When You Need Divine Intervention

One foot in front of the other. I leap over the one remaining stump on the property. And my muscles scream out in reluctance with each step. It’s been a while, a while since I’ve jogged. But I’ve been thrust into middle age, and I want to be the best middle-ager I can be.

Every cell hollers, “What are you doing to me?” as they jostle around. “We need divine intervention,” they cry.

Trying to lead, the sheep bump into me. They haven’t quite figured out the follow thing, and I stumble to regain ground. This middle-ager thing has my joints crying out, too. In the last month, my pain-free legs have turned achy and don’t pound the ground with steadiness like they used to. 

The neighbor’s donkey and goats stare at me as I pass, wanting me to stop. Eeyore’s silky soft nose calls to me. Thank goodness for the trees, hiding me from plain view.

I turn the corner, pass the swing, and almost jump out of this middle-ager skin. I stop abruptly. 

My daughter is sitting there, huffing and puffing. “I tried to catch up with you,” she says, struggling to speak between breaths. Inhaling deeply, she continues, “I called your name, but you didn’t stop.”

She’d taken the short-cut to catch up to me.

Tears sprang to my eyes.

I wrap her in my arms.

“I never want to miss your call.” 


Arm in arm, this middle-ager and teen-ager walk side by side. We break loose, proceeding to finish this walk, one foot in front of the other.

“Do you want to jog?” I ask.

She’s still huffing and puffing. “No.”

We laugh.

My mind is still whirling with the fact that she had needed me. She’d been calling out to me. I’d missed her. 

But she’d caught me.

And I thought of the One who never misses my call. That very morning, only moments before the jog, God had answered my call. Not just my call. I’d been working on an article that was stumping me, knocking me down. I couldn’t get the path, the plan. I had the information. But how can I make this the best it can be? How can I present this to glorify God? To honor the person it’s about? 


I slumped around the house all day yesterday. Sat at the computer and pieced together two stories, just a little different from the other. No good. “God, I need help.” This usually comes fairly easy to me. What am I doing wrong? What am I doing differently? Have I been trying to take the short-cut? But this? Ugh. “Help me, God.” 

I share the information with my family, in hopes to get pointed in the right direction. Nothing.

That’s it. Stop everything. 

I write for help. 

I’d covet your prayers for an article I’m working on. Sometimes it’s so easy, but sometimes, like now … it’s just hard. And I beg God to show me what He wants revealed from this precious person’s life.

Instantly, one person after another offers to pray. Prayed right on the spot. For me. For this article. 

Lord, give Shelli eyes to see what you see in this precious person, and words to let the rest of us in on the secret. Amen.Shirlee Abbott

I love your tender heart, dear Shelli.Wendy Macdonald

You need divine guidance. I’ll pray to that end.Norma Wieland

So many more. I went to bed, pulling the covers up under my chin, in perfect peace, knowing prayers were being lifted on my behalf. I thought of It’s a Wonderful Life, everyone praying for George Bailey. Peace. A smile broke out.

I woke up this morning with a plan. Didn’t do a single thing, but ran into my office and began typing away. The article came together, like always.

It is finished.

Tears sprang to my eyes. And my spirit clapped for God, clapped for His people for faith, His people of faith, for the chance at faith.

Where two or more are gathered. Yes.

He will be found.

We serve the One who answers the call.

Can you share a time when you needed intervention? 

17 thoughts on “When You Need Divine Intervention

  1. I understand. I know just how you feel. I was thrilled to read how your plan came together and then you could say, “It is finished.” Whew…. And I think taking walks clears our mind for God to move.

    Your photography just blows me away, Shelli.


  2. Thank you, Julie. I've always loved photography. Instagram is my choice of social media … just right up my alley. And though I have a Nikon, I love and prefer my husband's phone for pictures … well, it takes great pics and then his phone filters are amazing. My phone isn't that great. I use these filters: “calm,” “deep,” and then sometimes “riddle.” It's so fun. I love experimenting to see how the pics turn out.


  3. Just beautiful, Shelli, and I love the pictures!

    Intervention? Sure, I could use it now. I was responsible last week for the death of one of our dogs; I knew her enclosure had to be beefed up, but didn't do it, she got out, and now she's dead. Years before her time.

    There are no excuses behind which I can hide, and it has torn me up, badly. I don't want to write, or do anything. But there are duties..and one includes writing, in tracing this journey into self-loathing and unforgiveness in a way that it may help someone else.

