Florida. When it’s mentioned, there are a lot of things that come to mind: beaches, gators, oranges, theme parks and crazy people. But did you know that we have vineyards here, too? I know! I’m a native and was unaware of that until the last 20 years or so.

Dan and I toured one of these vineyards, not quite knowing what to expect. We learned that there is a specific varietal of grape (the Muscadine) that absolutely loves our climate and soil content. It thrives here. The owner had attempted other varietals, but they just don’t do as well. They need another place. Another set of conditions to grow and bring forth the best fruit. A different style of trellising and training.

“Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” – Psalm 22:6

I wonder sometimes if, in trying to get the outcome that is most desirable, prestigious or award-winning for ourselves, we mishandle that verse. Like a vineyard owner trying to force a grape varietal to grow when it isn’t in its most suitable surroundings, do we impose the way we want to go onto our kids?

I have four very different people that were given to me by God to train up. They have familial similarities, of course; from their sonogram profiles, you could tell all of them were ours. But they are also their own people. On purpose. God has designed all four of them for unique missions in His Kingdom; they need to be different. Because of that, we needed to raise them differently.

That takes a lot of deliberate attention. There’s no “set it and forget it” about training up children. But if we understand that verse to say that we are to train up a child in the way that he individually should go in order to grow into the fullest maturity and most fruitful life that he can live, then we understand that attention to be worth our effort!

Like the vintner, we will get to know each one of the varietals that we are nurturing. We’ll pay attention to the nutrients in the soil that bring about the most abundant flowering as well as the weather conditions that cause wilting and rot. We’ll notice the depth of their color and the richness of their shine. We’ll make sure that the roots are well protected and run deep.

When we see fruit beginning to grow, we’ll be careful not to rush its maturity so that it will grow to the fullness of flavor. We’ll also not devalue it or neglect it so that it ends up rotting on the vine, stunting future harvests, stinking up the air, and becoming a decomposing heap instead of a celebrated accomplishment.

Like the vines of a vineyard, a child carefully nurtured to grow, mature, and bear the fruit for which God designed them becomes a valuable treasure to the one who has invested in that work. Whether they are destined to be dry, tangy, sweet, refreshing, or somewhat acidic and biting, each of your children is worth your effort to train up in the way that THEY should go. When you do that, they fulfill their purposes in the Kingdom of God.

If, however, you demand that a Muscadine be a Merlot or that a Chardonnay twist itself into a Syrah, it may give you some of the characteristics that you’ve forced upon it. Yet, it will never become that flourishing, healthy, beautiful and delightful thing that it could have been. And, given half the chance to stray off its harshly restricted training that has stunted its growth and changed its flavor, it will shoot wild runners off in every direction seeking relief from what it was never meant to be.
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Parents, I know the days of up at dawn and not down until midnight are hard. I know that the seemingly unending task of pruning and protecting your kiddos has your hands raw and your back sore. I know that the mental energy of paying attention to even the little nuances in their growth makes you want to just become a puddle in front of your screen of choice. Hang in there. Keep doing the hard work. I promise you that the vinedresser’s reward of seeing the fullness of maturity, individuality, and purpose exceeds the pain of the process. 

There are many places in the world where the spiritual darkness of humanity separated from God has been clearly displayed for generations. Here in the United States, we have largely managed to keep the direct opposition hidden; societal niceties, the luxury of enough wealth to keep up appearances, and a national structure that long at least acknowledged a Divine held things in check.

That façade is cracking, though. For decades, whispers of evil practices have circulated. As the days have passed, more and more of the hidden evil is being exposed and, in many cases, embraced.

How do we not despair? How do we overcome evil with good? As we always have: by employing the spiritual weapons of our warfare. The blood of the Lamb and the Word of our testimony.

I recently recounted a specific story of our testimony to friends and feel that it is appropriate to share it with you. May its telling embolden you and give you courage to walk into the dark places where God calls you to bring His light. He is with you. Even when you stumble into those dark places unwittingly.

The year was 1991. Dan and I had been married scant months and were living in El Paso, TX. The church we attended had purchased a cabin in Glorieta, New Mexico for retreats and such. Because it was wholly owned by the church, it was available for rental to church membership for a ridiculously low cost.

During the Fall, a 4-day weekend came up unexpectedly, and Dan and I rented the cabin. Loading up our 20lb cat, Dinky, and ourselves, we struck out toward New Mexico. This was in the days before cell phones and online web searches for area attractions, so along the way we thumbed through the AAA Guidebook for the area.

In one little town, we found a listing for an old mine and museum that looked interesting. Adding it to our itinerary of old ruins and interesting archaeological sites, we planned to check it out the next day.

