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Category: Devotional

Wrestling with Waiting

Posted on January 28, 2026January 29, 2026 by Pamela McMilian

“Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him”  Psalm 37:7a (ESV)

My dog has developed a curious habit based on faulty assumptions.

Being a well-trained pet owner, I respond to her cues dutifully. Her whining and twirling antics as my feet touch the bedroom floor each morning mean she needs outside – urgently! I hurry to open the kitchen door, watching as she runs down the deck stairs into the backyard.

Soon she reappears, thumping the door with her front paws or giving a quick bark. I understand she’s anxious to get inside for her breakfast. I promptly open the door and fill her little bowls with fresh food and water.

She watches, sitting just outside her dining room (aka the laundry room) until I place her dishes back in their stand and say, “okay.” Charging to her bowls like a racehorse from the starting gate, her tail wags her body as she wolfs down her morning meal.

Following breakfast, it’s time for treats. She backs up and stays and I toss her a tiny treat. She crawls and I toss her another. She sits up, shakes hands, high-fives, and rolls over and I dispense a treat after each trick. Her grand finale, playing dead, ends when I release her with the word “okay.” She springs to her feet and I launch a tiny shower of celebratory treats. After sniffing the floor to ensure she hasn’t missed one, she curls into her little pillow and rests from the demands of running me through the morning routine.

Lately, however, she doesn’t rest long. She has incorrectly concluded life with me is a series of if/then transactions and she’s in charge. If she gives a cue, then I’ll respond appropriately. She’s recently begun testing her hypothesis by repeating the steps that, in dog logic at least, should result in me serving her a second breakfast. If she tells me she needs to go outside (now skipping the part where she actually runs down the steps into the yard; after all, it is just a drill) and asks to be let back in, then I should once again fill her food dish.

Her happy, expectant demeanor quickly shifts to dejected disappointment when she discovers I’ve failed to respond and the food bowl remains empty. Sadly, since she gains weight easily, her food dish won’t be refilled until 5pm, regardless of the repeated attempts to sway me. She doesn’t understand my lack of immediate action is because I care about her. It is because I love her that I don’t respond each time she wants to be fed. Waiting isn’t her strong suit.

The same can be true of us. We’re often certain we know what we want or need and get our relationship with God a little backwards. Have you ever in prayer, found yourself telling God (or strongly suggesting) what needs to happen and when? Waiting doesn’t come naturally to us, either. That’s when we need to set aside our faulty assumptions and shift our focus to the truths of God’s character. As we remember his great love for us and place our trust in his sovereignty, we find patience is the remarkable by-product, a fruit of the Spirit. As Psalm 37 reminds us, it is by anchoring ourselves in the knowledge that his will and timing are always perfect, that we can rest in the Lord and wait patiently for him.

Prayer: Lord, thank you that you are an omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent God. You know my needs and concerns even before I ask. Thank you that I can trust fully in your faithfulness and love. Help me walk in patience and wisdom, Lord, knowing your timing is perfect. Amen

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A Grandmother’s Influence

Posted on July 29, 2025August 19, 2025 by Pamela McMilian

“Even when I am old and gray… I will declare your power to the next generation.” Psalm 71:18 ESV

As a child, I thought of my grandmothers as exact opposites.

One lived a few blocks off Main Street in a small town, in a small white duplex with a small patch of grass between her apartment’s front porch and the sidewalk. That was Grandma Burks, who somehow always seemed a little frail and needy to me, even as a kid. While not exactly stern, I didn’t trust her smile and found no evidence of even one fun bone in her thin body.

There were lots of rules at her house. Don’t let the front porch swing hit the railing or the house. This meant you could swing about six inches forward and back without being scolded. Stay out of the alley. Be quiet. And, for the love of Pete, do not sit on the bed. If you really wanted to endear yourself to her, you’d find a way to make yourself useful. I generally chose not to endear myself.

