In the final chapter of his prophecy, Habakkuk, seeing that the Chaldean's onslaught is imminent, issues a final note of encouragement to his listeners.  It is a paean to faith, in the most difficult way.  "Though the fig tree should not blossom and there be no fruit on the vines, though the yield of the olive should fall, and the fields produce no food, though the flock should be cut off from the fold and there be no cattle in the stalls," yet, he adds," I will exult in the Lord, I will rejoice in the God of my salvation."

     Unless we have watched an army invade our native land, we may not be able to relate readily to the prophet's assertions.  It's difficult to step into the shoes of one with an entirely different experience that we have known.  Nonetheless, we all face circumstances of inordinate difficulty and stress, times when we are not sure what is going on or what to do about it, times when we feel utterly helpless in the face of immense privation and despair.

     How many of us can do what Habakkuk does?  How many of us can look at the depths of our situation and still claim that we "exult" in God?  How many of us can elevate our mind above the immediate and focus on what may be beyond it?

     Why did I use the word "may"?  I used the word "may" because unless we really believe there is indeed something beyond the immediate, we will not turn to it, and even if we turn to it, we still do have not absolute physical evidence that it is there.  We simply trust its presence.

     Faith, faith in a personal God regardless of the circumstance, is a road of looking beyond "mays," to believe in certainty.  It's not easy, and it sometimes does not seem to make any sense.

     It is to trust.