So today, as I remember Grandmother Kirk’s firm decision to rejoice and be glad, I will do the same. I will declare that my day will not affect me, but I will affect my day by breathing life into it before the sun ever peeks its rays above the horizon (Psalm 118:24).

This is indeed the day the Lord has made. Therefore, choose to rejoice and be glad in it.

The first time my toddler threw a temper tantrum was while I pushed a cart of groceries and had her brother in a swaddling carrier. Right in front of the cash registers, she used the aisle to flare her arms and legs like a snow angel on the floor. She proclaimed that the grocery trip needed to end. She was exhausted and had endured enough. Instead of getting angry at her behavior, I looked down, moved the cart around her, and stepped over her. I ignored her whining, but I recognized her needs. I looked back at her and said, “Come on. Get up. We are almost finished. You need to nap and eat.”

Elijah got tired, thirsty, hungry, and stressed out enough to whine to God (1 Kings 19:5-6). He declared directly that he wanted to die. He was physically and emotionally exhausted and tired of waiting for the people to turn their hearts to God. He also faced threats from Queen Jezebel, who wanted to kill him—which is why he fled to the desert.

God responded to Elijah by interrupting his whining—not with a grand proclamation, but with intimate care. God had Elijah take a nap and provided him with food and water. Elijah immediately went back to sleep. Later, God returned, had him eat again, and gave him extraordinary strength to sustain him as he continued his journey.

We all have those moments when we have had enough. When the burdens and challenges leave us feeling alone, exhausted, and stressed out. Sometimes, we are so steeped in our troubles that we can’t see the provisions God has laid before us. God doesn’t always reveal Himself in powerful, miraculous ways, but He does provide us provisions and strength.

God wants to restore your body and soul continually. Take time to nap and eat and notice how God sustains you. 

“You’re a little rough around the edges.”

Country singer John Anderson once sang a song called “I’m Just an Old Chunk of Coal.” But the following line spoke of how he would be a diamond someday. The meaning of diamonds in the rough or a little rough around the edges is “someone of good character who lacks social graces.”

We can learn a lot from the process of where diamonds originate. A diamond is carbon dioxide produced from decaying organic matter, buried one hundred miles beneath the earth, heated to 2200 degrees Fahrenheit, squeezed under 725,000 pounds of pressure per square inch, and then quickly rushed to the earth’s surface to cool. This process takes millions of years or more. The carbon itself forms coal in its solid form, and that’s what is transformed into a diamond. Simply put, a diamond is no more than a chunk of coal made good under pressure.

Coal is primarily a fuel and is among the cheapest minerals. Jesus thought enough of us to die for us. Just as the coal began with dying organic matter, our salvation results from Christ’s death. The pressures and fiery trials we endure make us more durable and able to withstand more pressure. A diamond is only a piece of coal until it has been exposed to fire and pressure over time. Then it is durable and ready for cutting and polishing.

We will never be the showpiece or have the shine God wants us to have until we’ve been through fiery trials and withstood the pressures of life (Isaiah 43:2). Like a diamond, we will one day be taken out of the fire and quickly taken up to heaven, where God will change us into the masterpiece He intends—a trophy of His grace.

Just as a piece of coal under pressure becomes the world’s most treasured gem, we will be the treasure of heaven with unsurpassed beauty, the bride of the Lamb of God.  

I was all alone in the hospital room. A team of doctors and nurses had just rushed my pregnant wife out for an emergency C-section. They told me they would let me know when my son was born. I was lost in a sea of confusion and anxiety and was overwhelmed. I could do nothing but cry out to the Lord.

The year was 2020, a year full of surprises. Unexpectedly, we found out that my wife was pregnant, which was a miracle because of our infertility. But the pregnancy was nothing like what we expected. I was not allowed to attend any of the appointments. My wife’s blood pressure became an area of concern, and we found ourselves in the hospital weeks before our son was due.

This journey led me to an empty hospital room. I want to say I had full faith, but I didn’t. I fell to my knees on that cold, hard floor and wept, but I could only muster the simple word “please.” I pleaded with God on behalf of my wife and son, who both came out of the procedure fine.

From the end of the earth I will cry to You, when my heart is overwhelmed; lead me to the rock that is higher than I. This verse is rooted in reality. There are moments when all we can do is cry out to God. We do this because circumstances, emotions, or pain have overwhelmed us. We need God’s power, strength, wisdom, knowledge, and presence.

God graciously and mercifully leads us into His presence where we find a sure foundation of love, hope, peace, and joy. Attempting to find all those things apart from the Lord is impossible, but thankfully, He hears our cries and lovingly responds.

Don’t fall into the trap of believing that you have it all together and know all the answers. Instead, be honest. When you find yourself overwhelmed, cry out to your heavenly Father, who will lead you into His peaceful, powerful presence.

I once stood at the front door of a home I thought we’d live in forever. I had prayed for that home, cried in that home, and dreamed in that home. But as time passed, it became clearer that the home caused more harm than good. From constant repairs to the emotional weight of maintaining something that no longer fit our family’s needs, we finally made the difficult choice to let it go. It felt like a loss at first, but God was inviting us into something better—even if it didn’t look like more on the surface. There would be beauty in the remodel.

Isaiah paints a picture of restoration and divine covering (Isaiah 4:3). After a season of judgment and refinement, God promised to bring forth beauty—a branch of the Lord that would be glorious and protective. He cleansed what needed cleansing—not from cruelty, but from care. Like a skilled renovator, God knew what He needed to strip away to form strength and beauty.

Sometimes God must allow the removal of things we once cherished—not to punish us, but to clear space for something more sustainable, more aligned, and more holy. The remodel of our lives isn’t always glamorous, but it’s always purposeful.

We may think holding on to what we built means stability. But if it drains us spiritually, emotionally, or financially, it’s not peace. It’s pressure. God doesn’t want us to just survive on our blessings. He wants to protect and sustain us through them. Isaiah reminds us that when we allow God to wipe away what no longer serves us, He covers us with a canopy of glory and peace. Even if it looks like a downgrade to the world, it’s divine alignment in the kingdom.

Is there something you’re holding onto that God may be asking you to release or reimagine? Trust the process. Let Him clear, cleanse, and cover you. What looks like loss may be the start of a beautiful remodeling. There’s beauty in the remodel—even when it doesn’t feel like it.