A panoramic view from the top of Mt. Rubidoux today
(with a sneak peek of Kirkum)
Kirk and I hiked Mt. Rubidoux today. It's a small mountain in Riverside that I used to hike pretty frequently when I lived here a few years back, and I love it for its panoramic view of the region where I grew up and where my family still lives. I also love how many people hike it each day, bringing their families and dogs with them. There's a feeling of community here.
Our time in California has been filled with some unexpected events, and some of this has been quite difficult for us and the people we love here. I find myself asking God a lot, "Where are you in all of this?" I've been longing for a glimpse of his presence and power and compassion.
Sometimes I see it, and sometimes I don't.
I'm reminded of the recent growing edge I had of God's presence and agency at work even when I couldn't see it or when it didn't make sense. I said in my last post that this growing edge invites me to trust God even more.
I see once again, through the events of recent days, how lost I become when I try to understand things on my own.
And so the invitation is presented once again: will I trust God here?
I am making this, therefore, my prayer: God, I trust you with this. I trust that you are here. I trust that you're at work. I trust in your compassion and your power and your presence and your love. I trust in the descent of your surpassing and pervasive peace. I trust that you love us, and I thank you for that love. Thank you for what you are doing and will continue to do in this place. I love you. Amen.