When the Foundations Shake

"In the year King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord..." — Isaiah 6:1

Sometimes a single verse reaches across thousands of years and finds us exactly where we are.

This morning, Isaiah's words found me.

The year King Uzziah died.

At first glance, it sounds like a simple historical marker. A timestamp. A way of telling us when Isaiah received his vision.

But the more I sat with it, the more I realized that Isaiah was describing a season of disruption.

King Uzziah had ruled for more than fifty years. He represented stability, leadership, and familiarity. He was a fixture in the life of Israel. Then suddenly, he was gone.

Everything shifted.

Perhaps you've had a "King Uzziah" season too.

A relationship changes.

A job ends.

A diagnosis arrives.

A dream falls apart.

A child leaves home.

Something you relied upon for stability begins to shake.

This is where my life meets Scripture.

Lately, it feels like my own version of "the year King Uzziah died."

Not because a king has died, but because the things I rely upon for stability seem to be breaking down all at once.

The washer and dryer both quit working.

The kitchen faucet sprang a leak that found its way into the basement and drywall.

The sink needed new hot and cold water hoses, new fixtures, a new garbage disposal, a new faucet, and a new instant hot water system. Apparently twelve years was the expiration date for several things in our home, and they all decided to retire at the same time.

My bank account has taken a hit.

My schedule has taken a hit.

My sense of stability has taken a hit.

And if I'm honest, I have felt shaken.

As a homeowner, I understand these things happen. Houses require maintenance. Appliances wear out. Pipes leak.

But somewhere beneath the practical realities, I found myself asking a deeper question:

Why now?

Why all at once?

Why does it feel like everything is demanding my attention?

And perhaps even more consuming than broken appliances and unexpected expenses is the stress I've been quietly carrying.

The kind you push down because there are people to care for.

A coaching business to steward.

Granddaughters to love.

A family to serve.

Beautiful kingdom work that matters deeply to me.

I've been treading water for a while, convincing myself I was doing fine, only to discover that the weight beneath the surface was catching up with me.

Then this morning I opened Isaiah 6.

And suddenly, the Holy Spirit shifted my focus.

I realized I had been staring at everything that was shaking.

The repairs.

The expenses.

The responsibilities.

The uncertainty.

The demands.

But Isaiah wasn't invited to focus on what had died.

He was invited to see Who was still reigning.

"In the year King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord."

As Isaiah looked up, he saw the Lord seated on His throne.

The seraphim attended to Him.

Their cries of "Holy, holy, holy" shook the foundations of the temple itself.

Even the thresholds trembled in response to the glory of God.

And there, in the midst of all that shaking, Isaiah discovered something profound:

God was still on the throne.

Not a temporary throne.

Not a throne dependent on earthly circumstances.

Not a throne threatened by change, uncertainty, or loss.

An eternal throne.

A kingdom that cannot be shaken.

As I sat with the passage, I sensed the Lord gently whispering to my heart:

"Shel, I want to shake foundations that do not last so I can reveal the foundation that does."

"I want you to see My presence."

"I want you to remember where your hope comes from."

And then something even more tender.

I sensed Him reminding me that He is still calling me.

Still calling me to love my grandchildren.

Still calling me to support my family.

Still calling me to coach women.

Still calling me to share His goodness wherever He sends me.

The calling hasn't changed.

But perhaps my understanding of how I'm meant to carry it is changing.

Because God never asked me to do any of these things in my own strength.

He never asked me to build a ministry apart from His presence.

He never asked me to care for my family apart from His presence.

He never asked me to navigate stress, uncertainty, broken appliances, unexpected expenses, or responsibilities apart from His presence.

In Isaiah's vision, before there was a commission, there was an encounter.

Before there was a "Go," there was a "See."

Isaiah first saw the Lord seated on the throne.

Perhaps that is the invitation for me as well.

To stop focusing on everything that feels unstable long enough to lift my eyes and see the One who remains unshaken.

Because the goal is not simply to get through difficult seasons.

The goal is to walk through them with God.

To learn that His presence is not a reward at the end of the journey but the provision for the journey itself.

How often do I treat God's presence like something extra?

A devotional before the real work begins.

A prayer before I get busy.

A moment of quiet before I return to carrying the responsibilities of the day.

Yet Isaiah's vision reminds me that God's presence is not preparation for the work.

His presence is the way the work is meant to be done.

