The God of All Comfort
By: Kristy Horine
The least one tugged on my sleeve.
“Momma,” she stage whispered. “I want some more ranch dressing.”
“Sadie,” I stage whispered back. “Go get some.”
She turned her head slowly and gazed at the bowl of ranch dressing at the very end of the now empty buffet line. She deep sighed and then slow-swiveled her head to look back at me.
“I don’t want to go alone.”
Now, she only has one decade under her belt. I have five. Five decades of walking through the buffet lines of life.
I looked deep into her mournful little eyes and I got it. I laid my napkin on the table beside my plate and held out my hand to her.
“How about we go together?”
Relief washed over her, releasing all the tensed-up parts of longing and fear. She slipped her hand in mine.
“Thank you, Mommy.”
I could have refused. I could have finished my beef tips and mashed potatoes and needs-some-salt green beans in relative peace. I could have eaten my salad that I dressed with the appropriate amount of dressing. I could have forced my youngun to trudge to the ranch dressing bowl on her own under threat of discipline. I could have made her eat a poorly dressed salad.
Yet, I didn’t do any of those things.
Why?
Because I knew her longing. I knew her fear. I knew what it was like to feel all alone in a great, big world.
But most importantly, I knew what it was like to be helped.
Second Corinthians 1:3-4 in the King James Version reads: “Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort: who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.”
“Momma,” she stage whispered. “I want some more ranch dressing.”
“Sadie,” I stage whispered back. “Go get some.”
She turned her head slowly and gazed at the bowl of ranch dressing at the very end of the now empty buffet line. She deep sighed and then slow-swiveled her head to look back at me.
“I don’t want to go alone.”
Now, she only has one decade under her belt. I have five. Five decades of walking through the buffet lines of life.
I looked deep into her mournful little eyes and I got it. I laid my napkin on the table beside my plate and held out my hand to her.
“How about we go together?”
Relief washed over her, releasing all the tensed-up parts of longing and fear. She slipped her hand in mine.
“Thank you, Mommy.”
I could have refused. I could have finished my beef tips and mashed potatoes and needs-some-salt green beans in relative peace. I could have eaten my salad that I dressed with the appropriate amount of dressing. I could have forced my youngun to trudge to the ranch dressing bowl on her own under threat of discipline. I could have made her eat a poorly dressed salad.
Yet, I didn’t do any of those things.
Why?
Because I knew her longing. I knew her fear. I knew what it was like to feel all alone in a great, big world.
But most importantly, I knew what it was like to be helped.
Second Corinthians 1:3-4 in the King James Version reads: “Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort: who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.”
There once was a time in my life when the sin of another had splattered me and my children, leaving acid-like burns on our hearts, in our minds, and – yes – even on our bodies. I was engulfed in the darkness of despair. The Father of mercies sent me a friend named Suzanne who had lived an eerily similar story.
“You don’t have to have it all figured out,” she said. “Just do the next right thing.”
God helped Suzanne. Suzanne helped me. We both survived, and God faithfully restored and redeemed the years the locusts ate.
She couldn’t walk my path for me, but she did walk it with me, just like I walked with Sadie to the ranch dressing bowl.
Just like you can walk your words into stories that folks need to hear just to get through all those tribulations and troubles.
“You don’t have to have it all figured out,” she said. “Just do the next right thing.”
God helped Suzanne. Suzanne helped me. We both survived, and God faithfully restored and redeemed the years the locusts ate.
She couldn’t walk my path for me, but she did walk it with me, just like I walked with Sadie to the ranch dressing bowl.
Just like you can walk your words into stories that folks need to hear just to get through all those tribulations and troubles.
Beloved writers, when has God comforted you?
When has God given you courage in the face of fear?
When has God applied a salve to your wounds and eased your pain?
When has God delivered you from bondage, a furnace, doubt, depression? What about sloth, indecision, sin?
When has God given you courage in the face of fear?
When has God applied a salve to your wounds and eased your pain?
When has God delivered you from bondage, a furnace, doubt, depression? What about sloth, indecision, sin?
That, my friend, is why you write. You know what others need to know.
Go forth, and comfort.
What is your writing why? Share your story or a scripture that guides you in the comments below.
If you want to establish your writing why, or connect with other Christian writers, consider attending the Kentucky Christian Writers Conference in October.
And I have a new website: www.kristyhorine.com
It’s a REAL one 🙂
In Faith,
Kristy
Oh, Kristy, I love your simple stories and how you connect them to God’s Word. He has indeed walked me through many trials. Thank you for the reminder.
You have shown me time and again reasons to write for our Lord, Tracy. He is so faithful and good. Thanks for reading💛. By the way, why do you write? Or what is your favorite verse that helps to keep you writing?
Thank you for your powerful words of encouragement, Kristy.