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He Is Risen—and So Is Our Hope

Even in the valley of uncertainty, we are anchored by the One who overcame death.

Early this Easter Sunday morning, Olivia (our second daughter), Zack, and baby Ellis arrived in Brazil to spend 20 days with us.

Their arrival couldn’t have come at a better time.

Isaiah 8:12–13
“You are not to say, ‘It is a conspiracy!’
Regarding everything that this people call a conspiracy,
And you are not to fear what they fear or be in dread of it.
It is the LORD of armies whom you are to regard as holy.
And He shall be your fear, And He shall be your dread.”

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Wait… dread?

Why would a loving Father be described as someone to dread?

Isaiah was addressing a nation gripped by fear and swirling conspiracies. The people were anxious—worried about their freedoms, fortunes, and futures.

Sound familiar?

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Where We Place Our Trust

As I’ve been reading through 1 and 2 Kings, a pattern jumped out:

Most of the kings failed. Why? Two root sins: misplaced trust and entitlement.

Beware of Drift

It’s so easy to drift. To let fear shape our compass. To get disoriented. To subtly shift our trust from God to self, to systems, to security.

But when your life depends on your compass being true, even the smallest deviation matters. If you’re sailing from Eastern Canada and your bearing is just a bit off—you could end up in an entirely different country.

How much more does this matter for our eternal bearings?

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Realigning the Heart

Ask yourself:

• What fills me with dread?

• What would I sacrifice everything for?

• What moves me most when everything else is quiet?

Your answers will show you where your compass is pointing.

Isaiah pointed out that when our deepest dread is in displeasing the God who loves us—who delights in helping us up when we fall—then we are aligned.

I was standing by our gate earlier this week when a man across the street—clearly drunk and unfamiliar to me—started shouting and waving. I watched him, trying to make sense of what he was saying. He kept pointing, louder and more animated. I turned around, unsure what he was trying to show me. And there it was—a rainbow stretched across the sky, arching over our mango trees. I took out my phone and snapped this photo. Now I can’t help but wonder… was that really a drunk?

I’ve been thinking about this image all week. Do you ever wonder how the wind can blow in two directions at once?

God often moves in ways we can’t predict—or explain.
Our part is to trust His training.

We’ve dodged more bullets than we can count over the years. Some we’re aware of—like the time doctors told us our newborn had hepatitis B. “She’ll need lifelong medication and liver biopsies every six months,” one specialist warned. Another time, a practitioner suggested cancer. One of our daughters was gravely ill for 18 days—we crisscrossed Belém running tests, hearing phrases like, “We’re ruling out the big stuff.” And we may never know the many times God protected us of which we were oblivious.

Through it all, we’ve seen God’s steady hand. Again and again, when we walk in the light we’ve been given, He makes a way.

Last night, we had supper with friends who moved to Altamira with us, back in 1996, at the beginning of the Vineyard Church in Northern Brazil. So many memories, so much to be grateful for.