Last night an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I serve stood beside me and said, “Do not be afraid, Paul. You must stand trial before Caesar; and God has graciously given you the lives of all who sail with you.” Acts 27:13-44
The apostle Paul was a passionate man whose life was changed radically. He who had been the primary persecutor of the new Christians was struck blind on the Damascus Road as God revealed himself through Jesus. After his conversion, Paul gave up his prestigious Jewish career and lived no-holds-barred for God. Our reading comes when he is a prisoner for his beliefs and is being transported to Rome to appear before Caesar.
The pilot and sailors must have regarded their cargo – the prisoners – as a nuisance. They continued in their own course along the water, even though Paul warned them to stop and harbor over the winter. Sure enough, they find themselves caught in hurricane-force winds. Battered for days and worried about food supplies, they must have started to give up hope. Just then Paul speaks up, sharing a word from God that he received through a dream. He conveys hope amid the fears.
I love how matter-of-fact Paul seems when he shares his dream. He can’t resist pointing out that they should have listened to him in the first place, but that God will graciously rescue all of them. His faith is strong enough to bring calm during a raging storm, for he has put his trust in the triune God.
What storms are you facing, or those close to you? What squalls rage in the world, with nation poised against nation and many peoples facing abject poverty? As we consider the good news of Jesus coming into our world, may we commit to praying and believing that God can calm the storm. And then may we act on what we discern the Lord would have us do, for we are his agents of peace and hope in a hurting world.
For reflection and prayer: “May the peace of the Lord Christ go with you, wherever he may send you. May he guide you through the wilderness, protect you through the storm” (Celtic Daily Prayer)
What a joy to welcome Philippa Linton to the “There’s No Place Like Home” series today. We worked together at HarperCollins at the turn of the millennium, and lost touch with each other until last year’s Woman Alive/BRF women’s day in Woking where I was speaking. What a delight when up walked Philippa – the years disappeared and in a flash I was transported back to our lunches in the canteen and trying to figure out if we could sell any of the rights to our books to foreign publishers. Her contribution today is poignant and moving, as she acknowledges life’s shadows.
My childhood home was a suburban, Victorian house with a large, beautiful garden and a menagerie of various animals including an excitable border collie, an imperious ginger cat and a rabble of cute guinea pigs. (The imperious ginger cat also liked to visit various other homes along our street, much to our amusement.) I had a happy family. Home was safe and secure: it was also a place where I could shut out the rest of the world.
A favourite beauty spot near home, Emmetts Garden in Kent.
During my final year at university, a post-graduate acquaintance invited me and a small group of friends to take part in a set of informal psychological exercises. In one of these exercises we had to draw a house, which if I remember rightly, was meant to symbolise our childhood. We weren’t supposed to think too long about this, simply go with our instincts and put down on paper the first impression that came into our heads. It was meant to be fun, but with a purpose: our artistic self-expression would reveal deep and meaningful things about our inner lives. I drew an eerie, desolate house with shuttered windows on a moonlit night.
The friend who had set us the task peered at my picture. ‘Hmm’, he said, ‘there’s a mystery to you!’
It was an odd image for someone who came from a loving, stable background and who still loved her family home, but I didn’t see anything sinister in it. I think that drawing reflected some subconscious ambivalence about my childhood, about the insecurities and shadows that fall across even the happiest childhoods.
Geraniums on my mother’s window sill.
My shadow was my adoption: much as I loved my family, I would sometimes wonder, ‘who am I and where do these genes come from?’ Yet at the same time I’ve always celebrated being adopted, a ‘chosen child’. For me that mixture of positivity and darkness, that dance of sunlight and shadow, is part of my adoption story and indeed an essential part of life. When I hit my mid-thirties, I decided to trace my birth mother and it turned out to be one of the best decisions I ever made. Consequently I gained a family in Northern Ireland, in addition to my large adoptive family in England.