    I know that God loves me and forgives me, but when I see my reflection in a mirror I want to throw something large and heavy at it.

    Got to turn this to good; not for me, but for others. Got to.

    So if you could pray along those lines I'd be grateful.



  4. Shelli, your post is beautifully poignant, and I adore the picture of you and Eeyore. You are tenderhearted like Kanga in Winnie the Pooh. I read your post over twice because I was so drawn to it. While reading it, a friend sent me a prayer request via e-mail, and then I realized I also had a request. It's a silent request, but I need patience and peace for a meeting I have this week. I don't want to allow any pain to poison my heart and attitude. May grace reign in me as I see it reign in your life, dear friend. xo
    Blessings ~ Wendy


  5. Andrew, I'm so sorry. I know exactly how you are feeling. I do. Do you remember when one of our sheep got killed? This was some year and a half ago …. We didn't keep them closed up at night. They were so good about going into the barn when it came evening. But one went out, and something ate it. I guess some type of cat … bobcat, mountain lion? It was a nightmare. We had to get another sheep because one can't survive alone. And now, we lock them up each night. Now … the guilt. This is what I do to feel a little better about it … I remember that other animals have to eat, too. God made them that way. And I remember that most herds, even many dogs, aren't locked up each night. They get injured and killed. I love animals, and it took me a while to come to terms with this. I didn't want to walk on the property at all. Every time I went to the trail, I thought about her and my guilt. I bear it better now, but it will always hurt. I am praying for you. Right now. You are a dear friend. You are enduring enough … don't endure the guilt, Andrew. God wouldn't want that … I know He wouldn't. You are so loved, brother.


  6. You read it twice. Aww. Thank you for telling me that. I need encouragement like … on a daily basis. 🙂 And I am praying for you right now … for your unspoken, silent request. For your meeting. No pain, no poison … all good. God-good. I love you. xoxo


  7. Shirlee, if you can get Missions Mosaic magazine, it'll be in the May 2017 issue. 🙂 It's put out by Woman's Missionary Union. Some churches provide them for their congregation. If not, you can order them on the WMU website. I actually have a short how-to article in the October issue this month … I haven't seen it yet. I'm waiting for my copy to come. 🙂


  8. When we humble ourselves and ask others to pray–and when those others drop everything and do that–revelation comes. Here's a time when I decided to pray myself and not ask others–because it was the middle of the night!

    A house mouse was caught behind the piano and stuck in the trap. I heard him whining to get out. I needed him to pass quickly, so I could sleep and take him out in the morning. This was early morning and I was not married yet. School the next day. Oh, I buried my head under my covers with my house dog Lexy. It didn't stop. Finally, I prayed, “Lord, take that mouse out of its misery, so I can get some sleep!” He did. In the morning, I took the yard stick, got him and trap out and threw him in the nearby field that was in my backyard. Silly thing, but God cares about all our worries and concerns.

    Another time, I remember it was Easter time–Good Friday. Home from school, a seemingly drug-induced mouse (who'd gotten into some poison my dad had put in the attic) was walking straight towards me. I panicked thinking something is wrong with him that he is not scampering away from me. He's rabid or drugged or something. I called both my parents as I stood on a chair and watching him roam about–he who was not scared of my screaming and yelling. Dad told me he was just drugged, and then he and Mom prayed on the phone with me.

    I don't remember what happened to him. Did he get caught in a trap later? Leave? I just remembering feeling foolish for praying about a mouse!

    We since found the spot near the plumbing where mice in like to get in, so that's not a problem anymore. There is elderly housing by me now too, so I'm not right by a field. Whenever the farmers worked the ground in the fall and spring, mice would end up in my house. I grew up on a farm and was used to mice in that way, but being single and alone and having to deal with them was a different story.

    Funny that mice stories come to mind when you posed the question.


  9. Melodie, you make me smile. I so understand that. We are so used to men taking care of the mice. It's hilarious how we can be so scared of something so tiny. But we are. That is so a prayer I'd offer up. And the poor thing in misery … I'd probably cry all night, but be too scared to go help it. Those are good farm stories! 🙂 You made my day.


  10. Beautiful, Shelli. Isn't the family of God amazing? I love that so many people prayed for you, and that God answered. No surprise there. He knew just what the article was to share. He just needed you to invite others in to the seeking Him out.

    And as for the middle-ager thing? Yeah, I should be doing WAY more than I am. And . . . I'll leave it at that.

    So thankful for your sweet testimony, friend!


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