Exit 2024: This Year I Crawled by Alan Anderson

 

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want;

he makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters;

he restores my soul.

He leads me in paths of righteousness

for his name’s sake. Psalm 23: 1-3 (RSV)

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays

down his life for the sheep” John 10:11 (RSV)

 

NOTE: Forgive me, I strayed from our theme of “X” for this month’s blog post. Another thought consumed my mind as I prepared this message.

Exit 2024, Embrace 2025

We all know this year, 2024, will end soon. If the Lord allows us, we will experience a New Year only a few days away. I crawled through most of this year. How about you dear friends? I do not know if 2025 will be any different, but I pray it will be a year I embrace.

Fed up with the Voices

Dear reader, do you ever tire of the world? The world has chosen to act crazy right now. I should say the world lives according to its nature. There are so many loud voices all around. Voices devoid of listening to and speaking truth. Voices of discontent and confusion from those speeding towards an eternity without God, He who loves the world.

Do you ever become weary of the voices? I get to where I cover my ears to block out the voices and yell into the raging clamour, “Will you please shut up?” The world continues to broadcast its blabber through a megaphone of its own making. So many people deaf to the voice of the One who calls people to rest, His rest… Oh, such gentle rest.

The Shepherd’s Voice

Health challenges beset me this year like never before. A combination of these challenges gave cause for me to reflect on the number of my days. The physical strength of my youth has waned, yet I persevere. There is still life to live, people to love, and words to send into the world as I listen to the voice of The Shepherd. This great Shepherd who promises rest for one’s soul.

When 2024, the year I crawled, finally becomes history, I will walk into 2025 with caution and, I am sure, with a limp. With the Lord’s help, I will avoid loud unsettled settings all too open to the brashness of our society. My voice as a writer seeks places surrounded by green pastures and still waters.

What I know as 2025 draws near is God leads now and will lead then. He awaits me. The Lord leads this crawling, needful man to still waters. Still waters are a place to rest. A place to rest in God’s care…a place to hear The Lord’s voice, the voice that matters. A place I need to abide in.

Dear InScribers

Dear InScribe family, with the New Year within sight, I pray our writer voices will reflect the voice of our Shepherd. Whether we crawl, limp, or walk into 2025, He will lead us to green pastures and still waters where rest and restoration awaits.

Merry Christmas dear ones. Christ is born, glorify Him! 

Alan lives in a small village called Deroche, British Columbia, with his wife, Terry, and their poodle, Charlie. He enjoys walking on the dike near his home with trees all around, where he finds inspiration for his writing. He occasionally writes articles for FellowScript Magazine and is a regular contributor to the InScribe Christian Writers’ Fellowship blog. Alan is the new BC/Northern Regional Rep. for InScribe. His website is https://scarredjoy.ca.

The Voice

"Count!"

The order assaulted her senses as she tore at the damp sheets. The girl tossed her heavy head to the side trying to quiet the demon-like voices that poked and prodded.

"Five-thousand, six hundred and seventy two, five thousand, six hundred and seventy three, five thousand six hundred and seventy four..."

The vile taste in her mouth made her nauseated but she didn't have the strength to move, to get a drink, to go to the bathroom. She couldn't even recall where the bathroom was. Where was she? Why do the voices torture her so?

"I can't! I can't!" she cried as the pressure for her to continue played havoc with her mind. Perspiration covered her face like drizzle. Her hair was matted and unkempt. But the girl's outward appearance was the least of her worries.

"Five-thousand, six hundred and seventy five, five thousand, six hundred and seventy six, five thousand six hundred and seventy seven..."

"No more! Stop...please."

The girl's frantic voice sounded threadbare and weak.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...all good children go to heaven. When they die, put them in a pie. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven!"

"Stop!"

Stillness. Black.

As the girl lay motionless, a wet cloth placed on her forehead took on the appearance of a veil. A shroud. Enveloping. Shielding. Preparing. A grave cloth?

"Count! Death child. Count!"

Like a timid fawn the girl tucked in her limbs and feigned sleep. As the girl drifted into oblivion, the voices started again.

"Awaken and hearken to my instruction!" The demon voice bellowed. "Heed not to sleep wretch!"

"Five-thousand, six hundred and seventy eight, five thousand, six hundred and seventy nine, five thousand six hundred and eighty..."

Like a beating wind, the dreaded voices came faster and urged the girl to count more; longer; louder; higher. The girl could not keep track. She did not know where to begin. She had no sense that her counting would...could ever end. Her voice faltered. Her mind - obfuscated.

"Take me, Jesus. Grace, mercy. Take me," the girl uttered. She no longer wanted to fight. She would give up to the merciless voices and succumb to their incessant battering. They would win.

Then, barely an audible whisper, she heard it. The Voice. It was different. Balm for the soul. Divine balm.

"Count with me my precious child..." came the sweet, loving words.

She reached up her tired arm in the direction of the tender voice. "Where do I begin?" she asked as she opened her eyes and felt a peace like she had not experienced for a very long time.

Start at the beginning - Alpha. Fullness of life. Journey with Me. It is finished - Omega.

The girl's fever had broken.

The Voice of Truth - by Janet Sketchley

Gentle instrumental music and soft lighting drew me into the massage therapy room, and I felt my muscles loosen slightly just because of the atmosphere. A book on a side table drew my eye: Listening.

Soothing title. I walked closer and read the subtitle: “How to increase your awareness of your inner guide.”

Suddenly I didn’t feel so relaxed. I climbed onto the massage table with the sense of being in dangerous territory, and began to pray.

Lord, thank You that I dwell in the shelter of the Most High, and the Spirit of the Most High dwells in me. I’m safe in Your presence.

The Spirit of the Most High dwells in me.... I guess in the language of generic spirituality, that means the Holy Spirit is my “inner guide.” And yes, I do need to learn how to hear Him better.

We have lots of voices that try to direct us, and most are anything but helpful. Selfish desires are bad enough, but we’ve let even worse things in. As the Lord has been teaching me to listen to Him, He’s been evicting the lies I’ve accepted, the fears that have grown bold and vocal.

Father, please continue to silence the voices that would lead us astray. Tune your children’s ears to hear Your still, small voice. You see the souls reaching out for some kind of spiritual contact, looking everywhere but at You, and You love them. In Your grace and mercy, please help them recognize who You are. Give them faith to believe in You.

© Janet Sketchley, 2009
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For devotionals, reviews and conversation, stop by Janet Sketchley's blog, God with Us: Finding Joy.