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Practice the Presence That Protects the Promise


A reflection of Psalm 91

There are days when the world feels too loud for jokes.


The headlines carry war, division, fear, and the slow erosion of freedoms we once assumed were permanent. The ground feels less steady. The future feels less certain.

And the little clown in me—the one who usually believes laughter can soften almost anything—finds herself mourning.


Not because hope is gone.
But because peace matters too much to pretend this doesn’t hurt.


Psalm 91 doesn’t ask us to deny danger. It invites us to dwell.
“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.” (Psalm 91:1)


Protection, here, is not earned.
It is not performed.
It is not proven by volume, certainty, or strength.
It is positional.
To dwell is to stay.
To remain.
To practice presence when the world feels unrecognizable.


This is protection without performance.
Not faith that shouts.
Not hope that rushes to fix.
Not peace that pretends everything is fine.
Just presence—steady, near, covering.


The promise of Psalm 91 is not that trouble will disappear, but that God does not. The shadow does not move. The refuge does not close. The shelter does not require us to be unafraid—only willing to come close.


So today, the clown in me removes her red shoes.
She sits on holy ground—
trusting the same God who once said, “Stay.”
Trusting that what marks the door also guards the dwelling.
She mourns for peace honestly.
And still—quietly—she dwells in hope.


Today’s practice is simple:
not fixing, not proving, not performing—
just dwelling in His Presence.

—-
God of refuge and nearness,
When the world feels unstable and peace feels fragile, help me to dwell rather than strive. Teach me to trust Your presence more than my ability to understand what is happening around me.
Let Your covering be enough today.
Amen.


With Love And A Multitude Of Prayers,
Chelle

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Before Coffee,  Before Control

This wasn’t a quiet, reflective night moment.
This was a stressed 3 a.m. morning, when sleep clocks out early and your brain clocks in loud — with opinions.

I wasn’t trying to hear from God.
I was trying to finish a work  email before coffee, which already tells you I was operating without full emotional supervision.

I kept shortening it.
Not because I didn’t know what I wanted to say — but because I know my boss. I know there may still be a meeting. I know she’ll ultimately direct and take charge. So I trimmed. Simplified. Took out the pre-explaining and the imaginary rebuttals. I said what needed to be said and stopped trying to manage the outcome.

And somewhere between rereading sentences and realizing I was too tired to argue with myself, it landed:

This is exactly how we treat God.

We make plans — good ones — and then we hover.
We explain too much.
We brace for redirection.
We add footnotes to obedience.

Not because we don’t trust Him —
but because we really like being on the steering committee.

Meanwhile, God has already given us the playback in His Word.

He’s already shown us how authority works.
How obedience works.
How trust works.

We do our part.
We speak honestly.
We move wisely.
And then we let go — preferably before caffeine convinces us we should take over.

“In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.” – Proverbs 16:9

Not might.
Not if He agrees.
He does.

This morning reminded me that obedience isn’t about directing God — it’s about participating with Him. Doing what’s mine to do without trying to edit the ending.

I don’t need to manage God the way I manage emails.
I don’t need to anticipate His response.
And I definitely don’t need to rewrite His plan before coffee.

Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is hit send, make the coffee, and trust God with the meeting that follows.

Prayer
Lord, help me do my part without trying to control Yours. Teach me to trust You with the outcome, even before the coffee kicks in.
Order my steps, steady my heart, and remind me that You’re already ahead of me.
Amen.

Love, Chelle