The concept of ‘home’ is less a location for me than it is a feeling, a place where you are completely accepted, where you can relax, kick off your shoes, and be yourself. The current place where I live is like that. Four years ago the tragic death of a close housemate prompted my decision to leave the house where I’d been a co-tenant for 26 years. Obviously I couldn’t afford the rent on my own, but I didn’t have the emotional capacity to advertise for a replacement either: I was grieving the loss of my friend and my heart wasn’t in it. Enter a married couple from my church who offered me a room in their house as their lodger. This financial arrangement was a God-send, given that the private rents in my area have almost doubled in the past few years. My friends’ kind offer and hospitality was timely: by that point, I was more than ready to leave that house, I had already let go, emotionally.
At Mount Stewart gardens in Northern Ireland.
The New Testament describes the people of God as ‘sojourners and exiles’ (1 Peter 2:11). The spiritual life is often about pushing forward to new horizons and adventures, and not making ourselves too comfortable in worldly systems. Besides, life throws curve-balls: we all have to face change and loss, it’s part and parcel of our pilgrimage on this earth.
I am blessed to have a home: I may not own it, but I have an emotional stake in it, and I have a roof over my head, a warm, comfy bed to sleep in and a garden to relax in. Best of all, I have friends and companions to share the ups and downs of life with.
All of us long for security. All of us long to come home, whatever form and shape ‘home’ may take. Jesus said: “There is plenty of room for you in my Father’s home. If that weren’t so, would I have told you that I’m on my way to get a room ready for you? And if I’m on my way to get your room ready, I’ll come back and get you so you can live where I live.” (John 14: 2-3, The Message)
There is a place for us. We all matter, and there is a place for us.
Philippa’s day job is working for the education & learning department at the United Reformed Church in London. She is also a Reader (lay minister) in the Church of England. She likes J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, early 20th century feminism, and cats.
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. John 14:1-27
I love this part of the Bible. It’s called Jesus’ Final Discourse, because he and the disciples have eaten their last supper together and Judas has gone off to plan his betrayal. Soon Jesus and his friends will make their way to the Mount of Olives, where the soldiers and officers will arrest him. The setting and timing makes Jesus’ words all the more important.
The disciples have just learned that Jesus is going to die, and of course they react with fear and trepidation. But Jesus reassures them, telling them not to be afraid. Then he shares with them a great truth of the Christian faith, the dance between the three members of God (the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit) and us, his children. Jesus says, “I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you.” And that he is sending the Spirit, the Advocate of truth, to be with us forever.
What does this mean for us, that the Trinity dwells in each other and in us? It’s a great mystery, to be sure, but has practical implications. For one, we are never alone. Jesus lives within, and we can just pause and practice his presence, to quote the phrase from Brother Lawrence of centuries ago. As we are quiet, we can call to mind the fact that God has descended not only to earth as the man Jesus, but that he dwells in us when we have welcomed him in. He can quicken our thoughts; bring to mind someone who is hurting for whom we can pray and reach out to; bring comfort and peace… the list is endless. No longer are we alone.
May the peace of Christ surround us this day.
For reflection: “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:7).
I love this section of the Bible so much that I have written a month of daily notes on John 14 to 17 for Inspiring Women Every Day. Look for it in September!
It’s an honor to invite Cindy to the blog today, especially because she’s a reader who got in touch after reading Finding Myself in Britain. She could relate to the theme of finding and making a home, as you’ll see below. She asks in her post the profound question: Can we ever really go home?
“There’s no place like home.” I agree with those iconic words spoken by Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, but where is home and can we ever go back? I never gave the notion much thought until I experienced “going back home” first hand.
Twelve years ago, my husband was fortunate to be offered the choice of two different positions with his company; one was in Manchester, England, and the other in Pennsylvania. Although I knew these were wonderful opportunities for our family, I was apprehensive about moving, especially overseas. I had never lived anywhere outside of New York, where I had grown up, and Michigan, where I was living at the time, and hardly ever traveled abroad. I had the normal concerns. How would the move affect my children? Would we fit in and be accepted in a new city or new culture?
At the time, my step-father was battling stage 4 stomach cancer and moving to Pennsylvania would have put us closer to our family in New York where I could visit and help with his care. But I knew how much my husband wanted to work overseas. He understood my dilemma and left the final decision to me. On a visit to New York I spoke with my parents and they both agreed that we should make the decision based on what we wanted and not to let my step-father’s illness make the decision for us. In fact, my parents urged us to accept the position in England.