The Lord seems to be whispering:

"Shel, I am not asking you to carry all of this for Me."

"I am asking you to carry it with Me."

And there is a world of difference between those two things.

One leads to exhaustion.

The other leads to abiding.

One depends on my strength.

The other depends on His.

One leaves me striving.

The other invites me into the unforced rhythms of grace.

Perhaps the shaking is not meant to show me everything that is wrong.

Perhaps it is meant to remind me where my life, my hope, and my strength have always been found.

Not in things that work.

Not in circumstances that cooperate.

Not in finances that feel secure.

Not even in meaningful ministry.

But in the presence of the King who is still seated on the throne.

And perhaps this isn't only about broken appliances, unexpected expenses, or seasons that feel overwhelming.

Perhaps this is where the shaking shows up for all of us.

It can show up when we're trying to lose weight.

When we're trying to release stress.

When we're trying to build a business.

When we're trying to raise a family.

When we're trying to care for aging parents.

When we're trying to serve in ministry.

Even when we're trying to do good things for God.

Somewhere along the way, our eyes can slowly drift from the One seated on the throne to the long list of things we think must be accomplished.

We begin measuring our lives by performance.

By productivity.

By outcomes.

By whether we checked all the boxes.

By whether we did enough.

And before long, we find ourselves striving.

Not because God asked us to.

But because we've forgotten to keep our eyes on Him.

Yesterday, I had a moment when I wanted to let go of the calling God has placed on my life.

Not because I don't love it.

Not because I don't believe in it.

Simply because I felt tired.

Part of me wanted to retreat.

To sit quietly at home.

To be a grandma.

To rest.

And while there is nothing wrong with rest, I knew deep down that God was inviting me into something deeper.

The answer wasn't to abandon the calling.

The answer was to return to His presence.

Because God has called me to more.

He has called me to speak to women about the freedom found in Him.

He has called me to help women discover the unforced rhythms of grace.

He has called me to use my voice in ways that point others back to His heart.

He has called me to share what He has faithfully taught me through my own journey of surrender, healing, and transformation.

The calling was never the problem.

The striving was.

So instead of letting it all go, I sat with God.

I asked Him to allow me to simply be in His presence.

I asked Him for wisdom.

I asked Him to show me how to do the things He has called me to do without fear.

Without striving.

Without carrying burdens He never asked me to carry.

And there is nothing quite like being in His presence.

Just look at Isaiah.

He saw the Lord.

He saw the angels worshiping.

He saw the holiness of God.

And in that light, he became aware of his own unclean lips.

Yet God did not leave him there.

One of the seraphim took a burning coal from the altar and touched Isaiah's lips.

"Your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for."

Isaiah was cleansed in the presence of God.

Transformed in the presence of God.

And only then did the commission come.

"Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?"

"Here am I. Send me."

The calling came after the encounter.

The commission came after the cleansing.

The purpose came after the presence.

Isaiah's life was forever changed because he first saw God.

The seraphim understood something Isaiah was only beginning to learn.

Their attention was fixed on God.

They worshiped continually.

They gave Him their undivided attention.

They responded immediately to His voice.

They reflected His holiness rather than drawing attention to themselves.

Their focus was not on their assignment.

Their focus was on God.

And perhaps that is the invitation for us as well.

To attend to God before we attend to everything else.

To encounter His presence before pursuing our purpose.

To see the King before trying to fulfill the calling.

Because our greatest work never begins with doing.

It begins with seeing.

Before there is a "Go," there must first be a "See."

Before there is ministry, there must be presence.

Before there is purpose, there must be worship.

Before there is a commission, there must be an encounter with the One who sits on the throne.

So today I find myself sitting with this question:

What foundations in my life are being shaken so that I can discover that God alone is my foundation?

Maybe the answer isn't found in fixing the shaking.

Maybe it's found in lifting our eyes.

Because sometimes, when the foundations shake, we finally see the throne.

And the One seated upon it.

The King who never changes.

The King who never leaves.

The King who still provides.

The King who still calls.

The King who still reigns.

And perhaps that is what I needed to see all along.

Not how to hold everything together.

Not how to fix everything that is broken.

Not how to carry every responsibility perfectly.

But simply how to remain in His presence.

My greatest work will never be coaching.

Or speaking.

Or ministry.

Or even serving the people I love.

My greatest work begins in the presence of God.

And from that place, everything else flows.

Finding His Rhythms of Grace

Shel Dammann