Why You Need To Believe In Impossible Things

Why You Need To Believe In Impossible Things

The evening sun catches on golden beads strung delicately along the silver thread of a spiders web. On closer inspection, I decide it’s amber sap that makes up these tiny luminescent pearls, though I can’t be sure. It’s a mystery I’m content to accept.

The day ran long with endless tasks and it’s only now, as the sun sags, that I sneak out to the yard while the kids sit with rapt attention to the TV. It’s a reward for them, and opportunity for me to breathe a little slower.

Life’s been a whirl of dizzy days filled with appointments and lessons, meetings and obligations a mile long. This is a tired season. Emotionally, I’m wrung right out.

Picking my way through the yard, armed with my camera and a few quiet moments of solitude, I seek asylum from my own distracted thoughts and doubts. With the lens pressed to my face, I hunt beauty.

spider web

Inside, it echoes. How I’ve nearly given up on believing in impossible things. I remember how my baby imagined herself a fish in the bath. How she dreamed that aquatic breathing could be a possibility for homo sapiens. It’s as ridiculous as whales that deliver God’s indignant messengers to the sands of their enemies.

Wrapping my limited mind around an unlimited God proves difficult when life rolls slowly through the mud of heartbreak and discontent.

We’ve struggled lately, it’s not a secret. And in the thick of it, believing in the impossible has felt exactly that–impossible. Ridiculous, even. I’ve turned my chin up at wonder. I’ve squinted my eyes to imagination.

The sunlight filters between the pickets casting a shimmery haze over the remains of the recently chopped logs waiting to be stacked. This golden hour shines with a hope that sometimes goes unseen under the blazing sun of noontime. I confess, my hopes had waned. I whisper it to the birds underneath the feeder. I’m not proud of my doubts–but I am no longer ashamed of them either.

golden spider web

The shimmery haze reveals tiny insects a whirl of steady activity. When I step to the right, with one foot down the hill, they disappear from view. I play this game for a few moments, stepping up and down the hill. They are visible, then invisible.

Visible, invisible.

It’s not them that have moved, but me,  they remain even when my eyes fail to see.

When did my imagination become so small that I stopped expecting the impossible?

Laura asks that question of herself and it rumbles inside me as I observe these tiny insects both revealed and hidden by the light.

Laura’s talking about how important it is to retain our childlike faith, to engage with God as children do. She calls this, having Playdates with God.

I realize, as I’m stalking light and silver spiderwebs, that this is my version of a playdate with Abba. He’s invited me to the yard for a bit of show and tell. He reveals His glory and I listen to what His Spirit tells me.

I memorize the way the leaves have collected at the corners of the fence.


The dying of fall is necessary for the Spring season to bloom. It seems impossible that all of this decay will be transformed after the hard freeze of winter. Death always feels so permanent.

God transcends my small understanding. Believing in the impossible is a way of clinging to hope.

Hope waits fervently for what is yet unseen. Hope is air to gasping lungs. The promise of resurrection coming.

I breathe deeply before my youngest streams out of the back door.

“We thought you’d left” she says grinning, macaroni and cheese remnants clinging to her cheeks.

“I didn’t leave, I’ve been out here the whole time” I say.

Playdates With God

I see it now. He’s been fully in the midst of our impossible season.

He’s been here the whole time.


Playdates With God, Laura BoggessThis post was inspired by Laura’s new book, Playdates With God: Having A Childlike Faith In A Grownup World
“Playdates with God is a story of how God woos us back to our first love. Biblical and contemporary stories explore how God uses various human experiences and sensations to draw us closer into deeper intimacy with him. It’s the story of how a simple invitation to play can open up the eyes to joy . . . even in difficult circumstances.”

 Sharing this post in community with Laura


  1. “The dying of fall is necessary for the Spring season to bloom.” This is such a hard truth, Kris. I hear your heart. Thank you for sharing this, for being open to beauty this way. It makes me so happy that Playdates with God might help through a difficult season. Much love.

  2. DeanneMoore

    Wow…such truth, captured beautifully…. the child stepping in to the wonder of it all, a small person, a small voice, considering the one who loves her, feeds her macaroni, may have left. There you are in the story He is writing, my story and the story of so many. “He’s been here the whole time.” This blessed me today…I don’t know what Impossibilities lie before, but for what it’s worth, I will tell you this… I was interceding for someone last week and felt like God was telling me that there are greater things than miracles…I swallowed hard on that one…but I am thinking I need to listen up….

    1. Greater things than miracles? I read your comment earlier in between tasks and have been circling around that thought all day. Thank you, Deanne, for your words here…they mean so much–truly. What is greater than a miracle? I’ve been pondering this for hours….

    1. Thank you, Karrilee. I am so thankful for His constant presence. I am woefully unfaithful and yet He lingers in the yard, always joyful upon my return. May we never fail to believe in His unwavering presence.

  3. Charlotte Eden Orth

    I enjoyed your post today because I can remember stealing moments to read when my son was small. I also like what you said about fall being a time when things must die but spring will come. I have never liked fall for that reason. My flowers die and the yard gets drab. I do like the cool air however and need to have faith about God bringing us spring.

    1. Charlotte, I love Fall. it is a favorite here, but I admit the transitional seasons always come with challenges for me. holding on to the hope of spring with you. He is faithful to bring the glory of resurrection.

  4. Your words brought a wellspring of tears, Kris. Not sure why,but tears seem to find themselves on my face more often than not these days.
    Thank you for being obedient to write the goodness of Jesus.


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