On our long car ride back home to Michigan, after that New York visit, I put my head in my lap and asked God to give me a sign to help me make this difficult decision. I prayed for a bit and as I lifted my head from my lap and looked out the car window a truck was passing by. On the side of that truck in huge bold letters was the word ENGLAND. As silly as it may seem I took that as my sign from God and we made the decision to accept the position in England.
Me and my family on a trip to London.
As it turned out my step-father passed away three months later on the day we were flying to England to search for a home and school for our children. I will never know if he knew he wouldn’t be around much longer and he didn’t want us to miss out on this great opportunity, but I felt a huge relief that I had made the right decision.
All of my fears about living in England were for naught. I felt oddly at home living there. My children were warmly welcomed at their school and made some great friends. I also made great friendships with four British women that I am still in touch with ten years later.
After two very short years living in England, my husband was transferred back to the States, and I didn’t want to move back. I was enjoying submerging myself in a new culture and hoping to deepen my new friendships. The only thing that brought me comfort was the fact that we were moving back home. Back to the same town in Michigan that we came from. Everything would be familiar and I would be with my good friends once again.
On a ramble with my children, Melissa and Patrick, in the Lake District.
And this is when the question, can we go back home, was answered for me. I had had these amazing experiences I was excited to share but my friends weren’t excited to hear about them. They couldn’t relate to my stories or to me because they hadn’t had the same experiences. What I didn’t realize was that over the course of two short years everyone I knew in Michigan had moved on with their lives. I was no longer a part of things and we couldn’t just pick up where we left off. I tried to re-establish old relationships but didn’t feel accepted and didn’t understand why. These were friends who cried when they found out I was moving to England, so why weren’t they excited that I was back? I fell into a deep depression and finally I realized I had to move on as well. I needed to establish new friendships and stop trying to regain old friendships.
Eileen, Kathryn, me and Doranne on a visit back to England – my wonderful British friends.
While reading Amy’s book, Finding Myself in Britain, I came across a quote from Karl Dahlfred that made me think hard and realize that maybe my former friends weren’t the only ones that had changed. Maybe living overseas had changed me as well. I couldn’t place all the blame on them. Maybe I couldn’t relate to them any more than they could relate to me.
Over the years since we have returned I have established new friendships and rarely tell stories about life overseas anymore. I’ve come to realize that home isn’t a country, city, or neighborhood. It’s not a physical place or even being around former friends. Home is where you are surrounded by those you feel most comfortable with at any given time no matter where you are. Now I feel a sense of being “at home” when I am with my family, current friends, or when I have the fortunate opportunity to visit my friends in England.
Dorothy was right: There is no place like home. You just have to know where to find it.
Cindy Galiziowas born and raised in a small town in New York and worked in New York City in the world of finance for 12 years before relocating to Michigan with her husband. Shortly after the move she had two children and decided to be a stay at home mom. When her children were 9 and 10 her husband’s job relocated the family just outside of Manchester, England for two years and Cindy embraced and fully immersed herself in the new culture. On her move back across the pond her career as a “professional volunteer” began. She loves helping others in need and admits that selfishly she receives more from volunteering than the people that she helps. Cindy and her husband just recently became empty nesters and are excitedly anticipating the next phase of life.
I have a confession: my favorite type of fiction is contemporary romance. Yes, that was hard to admit. For romance novels can get a bad rap – people may see them as a form of vacant escapism, with stories that are light and fluffy (or worse). But I enjoy cozying up with novels in this genre written for the Christian market. For although the ending may be assured, the journey of the heroine and hero coming together is often thought provoking and heart warming. And Christian romance by definition will be clean in the content, and hopefully edifying in matters of faith.
An author writing in this genre is Becky Wade; I meant to feature her debut novel, My Stubborn Heart, when it came out in 2012 in the Woman Alive Book Club, for I found it delightful. But the adage “so many books, so little time” rang true, so here’s another of hers, Meant to Be Mine. It’s the second in a trilogy, but can be read as a standalone novel, as I encountered it.
