Abiding Notes is a simple collection of reflections and moments from the week—snapshots of life and faith in the middle of full days. My hope is that these small notes encourage you to pause, look to Christ, and keep abiding in Him with grace and hope.
1 Here, not there
Driving to an appointment this week, I passed bronzing cornfields and noticed puddles of water scattered across the ditches and bare patches of land. It’s hard to believe the fields can be so muddied up near this town, while at home they’re dry. Farmers here are stalled in their harvesting; at home, they press on. How the weather can shift so drastically within an hour’s drive is a mystery to me—especially when all you’re crossing is flat prairie land.
It reminded me that what’s happening in my small bubble is only one of a thousand things unfolding somewhere else. That realization makes me feel small. Yet, as Francis Schaeffer points out, “We must remember throughout our lives that in God’s sight there are no little people and no little places. Only one thing is important—to be consecrated persons in God’s place for us, at each moment.”
What I do in my small corner of the world—though I’m tempted to think it’s insignificant—is of kingdom importance. Each role I carry, each hat I wear, holds value for God’s glory and the good of others.
When I think about moving from here to there, I’m reminded of Jesus—how He finished preaching to the multitudes, then crossed the lake to meet a single, tormented man. Wherever He went, He brought peace, power, and mercy.
So whether we’re here or there—shifting between roles as parents, spouses, colleagues, or friends—we remain the salt of the earth and the light of the world. By God’s grace, may we fix our eyes on Him and run with perseverance.
“One who is faithful in a very little is also faithful in much.” — Luke 16:10
Lord Jesus give us the grace to live faithfully in little.
2 Grief hits at random times
On a Saturday morning they were going to sleep in, thrilled for a day without school.
She trudges down with her blanket, looking at me on the couch with teary eyes
“Mommy, I wanted to stay in bed longer, but I woke up and really missed Grandma, so I needed a hug.”
That’s my girl. Solving hurt with hugs and snuggles.
On a Sunday morning, celebrating my son’s baptism. Mom had purchased a baptism gift for him and it arrived the day after she passed. So we find ourselves sitting for the service, my son and one of his best buds sitting together to share their declaration of faith.
“Your grandmas are proud of you.”
Lord Jesus thank you for a faith passed down.
3 I will follow you wherever you go.
I love the determination of the man in Luke 9—the passion, the commitment. But had he truly counted the cost? To sacrifice everything for Christ.
I’ve had a small taste of what it means to give up for the Lord. We quit our jobs, sold our home and vehicles, and packed four bins to take across the ocean to a dusty village in the African bush. We missed my nephew’s birth, my grandfather’s passing, weddings. We came upon malaria and dengue fever, jiggers and botfly worms.
I’ve also seen what it costs new believers in another culture. When they are disowned by their families, stripped of social standing, and branded as outcasts. When hostility rises—sometimes even to the point of physical attack. In those moments, the temptation to doubt or despair claws at their hearts. Yet as we prayed and came alongside them, we watched the church become their new family, providing for their needs and strengthening their faith.
Counting the cost isn’t easy. But I wish we did it more often.
To truly consider what it means to live radically different as Christians—whether persevering through hardship or sacrificially supporting believers in need. As James reminds us, “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” (James 1:27)
Would I still follow Christ if I were left with nothing? Destitute like Job, or like David—fleeing from his city, his throne, and even his son’s affection. Would I long for Jesus like the woman begging for crumbs from His table, or the one who anointed His feet and wiped them with her hair?
Lord Jesus, help us count the cost and remember that You are enough.
4 Ask for wisdom
Suffering. Hardship. Complicated. Chaos.
The layers of heaviness lie thickly atop me, as though I’ve never taken off my weighted walking vest. They say the added weight is good for you, burns more calories, and increases core strength. But when it comes to the emotional weight, I’d rather just collapse and breathe again.
James teaches us—not if, but when we face trials—because the reality is, these moments will come. Yet he also urges us to ask for wisdom in the midst of them.
My prayers in suffering are often one-word groans of “Help.” But lately I’ve been wondering—how often do I actually ask for wisdom?
I pray for wisdom when making decisions, yes. But in the thickness of grief, it’s usually just my raised hand, pleading to be pulled out of the water. Still, in those desperate cries, I hear James’ gentle instruction: Ask for wisdom. And I realize how deeply I need it.
When the child we fought to save passes away.
When the teen I prayed for years ago takes their own life.
When my littles needs more tests and fear creeps in.
These are the moments when I need God’s wisdom most—to steady my heart, to see clearly when sorrow clouds my mind. He is the Shepherd who leads me through the blackness of the valley, guiding me step by step toward rest and refreshment.
And the wisdom He gives? It’s generous. He gives freely to those who ask.
And He does it without mocking.
My own voice can be harsh enough—quick to accuse, to whisper you should’ve known better, done better, been stronger.But His voice is kind. Generous. Patient.
It still amazes me that with such grace, He invites us to ask.
Lord Jesus, give us wisdom as our hearts wrestle with suffering.
5 The sickness
it was inevitable it would visit us. whatever this back-to-school bug has been, sore throat, fatigue, unsettled belly.
The kids navigated it like troopers. An off day and they were good. Well, since arriving in midlife these viral things hit me harder. During our bible study introductions we shared our favourite cold and flu remedies. Everything from classic NyQuil, to the only-for-the-brave Fire Jar, nettle pots, echinacea, herbs, vitamins, teas, and lastly, the tried-and-true method of sleep.
I realized I wasn’t quite ready for winter, but maybe now I’m a little more prepared.
Lord Jesus thank you for the health and strength to get through times of sickness.