Walking through a valley, seemingly valley upon valley, past those in their own valleys. Along the road stood a beacon, a little burger joint. Moments of fresh food on the grill replaced the smell of stale air and disinfectants. Gladys Knight’s Midnight Train overtook beeps and buzzers and tempted me to do a little “Pip” turn (Hoo Hoo). Sorry, not today.
Outside my corner booth, life turned at full speed. A family with a carload of kids skipped by fully embracing a warm Saturday morning, fries, and chocolate shakes abounding. Nurses in bright colored scrubs came and went, to or from their shifts of being angels in human form. Their lighthearted banter in the face of the valley roads was refreshing.
My heart was as heavy as my eyelids when a whisper breezed my ears:
I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip—he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord watches over you—the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all harm—he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore. Psalm 121
Where does my help come from? From the Maker of heaven and earth. But I must lift my eyes. Too many days of counting shoelaces have left me downcast, wallowing along my valley road. Lifting my eyes, I saw blue skies, grass and trees turning green, breaking free of the grasp of winter winds. Spring is not just sneaking in; it roars in great abundance.
Winter has ended, Spring is blooming. Searching the inner parts, my heart longs for a change in seasons and smells the coming of refreshing April showers, signaling hidden seeds planted long ago to rise and break through.
I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
Thank You Father.
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