A granola-eating hippy-ish single mother from the Pacific Northwest in the States meeting a meat-eating rodeo-bull-riding cowboy from Texas produces a few sparks. Celia had her heart set on Ty when in high school, but it was only when they met later in Las Vegas that they got together – and then fell apart. The long arc of their relationship, with the questions of will they/won’t they, forms this novel. The characters come alive and feel like real people. Celia struggles to know who she really is, and how to give and receive love. Whereas Ty is fully content in who he is – a star in the rodeo circuit with a strong family and community in his small town of Texas to support him.
But it’s the deeper themes that the novel dips into that interest me in particular. Such as what do we put in the place of God? Careers and making it big, or the love a child to fill the empty spaces in our hearts? What do we turn to when we’re hurt? Alcohol, comfort baking and eating, pain pills to numb the ache? How can we learn to forgive, even if we have to forgive one close to us again and again? How can we shed false images of the God who made us and formed us and loves us without strings?
See – a contemporary romance can delve into tough issues, while still giving us a satisfying ending. Check out her books; I think you’ll enjoy them.
Meant to be Mine, Becky Wade (Bethany, ISBN978-0764211089)
June. I find this time of year poignant, for sometimes the ache of separation from loved ones in the States feels exacerbated in the summer. My social-media feeds burst with photos of graduations, picnics, and the last days of school. And sunshine.
The contrast can seem strong, for my kids have another six weeks of school so there’s no counting down the days for them. And although I probably now ascribe to an all-year view of education in terms of continuity and learning, I also remember the long summers I enjoyed in Minnesota. So long that I even had the opportunity to get bored. Something that my kids, as we cram in family holidays and a trip to Minnesota with Christian camps, have hardly the chance to do.
But if I was in America now, no doubt I would have a long list of things I missed from June in the UK, such as long evenings, Wimbledon on the BBC (no adverts!), perfect Pimms, weather that can change from sunshine to rain to sunshine to rain again (as it has today), and never being overheated.
And I’m reminded again of how through giving thanks, our outlook can change. The above quotation actually comes from the chapter in Finding Myself in Britain on Harvest and Thanksgiving, but it can easily apply to the good ole summertime as well. For as I made my list of just a few things to give thanks for here on this island, my mood lifted and I look forward in hope.
What do you most like about June? What would you miss if you lived in a different country?
“Do not be afraid of those who kill the body and after that can do no more. But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear him who, after your body has been killed, has authority to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him.” Luke 12:1-12
The title of a book captured my imagination when I was introduced to it some twenty years ago: psychologist O Hobart Mowrer’s You Are Your Secrets. I often think of that book when I catch a horrific news headline, such as the death of a young television presenter through asphyxiation in a solo sex game gone wrong. A secret act is made public, and along with grieving for the person involved, I can’t help but think how horrified they would have been at the revelation, had they lived.
Here Jesus is teaching the crowds, warning them against the hypocrisy of the Pharisees and telling them that their secrets will be made known. He alerts them to the arrows of the evil one, warning them to be on guard against his schemes. We need not fear our heavenly Father, who cares for us more than even the smallest and least significant of birds, for whom he also provides. But we need to fear the enemy of our souls. He who could keep us in eternal separation from God is one we should keep our distance from.
Yet some Christians seem to be fascinated with the devil, seeing him under every bush while binding him and casing out demons. Satan is active in the world; I’m not wanting to discount our need to put on the armor of God and to stand against his evil schemes. But neither should we become so focused on his activities that we become distracted from all that is true, good and beautiful. After all, we want to further God’s kingdom.
If “you are your secrets,” how would a headline sum you up?
Prayer: Lord Jesus, shine your light in my life that I might confess any hidden secrets. Thank you for setting me free and making me whole.
[Simon Peter] fell at Jesus’ knees and said, “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!” For he and all his companions were astonished at the catch of fish they had taken… Then Jesus said to Simon, “Don’t be afraid; from now on you will fish for people.” Luke 5:1-11
As Jesus calls his disciples to follow him, we see their fear. Jesus has been teaching the crowds, and uses Simon Peter’s boat to give him some space from the many people. Then he tells Peter to let down his net; Peter protests but obeys, and hauls in such a large number of fish that his nets start to break. Immediately Peter is shot through with fear, realizing the depth of his sinfulness.
When we come into God’s presence, his Holy Spirit burns as a refining fire, revealing to us where we have let God, others, or ourselves down. As with Peter witnessing the acts of Jesus, we who have his presence dwelling within us can ask him anytime to reveal what sins we might need to confess. Having received his forgiveness, we can follow him in joy.
