Rewriting What I Hear
It seemed like a simple question when I first heard it—safe, even.
I didn’t realize I was stepping off a cliff into something that would quietly, but powerfully, begin to transform the way I think.
“Lord, I know You love me… how are You loving me today in ways that I cannot see?”
I expected a gentle reminder. Maybe a comforting thought.
Instead, He spoke.
“These are the ways I am loving you today.”
I am sitting with you — you are not alone.
You feel (blank); you are not.
I am blocking the lies of the enemy. If not, you would never leave that bed.
I am providing you (blank).
I provide you (blank).
I did this.
I did that.
At first, I simply wrote what I sensed Him saying. But then something unexpected happened.
He prompted me: “Rewrite them as positive statements.”
It seemed unnecessary. The statements were already true. Why change them?
But in obedience, I began rewriting.
And that’s where everything shifted.
Why does this matter?
As children, we often don’t understand the word no. We don’t see the bigger picture or the protection behind it.
And if we’re honest, as followers of Jesus—we’re still His children.
We don’t always understand His ways.
We don’t always understand His restraint.
We don’t always understand His silence.
But there’s another layer here—one that’s easy to overlook.
What we speak is what we hear. And what we hear shapes what we believe.
Even more—what we speak is what we agree with.
Think about how often we say things like:
“I don’t want to be sick.”
“I’m so overwhelmed.”
“I can’t do this.”
Even when those statements come from a real place, they center our attention on the very thing we don’t want. Sickness. Overwhelming. Can’t.
But what if we shifted it?
“I want to be healthy.”
“The Lord is strengthening me.”
“I am equipped for what’s in front of me.”
It’s not denial. It’s alignment. Health. Strength. Equipped.
Rewriting the Truth
So I went back to the list and began rewriting each statement—not changing the truth, but reframing it through the lens of who God is and what He says.
Instead of “you are not alone,” it became:
I am not alone. You are with me.
(Matthew 28:20 — “Surely I am with you always…”)
Instead of focusing on my feelings, I declared:
I think clearly. I have a sound mind.
(2 Timothy 1:7)
If He is blocking the lies, then the truth is:
I hear truth. I have purpose. He has plans for me.
(Jeremiah 29:11)
Provision became:
You provide for me. You are my protection, my covering, my peace.
(Psalm 91)
And then there were the deeply personal truths—the ones that speak directly to identity:
I am wanted.
I am known.
I was created on purpose and set apart before I was ever born.
(Jeremiah 1:5)
Here’s what changed:
Even though the original statements were true, rewriting them anchored my heart in God’s truth instead of my experience.
And that matters.
Because what we consistently agree with will eventually shape how we live.
A Lesson in the Store Aisle
A few days later, I found myself in a home improvement store with my daughter and grandson.
He’s not yet two, but he already knows that his Bwella loves to give gifts. That day, he wanted everything.
A ball.
A stuffie.
A motorcycle battery.
A chair.
(Yes… all in one trip.)
At one point, he picked up a dog toy, completely convinced it belonged to him. As I gently redirected him and walked away, I jokingly said:
“My bank account is empty.”
And immediately, I felt the Lord interrupt:
“Your bank account is full and robust.”
I actually paused.
Later, I looked up the word robust. It means strong and healthy.
I had said something casually—without much thought—but underneath it was a subtle agreement with fear. A quiet disconnect about his provision.
And in His kindness, He corrected it.
Not with correction rooted in shame—but in truth.
“Your bank account is full and robust.”
Not because of what the numbers say.
But because of who He is.
A Shift in Agreement
Now, when I think about finances, I don’t default to worry.
I remind myself:
My bank account is full.
It is strong.
It is healthy.
And more importantly:
He is my provider.
When I submit my spending, my giving, and my trust to Him—it will always be enough.
Not because I control it.
But because He does.
An Invitation
I want to invite you into this practice.
Ask Him the simple question:
“Lord, how are You loving me today in ways that I cannot see?”
Then listen.
Write what He says.
And don’t stop there—rewrite it in truth.
Anchor it in who He is.
Align it with Scripture.
You may be surprised by what you hear.
Encouraged by what you discover.
And strengthened by the quiet, steady realization that He has been loving you all along—in ways you simply hadn’t seen yet.