I picked these flowers for myself because I like them and because I am worth them. Why? Well, aside from everything else, this has been an intense week. Conversely, it has also been a good week. It was an intense week due to the enemy attempting to make molehills look like mountains in the worlds of those I love, but it was a good week because my Heavenly Father acted on my behalf and my loved one’s behalves in some super helpful and positive ways.
And then there were the lies. Every time the enemy whispered lies to me about my future, I eventually laughed because he had inadvertently showed me how good my future would actually be. By telling me the bad things that could happen when I stepped out (it’s a long story), I instinctively understood that my Heavenly Father had good things in store for me in those very same areas.
So, getting back to molehills… molehills are made by moles dirt-surfing through mountains. Yes, you read that right—“dirt-surfing.” I made that word picture up so the next time a molehill of drama or trouble appears in your world, you can picture that little critter on his surfboard.
Anyhoo, in stark contrast to the bigness of the God of universes, moles are little creatures who can only see some light and movement. That is all. They can’t see the bigger picture like my Heavenly Father can. They can’t create mountains. But the ironic thing is that I can create mountains through my own perception. That is where the problem lies: I have the ability to enhance the size and power of the mole and its molehill and in so doing, make the resultant mountain my father, or I can let the molehill remain a molehill and let my Heavenly Father remain in the position of Lord of my life. It’s a choice.
If for some reason, I choose to create a mountain out of a molehill, Jesus has already gone before me and told me that I can cast that mountain into the sea. I can let go of the mountain, and instead, walk with Him in the garden, pick roses, and enjoy the vibrant ‘yay’ they bring to the still moments, without worrying about the little mole who is yet again ranting, raving, and surfing through the dirt beneath my feet.