Like Peter, we might respond to God’s prompting in our lives with skepticism. “Lord,” we might say, “I do so love my friend, and try to share your love with her, but the time never seems right.” But one day you sense the Lord’s prodding to send her a text. So you do, and she rings back, recounting a crisis through a veil of tears. Timidly you ask if you can pray for her, and she says yes. Afterwards you say to God, “Wow, Lord. I really don’t know what’s going on in the lives of my friends like you do. Thank you that you care even more than I. Let me not stop praying for them.”
How might the Lord be asking you to set down your nets?
Prayer: Father God, so often my faith seems weak and I am quick to discount your working in my life. Enlarge my vision and strengthen my faith.
Bex Lewis gives us a wonderfully varied look at home, reflecting the mobile nature of our society today. I love her reflections. And I love that I don’t really know where I first met her, because we were online friends before we met in person. But there’s not a difference in our engaging, whether online or in person, which is a point she embodies. She sees the positive points of online life and also, in her book Raising Children in a Digital Age, helps adults think critically.
So, currently I’m on a train from Winchester back to Manchester, places that have very different notions of ‘home’ for me – a place with a deep sense of belonging, and a place full of the adventures of a new life. The immediate thought goes to geography – as a ‘Southern Softie’ who grew up on the south coast of England, twenty minutes above Brighton, I have spent an unexpected amount of time ‘north of Watford’ in the last decade!
‘Home is where you put your hat’ is the famous saying, but for me, there are different kinds of home, and it’s not all about geographical location. In Sussex, where I grew up, one of my oldest friends is still there and there are flashes of memory when I return, but my parents have left. They now live somewhere that I wouldn’t refer to as ‘home’ because I didn’t grow up there, although it’s lovely to see my parents, and go somewhere quiet for ‘time out’. Each new home has offered new adventures, new possibilities, and some sadnesses as things are left behind.
The home where I grew up in Sussex.
Winchester was the first place I got to experience living independently, and is somewhere that I have lived on and off since 1994, and most of my longest and deepest friendships originated there. Durham offered the first opportunity to buy my own home – and I was very keen to make the house a home, with the paintbrushes, the comfortable (if second-hand) furniture, getting to know my neighbours, and offering a hospitable welcome to friends. When I was faced with redundancy from that role, I knew I didn’t want to stay, and sat down with a friend to consider where I might want my new home to be – as home is so much more than a place to live and work – both Winchester and Manchester were on the list – one a lot more affordable than the other in terms of being able to afford my own home. Thankfully, the right opportunity came up in Manchester, and I have now called that city ‘home’ since September (despite actually officially living in Stockport, but, you know, it’s part of ‘greater Manchester’!). There is a running joke amongst my family and friends that they have to put my address in in pencil, because I’ve moved so often over the last twenty years … but hopefully this time is going to be for a good few years!
Having my 40th at a lovely friend’s home in Winchester with loads of family and friends to celebrate.At home in Durham.
In my PhD I used Benedict Anderson’s notion of an ‘imagined community’. In the Second World War the British people were fighting together for the imagined community of their nation:
It is imagined because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, of even hear of them, yet in the minds of Anderson questions what ‘makes people love and die for nations, as well as hate and kill in their name’.[1]
I’ve always been fascinated about what gives people a sense of identity, a sense of belonging, and within that, what makes people feel ‘at home’. Dictionary.com has an interesting range of definitions for ‘home’: a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household; the place in which one’s domestic affections are centered; an institution for the homeless, sick, etc.: a nursing home; the dwelling place or retreat of an animal; the place or region where something is native or most common; any place of residence or refuge: a heavenly home; a person’s native place or own country; (in games) the destination or goal; a principal base of operations or activities: The new stadium will be the home of the local football team.
I am fascinated that these definition include the use ‘a heavenly home’ as an example, which reminds me of 2 Corinthians 5:1For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands, something that I heard at a Billy Graham event at which I made my own ‘personal decision’ that I wanted to live in one of the heavenly mansions, though now it appears to be more about having a heavenly body – without the trials and tribulations of our human bodies.
