Remember! Ah, that’s what I need to do.
Bogged down in a mire, wheels churning, getting deeper instead of free from the slop, I try to work up faith, churn it out from within, and all I throw around is confusion.
Faith doesn’t come from me. I’m an empty tank. Unless He fills it. But remembering, ah that opens up the gate, and from all the wondrous interventions of the past, on their tide, the truth that I can trust Him flows in. And washes out the mud, and the mire becomes a pool, fresh and clear, like in Psalm 84.
Count the remembrances. The tiny details that He met, the God-incidences abundant, the supply just when I desperately writhed under the need. The timely ring of phone, or the light of truth specific to my hurt on printed scripture page—as if a sunbeam fell upon that very spot alone.
Remember what you know.