There we were, late the following morning, enjoying breathtaking scenery new to us Florida kids. Weaving up through the mountains, we entered the little town, noting with a smile the picturesque little white clapboard church settled in the valley across the river from the Little League field.

Oh! Look at that beautifully painted mural! Wait…is that…an angel? With serpents twisted around its wings? Struggling as they anchor themselves to the landscape at the bottom of the scene and attempt to drag his luminescent body downward?

A little further into town, a shop with a huge purple pentagram painted on it.

Our Bible perched on the back shelf of our little hatchback, we paused for a moment to consider if we should bypass the museum. “NO!” We defiantly concluded, arrogant in our faith. “We walk in the power and authority of Jesus Christ! We’re not going to surrender our plans just because some people here clearly embrace evil.”

Arriving at the museum, pulling into the parking lot, we noticed an empty little restaurant across the street with picnic tables scattered about. Nice! A possible lunch spot after the museum! Until the residents of the house next to our parking lot began streaming out of the 2-story dwelling with massive, unsettlingly watchful eyes painted on either side of the attic window. Across the street they headed, looking at us and occupying every picnic table. There was no doubt that we were the object of their attention.

Did we reconsider and get back into our car? NO! Let the demons be put on notice that we aren’t afraid!

Heading up the stairs to the museum entrance, we breathed a prayer and stretched our hand out to open the door. Plastered to the door was a community flyer announcing the date and time of the Chaos Magic demonstration at the Little League field. Right across the river from that pretty little church. Pausing again, a quick glance at one another, a setting of the shoulders, a defiant uptick of the chin, and in we went. The enemy may have claimed this town with its consent, but he wasn’t gonna ruin our day out!

We thoroughly enjoyed perusing the museum’s railroad and mining history. We prayed often, as the spiritual climate was tangible. We finished our tour at our own pace, returned to our car, and watched in the rearview mirror as every person who had come out of the house returned to it as we drove away.

Y’all. It was not wisdom. Picking a fight with the enemy unnecessarily isn’t a thing I’d recommend. Yet, in our youth and arrogance, God protected. We literally stumbled upon the spiritual enemy’s encampment and came away unscathed. More amazing to me is that, in the spiritual, it was clear that the enemy knew who we were because of Who came with us. We were watched. We were taken note of. Little 20- and 19-year-old us. We weren’t messed with because the Spirit with us restrained the enemy on our behalf.

Many times over the years, we have looked at that day and found new lessons. His ever-Presence. His protection in our ignorance. His absolute authority. The clear demarcation of His followers to the enemy. The reality that battle will not be engaged unless He allows it and has gone before to make a way for you to endure it (we thought so much of our faith at the time, but we were NOT ready for battle of that magnitude; so He said "not now" and the demons listened).

As the darkness in our immediate surroundings becomes more tangible and open, let us not forget Who walks with us. In us. And through us to our communities. He has already claimed the victory. 

There is a good restlessness: a desire to get on with what you’re supposed to be doing. There is also a destructive restlessness: a discontent that looks around and sees all the things you want to change, all the resources that you think others have that you lack, all the tools you need “before I can do that thing I’m supposed to do.”

That second kind of restlessness is the one that the enemy of our souls continually invites us to. He offers us thoughts to feed our insecurities, building our small view of ourselves into a mountain that must be moved before we can move forward.

We stand there and contemplate that immovable obstacle. We enlist strategists to come up with the most effective mountain-removal schemes. We investigate alternate routes around the mountain.

We keep trying to work with our own understanding. It keeps us standing there.

The entire time, the God Who set us on this path in the first place is asking us to look at what we have in our hands; to discover the tiny little grain of faith that He has gifted us there. Gently, He encourages us to hold that little seed in front of our eyes, not comparing its diminutive size to the immensity before us, but rather to recognize that it is the gift He has given us to work with.

Will we choose to trust His gift’s sufficiency and walk forward in faith or will we continue to demand to stand still until we wrap our understanding around the best way forward?

It’s a choice that we must make a thousand times a day. My understanding or His gift? Which one will I call trustworthy?

Scripture tells us that even the tiniest bit of faith – gifted by God and TRUSTED by us – can remove mountains. We are promised that the God who sets us on a path will make that path straight before us AS WE WALK IT.

Maybe it’s time that we quit demanding that we understand, abandon the wisdom of our own thoughts and perceptions, and test God to see if He is telling us the truth. If we just obey Him, act as though grains of faith are mountain-busters, and take a step forward on what appears to be a blocked path… would we see the cracks and crevices appear in that solid mass? Would our faith, demonstrated by our action, bring about the clearing in front of us that no amount of reasoning will accomplish?