Meantime, whilst living on earth, I have found it important to seek to be part of the local community – starting with getting to know my neighbours well (I posted a photo/brief personal bio through each of their doors as I started moving in). Those who know me will not be surprised to heard that I also consider my ‘digital community’ to be key, and that this a place I certainly feel very at home. Facebook in particular has allowed re-connection with old friends and re-participation in their lives, whilst getting to know new friends (often before meeting them in person). Social media has helped me with all of my big moves, including private Facebook groups for those in the area for practical queries, and those who care and want to pray for those decisions being made, and Twitter which allows a quick build-up of new personal and professional networks around interest-areas, and Freecycle to get rid of (and occasionally collect) stuff as I decluttered over my three years in Durham!
Getting the keys to my new place in Manchester.Arriving to this empty space – rather dispiriting!But it can feel like home quickly.
In writing Raising Children in a Digital Age, particularly whilst writing about bullying, it became clear that many see ‘home’ as a place of safety, one that was challenged by the global nature of digital technology. No longer could one ‘shut the door’ and shut the world out (could we ever truly do this), and we could live our ‘private’ lives as we wanted (have our lives ever truly been private – if we look back in history, it’s only for around 200 years that this has been an expectation). New technology is challenging our understanding of participation in life – and with the media focusing on so many of the negative aspects, it can be hard to remember the positive aspects – the opportunities to connect, to maintain relationships, and to use the opportunities provided for positive, rather than negative, purposes.
Finding home amongst my online community.
For me, home is where relationships are, whether that is offline or online, places that I can feel comfortable to ‘put my feet up’, whether that is literally, or in a place – such as church housegroups – where one can open up and share lives with others. Let’s make them spaces where people feel welcome, where they feel comfortable – and if you’re in my house – comfortable enough to make your own tea-and-coffee, as I don’t drink them and typically forget to offer them!
Tonight I’ll be back under my own roof, in the house that I am seeking to turn into a home – using the colours that I love, displaying objects that have associated memories, a place I can be hospitable … and where tomorrow I’ll be able to put my feet up on the new sofa!
Dr Bex Lewisis passionate about helping people engage with the digital world in a positive way, where she has 19+ years of experience. Trained as a mass communications historian, writing the original history of Keep Calm and Carry On, she is Senior Lecturer in Digital Marketing at Manchester Metropolitan University, and Visiting Research Fellow at St John’s College, Durham University, with a particular interest in digital culture, and how this affects the third sector, especially faith organisations, voluntary organisations, and government behavioural campaigns. She is Director of social media consultancy Digital Fingerprint, and is author of ‘Raising Children in a Digital Age’ (Lion Hudson, 2014), which has been featured on The One Show, BBC News, Steve Wright in the Afternoon, and in the Daily Telegraph, The Church Times, and in many other publications.
[1] Anderson, B., Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, 1991, p.6 (emphasis in the original)
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. Isaiah 43:1-7
The prophet Isaiah had to mete out many words of judgment to God’s people (especially in the first two-thirds of his book), but in the last third, his message changes to promises of hope, redemption, and love. God may have been angry with his people, but he will not give up on them. He wants to save them from their lives of sin and separation from him.
Though our passage for this week was written thousands of years ago, yet it speaks today of God’s loving mercy. Often when I am praying with people, we pray these words back to God as a way of setting their truth into our lives. If one of us is experiencing something that is particularly difficult, we ask God to help us push back our fears through these affirmations. For we know that God has created us, knows us by name and that we are his (v.1). We might feel that the waters are creeping over our heads, yet we know that with God’s help we won’t become submerged (v.2). Or that the flames that seem to be snapping at our feet won’t burn us (v.2). For we are precious and honored in God’s sight, and he loves us (v.4).
God’s word is rich and deep; I love how it speaks into our situations and those of so many years ago. For instance, verse 2 about passing through a river might refer to when Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt through the parting of the Red Sea. And the flames that don’t burn (also in verse 2) could hearken back to the days of Daniel, when Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were thrown into the fiery furnace.
Truly our God is a God who saves. Never shall we fear.
Prayer: Lord Jesus, you were there with Daniel’s friends amid the flames. When I feel their heat encroaching on me, please save me and help me.