Her apartment was meticulously clean. The sparkling bathroom bore the odd scent of cigarette smoke and Dove soap. Every room was tidy. Nothing was out of place. She had the uncanny knack of making any solid surface in her domain shine. It either bore a fresh coat of paint or was polished to mirror-like perfection. Nothing was dusty, smudged, or dull. And heaven help the kid who left fingerprints on something. During our weekend family fly-bys, she always prepared a nice little lunch for us that typically included fried chicken and homemade chocolate pie. I learned to wait at Grandma Burk’s house. Wait for instructions. Wait to eat. Wait to leave.

Worth the wait.

Leaving was jubilant because it meant we were about to make the forty-five-mile drive to spend the night in a new world, Grandma Mac’s house. She lived outside of a small town on acreage. She was sturdy, loud and hardly concerned with cleanliness. The dead cockroach permanently entombed behind the clear cover of her kitchen stove’s clock throughout my childhood was proof. That, and years of hearing the aunts whispering reminders to “check for mice pills in the cups” before pouring their morning coffee.

The smell of Grandma Mac’s farm shifted depending on the breeze and where you were. If it were a perfume, I’d say the fragrance had the rich warm tones of bacon grease, homemade biscuits, and hot cocoa with low notes of soured chicken feed, cow manure and the outhouse… it was all there. You got used to it.

Her home was often noisy, filled with the laughter of aunts and uncles visiting with their families at the same time. It was a place of freedom and exploration where I could search for terrapins in the pasture, holding them hostage in a shoebox until time to leave. Or, exploring the woods and lime quarry deep within it, where blue-tailed skinks darted into crevices evading capture and life in the shoebox. Sometimes I’d tiptoe out the squeaky kitchen screen door behind Grandma before anyone else awoke to watch her scoop grain from the bulging gunnysacks in the smoke house. Then following her through the ankle high wet morning grass I’d stand near as she scattered it to the chickens in the yard before going back inside to start breakfast.

I don’t recall any lengthy or meaningful conversations with either of my grandmothers. Frankly, I don’t think either ever really talked with me when I was a child. I was mostly an observer, a tag-along, another kid at the table when we visited their homes. Neither were affectionate. Neither set out to inform my opinions or to intentionally teach me anything. Yet, they did. They each helped shape my childhood and my life. Because that’s what grandmothers do.

In fact, that’s what grandmothers have always done. They leave an impact, an impression – good, bad, or indifferent.

Especially blessed are the families whose grandmothers are aware of their great influence, who intentionally leave a spiritual legacy, ensuring their grandchildren know the life-altering love of Jesus and his Word.

Prayer: Father, thank you for the gift of grandchildren and the privilege of influencing their lives. Guide me in my time with them and in my prayers for them that they will grow to love and know you as their Savior. Amen.

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Listen Up, Sheep

Posted on February 8, 2024February 24, 2024 by Pamela McMilian

It’s not often the house or my mind is this quiet. Frequently the TV is on, a conversation is taking place, I’m reading something or immersed in some nonsense on my phone. This morning, the house is totally quiet. There is a noticeable absence of sound.

The palpable quiet reminds me of the instruction in Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.”   I open the Word to John 10:2-4 and it seems to underscore the importance of stillness and listening:

“But he who enters by the door is the shepherd of the sheep. To him the gatekeeper opens. The sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes before them and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice.”

I think of the many times, even without a computer, phone or TV going, I’ve finished my daily Bible reading but haven’t truly engaged with the Father. The ticking of an internal clock and a perceived urgency to get on with the day distracts me and I cut short the opportunity to hear from the Lord. Sadly, I realize I’ve become far too accustomed to rush, to noise, to busyness. In fact, it is abnormal when I feel the absence of it!

It’s in this silence I hear my heart ask a question. Could there be anything more foolish than saying you love a God who desires a relationship with you, who fills you with His Spirit to guide you, convict you of sin, comfort and teach you, and yet not stop to listen for Him?

Prayer:  Father, thank you for your unfathomable, steadfast love. Teach my heart that you own time. It is not my master; You are time’s master and mine. Teach me to seek and embrace the stillness where you meet me. Help me discern your voice and in joyful surrender, follow you daily. In Jesus name, Amen.

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