Faith as Little as a Mustard Seed

       

 Jesus said, “If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here

to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.” (Matthew 17:20)

I have been at Homestead Ministries since May 6th. On September 6th I will have four months clean. That

still feels like a miracle.

I came from the streets of Wichita—living in a box truck on South Broadway, caught in a life that was

destroying me, leaving everything I knew behind, including my boyfriend. Jesus met me right where I was.

He met me in Salina when I was just trying to get clean and sober and actually do something with my life.

For a while everything seemed like it was finally going right. I was getting into a good place.

Then the ground shifted again.

The director told us the Salina house was closing. We were all moving to the Manhattan house. Even Ms.

Deb thought I would be the first one to be happy about the move and more on board with it. She was

surprised at how hard I was fighting it. Change is one of the hardest things for a human being, and this one

landed right when I was just starting to feel steady. I had already left one entire life behind. Now I had to

leave the new one too.

And the attacks came hard.

I bumped heads with the house manager. I bumped heads with some of the other ladies. I had to take a

medical leave because of a large mass growing from my left fallopian tube. My therapist and care

coordinator thought the Oxford House was a good idea because I was the one who brought it up to them.

They didn’t want me to have any slip-backs into my PTSD and my mind. My son had been saving his

Dillon’s points to get a discount on gas so he could come get me for surgery. Someone else used those

points. He still found a way to get to me. He got a cheap room right next to two truck stops—not the best

idea, but we got through it. My 22-year-old son and his girlfriend were back to their old selves, and I felt like

my son finally got to see that his mama has changed for the better. He even accused me of smoking

cigarettes in the bathroom because that’s what his old mama would have done. I didn’t. I don’t even smoke

like I used to.

They took me to surgery. There were flowers waiting for me when I came out. They were so wonderful.

But the enemy kept coming. Fresh out of surgery I went to the post office to pick up a package and ended up

in an argument with the postal worker for a solid hour until they finally found it. Then the pharmacy didn’t

have my pain prescription ready. When I got to Manhattan there was no internet. My son and his girlfriend

broke down for two hours; he finally got the part and changed it in the parking lot of an auto parts store and

didn’t get back on the road until nine o’clock last night. The battlefield of the mind has been real. Old thoughts trying to crawl back in. Doubts. Weariness. That

voice that says nothing good ever lasts. Scripture says we take every thought captive to make it obedient to

Christ (2 Corinthians 10:5), and I’ve had to do that over and over.

But Jesus keeps meeting me right where I am. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who

are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)

Something else has been meeting me too. Since 2018, in the middle of the darkest years of my life, these

little plastic micro Jesus figures would just show up out of nowhere. I never knew where they came from.

Now I’m in this new house in Manhattan, and they are everywhere—in every room, even outside on the

table in the smoking area. It feels like a quiet reminder that He has been with me the whole time, even when

I couldn’t see it. “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5)

I love this Manhattan house. It is peaceful. I have a job interview tomorrow at a nursing home, and I’m

hoping to start September 1st.

I am still sober.

I am still moving forward.

I am still a warrior princess.

“Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.” (James 4:7)

The mountain looked big. The attacks felt personal. But faith as little as a mustard seed was enough. Jesus

met me on the streets, He met me in Salina, He met me in the hospital, and He is meeting me here. The little

plastic Jesuses keep showing up like breadcrumbs of His presence.

The enemy has been loud.

My God has been louder.

“No weapon formed against you shall prosper.” (Isaiah 54:17)

A Prayer for the Armor of God

Father, in the name of Jesus, I put on the full armor of God today.

I put on the belt of truth.

I put on the breastplate of righteousness.

I fit my feet with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.

I take up the shield of faith to extinguish every fiery dart of the enemy.

I put on the helmet of salvation.

And I take the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God. I pray this armor over myself, over my children, over the man I had to leave to Jesus, over every lady in this

program, and over every addict still out there who feels like the mountain is too big and the night is too long.

Strengthen us. Protect our minds. Guard our hearts. Remind us that You meet us right where we are. Give us

faith—even if it’s only the size of a mustard seed—and help us stand firm.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.