Discovering God’s Presence in the Midst of Consequences
“Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.”
Galatians 6:7 (NKJV)
Many of us grew up hearing this verse repeatedly, especially after someone had made a poor choice.
“You are reaping what you’ve sowed!”
To my teenage ears, the message was simple: actions have consequences.
If you broke the rules, disobeyed God, or made a serious mistake, eventually you would have to face the results of your choices. And the message was not given with compassion—but rather condemnation.
That was certainly what the verse meant to me on a Sunday night in January 1966.
The previous September, I had made a terrible mistake when I failed to say “No” in the backseat of a car on Lovers’ Lane. Now, four months later, I was preparing to enter a place usually spoken of only in whispers—an unwed mothers’ home—where I would remain until my baby was born and placed for adoption.
For younger readers, it may be difficult to understand the stigma attached to an unwed pregnancy in the 60’s. Today, such situations are often met with support and understanding. In that era, they were frequently met with shame, secrecy, and judgment. Many young women were sent away to hide their pregnancies, give birth in secret, and return home as though nothing had happened.
And the stigma often did not end with the pregnancy. In many communities, even the hint that a girl had given birth to an “illegitimate” child could follow her for years. It was a burden many carried long after the baby was gone. That was the world I was facing.
On the eve of my departure, I sat in church carrying a burden heavier than I thought possible to bear. Hoping no one would notice my expanding waistline, I felt utterly defeated. I was painfully aware that I had sinned. According to both society and the church I knew, I deserved whatever consequences were coming.
I had poured out my heart before God and told Him how sorry I was. Yet I still felt overwhelmed by guilt and shame. Part of me feared that I had failed Him so badly that His disappointment would outweigh His compassion.
And even if God could forgive me, I was not sure I could forgive myself.
Then the guest preacher stepped to the pulpit and announced his text.
Galatians 6:7.
My heart sank. Silently, I cried out, “Lord, how could You let him read that verse tonight? I can’t hate myself any more than I already do.”
In spite of the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind, I finally heard what he was saying. And sixty years later, his message still resonates in my heart.
He began stating how we sometimes sow our wild oats and then frantically pray for a crop failure. God may, in His mercy, answer that prayer. But sometimes we are forced to reap the seed we have sown—and it may be the most painful and difficult experience of our lives.
I knew that was true in my case. Whatever lay ahead, I believed I deserved it.
Then he said something that changed everything.
God promises…
And he began reading from Isaiah:
“When thou passeth through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.” (Isaiah 43:2 KJV)
I had heard that scripture before. I knew it as a promise for people facing trials and hardships. But suddenly a thought struck me.
Wait a minute.
God was promising His presence even to someone reaping the consequences of her own mistakes?
I had expected judgment. I had expected rejection. I had expected to walk through the coming storm alone.
Instead, I discovered that even in my blunder, I was still His child. And He was still my Father. The consequences were real. But so was His compassion.
As I listened, something began to change inside me. I realized that no matter what was coming, my Heavenly Father would be there. The future still frightened me, but for the first time that night, I felt hope.
LESSONS LEARNED
Looking back now, I realize that the greatest gift God gave me that night was not an escape from my circumstances. He gave me His presence.
At nineteen, I thought what I needed most was for God to somehow change my situation. Instead, He gave me the assurance that whatever lay ahead, He would walk through it with me. That assurance changed everything.
A true reckoning was ahead of me. In fact, I knew enough about tomorrow to fear it. I knew I was entering the maternity home the next morning. I knew there would be heartache and tribulation. I knew I would eventually say goodbye to my baby.
Nothing about the future I could see looked good.
What I did not know was what lay beyond that painful season. I did not know what life would hold in the years and decades to come. I did not know how God would work in my life, what He would teach me, or how faithfully He would carry me through the valleys ahead.
Trusting God did not cause me to ignore reality. I was fully aware of the raging storm surrounding me, the hail beating down on the roof of my life. Nothing about my circumstances suddenly became easier.
What changed was my sense of security. As the storm raged around me, I was like a tiny chick sheltered beneath its mother’s wings—fully aware of the storm, yet safe, protected, and secure in my Heavenly Father’s care.
Lightning cracked the skies but fear no longer controlled me.
Because of that, the coming thunder no longer consumed every waking moment. There was still room for moments of laughter, friendships, and meaningful experiences—even during the months in the unwed mother’s home. The hurt was undeniable, but it was not the only reality.
If God would not calm the storm, then He calm the storm within me.
Perhaps the greatest gift of all was realizing that my failure had not changed my relationship with God. I was still His child, and He was still my loving, compassionate Father. Years later, I would come to appreciate that in the New Testament, the word for “Father,” can be translated to Abba—a word of intimacy that can be understood as Daddy or Papa. That night, I did not simply discover that God was still my Father. I discovered that He was still my Daddy.
Looking back now, I understand something I could not see at nineteen. Failure is an event—not a person. That Sunday night, I felt completely disgraceful. If there was ever a season when that label seemed to fit, it was then. But I have since learned that while I had made a mistake, it would not define me, nor would it define my relationship with the Father.
It certainly affected my circumstances, but it did not change my identity.
God saw far more in that frightened young woman than she could see in herself.
Even now, I find myself safely enveloped in His arms. His warmth. His Presence.
The lesson God taught me that night did not end at the maternity home. Over the years, I would face other storms—some of my own making and others that arrived through circumstances beyond my control. Yet I found His promise remained the same.
The Father who comforted and carried me through that painful season continues to guide, protect, and sustain me today.
The night before I entered an unwed mothers’ home, God transformed Galatians 6:7 from a verse of condemnation into an assurance of compassion.
CLOSING BLESSING
If you find yourself facing the repercussions of a poor choice, may you remember that God’s love for you has not changed.
May you experience the peace of His presence in the midst of your storm and discover that His compassion is greater than your failure.
And may you find comfort in knowing that even when the waters rise and the fire burns, your Heavenly Father still holds you securely in His care.till-huis