Yesterday, when news broke of war in the Middle East, something shifted in me. It was Friday night, and my first instinct was not political analysis or prophetic interpretation it was very human. I still needed to board a plane. I still needed to come home. And for a moment, fear tried to rise.
But it did not settle.
It hovered in my thoughts, but it could not root itself in my heart. And I know why. You had already shown me something. You had shown me a quiet vision me walking into my garage, safely home. That image anchored me. It was gentle. It was simple. It was steady.
And now I am home.
Which brings me to a different kind of gratitude not loud, not triumphant, not self-congratulatory. A quieter thanksgiving. A humbler one.
Because I know I am not spared because I am better. I am not protected because I am more deserving. I am simply held by mercy.
While drones fall from skies in other regions, I sit in peace. While families tremble in uncertainty, I rest in safety. That reality does not inflate me; it humbles me. It awakens something deeper an awareness that protection can so easily become something we assume rather than something we revere.
I find myself asking: How do I thank You without centering myself? How do I remain grateful without becoming insulated? How do I honor the privilege of peace without forgetting those living in the sound of war?
You care about the people in the Middle East. You care about the mothers, the children, the fathers, the soldiers. You are not indifferent to the smoke, the sirens, or the sorrow. And even as Scripture speaks of nations rising against nations, I know that these events do not originate from Your goodness. You foresaw them, yes but You do not delight in destruction. You see the beginning and the end at once. You understand the full arc of history, even when we stand inside the confusion of it.
Today, I do not come with bold declarations. I come with one word: mercy. Not human mercy. God-kind mercy. Mercy that restrains judgment. Mercy that interrupts escalation. Mercy that preserves life. Mercy that gives space for repentance. Mercy that softens hardened hearts.
And I pray for wisdom among Your children that we would not speak what You have not spoken, that we would not take sides in ways that divide the Body, that we would stand for mercy before we stand for opinion.
And then my prayer widens. I bring South Africa before You. Let mercy rest on our land. Let mercy guard our skies. Let mercy sit in Parliament. Give our leaders discernment. Guard them from pride, from unnecessary entanglements, from decisions that invite conflict where there is no calling for it. May we not be drawn into battles that are not ours.
I am grateful to be home. Truly grateful. But I do not want a gratitude that forgets the world. I want a gratitude that bows.
Wells of Wonder 