If the Bible is to be considered a reliable source, we must assume that is exactly what would happen. The testimonies are plentiful of God taking what his faithful ones thought was insufficient and showing them that when He was in it, it was exceedingly and abundantly more than enough.
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So. What’s the step you’ll take in obedience and trust today? Do you even have a tiny glimmer of the testimony that taking it will bring? Is there a spark of curiosity, adventure, and expectation in you that will spur you to just go ahead and do it? 

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite things to do with my dad was fishing. It helped that we frequently went to my favorite library in the same trip (I’m a born bookworm – slash – mermaid, so a library that sits on the banks of a river? No better place on earth.)

The area of town that we lived in was called Eau Gallie – “Rocky Water.” Our river’s edge was piled with jagged rocks that I loved to use as steppingstones, precariously balancing and occasionally “accidentally” winding up in the water.

One memorable day, Dad and I, along with my mom and brother, went out along the riverside to fish. I was maybe six or seven years old; young enough that I needed help baiting my hook but old enough to be left holding the fishing pole independently.

There I sat, only half expecting anything to take the bait. My joy was in sitting at the water’s edge, listening to the swoosh of the water up into the rock, watching for pelicans and dolphin, being with family. Catching anything was a bonus.

Suddenly, the line went taut and the fishing pole jumped in my inattentive hands. Grasping it excitedly, I began to reel it in. I’d caught something! Catfish? Rainbow Trout?

Nope. Rock fish.

I didn’t know such a thing existed. I knew the shining sparkle of a mullet jumping. I was familiar with the long whiskers and premium fry-ability of the catfish. This writhing thing at the end of my line, dorsal fin looking like a razor blade, teeth bared, and looking severely annoyed with the situation was a sight for which I was completely unprepared. I was a little frightened. Then became more-so when my parents quickly told me NOT TO TOUCH IT.
What in the world had I reeled in??

Dad gently took the line out of my hands. Skillfully, he grasped the underbelly of the rock fish, knowing full well that if he grabbed it slightly amiss, he’d be dealing with severe lacerations or a nasty bite. Calmly talking me through his procedure, not only the what’s but the why’s (my dad knows his daughter!), he pried the hook out of the treacherous thing’s mouth and set it free back in the rocky waters from which I had plucked it so unceremoniously.  

Looking back, I see how my Dad not only gave me freedom to hold the fishing rod and try my hand, but also stood ready to recognize when the situation became too risky for me to handle alone and stepped in with his far superior knowledge and skill.

Our Heavenly Father is like that. He teaches us lessons. Gives us room to practice. Steps back a little bit to let us try it out and see if we can stand in it yet. But He never walks away. Never turns His attention to something else so that He misses it when we get in over our heads. Never watches an angry, dangerous influence wind up in our lives and nonchalantly watches us get sliced up by it.

He calls out a warning. Steps in to help us handle it. Takes it out of our hands and holds the risk in His own if we will let him. All the while, He calmly teaches us as we watch Him handle the situation so that we come away with more than just a frightening story; we come away with added wisdom.
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Next time you’re out there fishing with your Heavenly Father, remember: you may be holding the fishing rod, but you’re also holding His gaze. 

The news calls out “Look over here!”

Social media demands “Hey! Something new happened in the last 10 minutes!”

People I WANT to pay attention to call. Text. Email. Speak in the same room. Cross my mind.

My own mind throws up twenty different thoughts from different aspects of life at a time. Housework. Business priorities. Projects started…or that need to be. Recreation ideas. Creative endeavors.

How often I need to remind myself that when the demands get too loud, when the world seems too crazy, I don’t have to be caught up in all of the noise and whirlwind.

I can run into the presence of God.

I can pour out my distractedness, despair, and overwhelm.

I can receive the help of those He sends to offer me nourishment and rest.

I can accept His assessment that the “journey is too great for you.”

I can look out from my sheltered place on the howling windstorms, the crumbling mountains, the raging fires around me…and I can recognize that if I am to hear Him quiet the tumult, looking at those things isn’t helpful. He’s not in them.

I can tip my head to the side, strain my ear, and hear the low whisper of God as He reassures me that I am seen. That I am not alone. That He has a clear, simple task for me if I will but get to the place of stillness to hear His instructions.

The same God who met Elijah in his cave will meet me in mine. [I Kings 19] He’ll let me stay there long enough to restore my strength. Then He’ll direct me forward once more.
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Renewed. Reminded. Assured of His presence. Even when the other stuff is louder.