In the years after my first husband took his life, I began to heal.
Good days were still coupled with days when I just wanted to cry. And sometimes a good, snot-making cry seemed to help.
I tried to hide my tears from my boys, but sometimes their sweet little hugs would bring on more tears than I could fight back.
On more than one occasion, Ben seemed to pick up on my sadness or my grumpy moods. He would look up at me, and with the most serious of concerned little boy voices, ask me, “Mommy, what wrong? You not do your Bible study today?”
God would use those perceptive little words to point me back to truth. It was not a rigid, religious exercise of reading the Bible that brought me hope. No, it was repeatedly running to the One who loved me perfectly and Who would encourage me over and over as I sought Him through His Word.
No more than the Israelites could store up the manna in the wilderness, could I store up enough encouragement for a whole week from a Sunday sermon. I had to hear from the Lord daily.
I needed to gather in truth I could stand on, truth I could walk in and truth to keep me putting one foot in front of the other.
Every day I needed Him. Every day I need Him still.
So, here I sit almost 26 years later, with my Bible in my hand seeking the comfort, direction and hope from His Word. It is completely true, I need God no less now than I did then.
I bet you need Him as well.
Oh friend, let’s open the Word, let’s keep encouraging each other with the truth there! We all need it. Always!