The sound of giggles and whispers stirred me out of my early-morning fog. Our three young children still remain innocent about hiding something wrong, so as the chairs squeaked across the tile floor, followed by several authoritative shushes, I assumed that something pleasant was underfoot.

Just a few minutes later, all three came into our bedroom like a parade of Cheshire cats, announcing to me and my wife that the dog had gone outdoors, they had dressed themselves and had made their beds. Then the really big news: Breakfast was served.

As Jennifer and I followed them out into the kitchen, we saw five plastic bowls filled with cereal and milk—poured, mind you, from one of those heavy plastic gallon jugs. At each place setting, one spoon rested on top of a white paper napkin. This first-class breakfast, prepared with love, marked the first time our children had ever done something like this.

While my wife swelled with gratefulness and appreciation for such lovely children, my eyes settled on soggy cereal and the sweating cups of juice on the table. They forgot to put down placemats, I thought, instantly worrying about moisture staining the wood.

Thankfully, my wife intercepted my proclamation for placemats with one gentle and pleading look that I not neglect their gift of service. I read her eyes and held my tongue. With one thoughtless word, I nearly ruined their precious gift.

As a follower of God, I am often ungrateful to Him as well, thinking I see something He missed, or wanting something more than what He has for me. Yes, I have been given salvation, but I want security in a bigger salary. Sure, He wrote His Word down and placed me within a country where I'm free to read it, but I want to be entertained. I see soggy cereal, but He's handing me something much richer, much deeper, much more valuable than meets the eye.

My children revealed the heart and hand of God that morning at breakfast. Mushy Cheerios never tasted so good.

I heard commotion before the door opened. As I entered my friends' home, the children squealed with delight. "There's going to be a storm!" the youngest boy shouted.

"We should make a storm fort!" I exclaimed. The child's eyes grew large. "Really?" Jacob asked. "OK, I'll get blankets," he said, scampering away.

He returned with a pile of linens larger than his body and we began creating our fort. His sister jumped as a clap of thunder roared, shaking the windows. I told her I used to imagine thunder was God bowling strikes. She laughed suspiciously. "God must be mad," said the 10-year-old. "That was too loud to be a bowling ball."

In my spiritual life, I often respond like Emma. When life's volume increases with the noise of discontented relationships, financial strain or dissatisfaction, I think, God must be mad. But God uses circumstances to grow us—even to show us His love.

Psalm 46:1 says, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." He longs for us to find shelter in Him. When claps of thunder roll, we can trust Him to be our storm fort.

Tightening the leg loops on my harness, I embarked on the night's first climb. A new rock climber, I made a sloppy, yet sufficient, scurry up a beginner's route. Wiping chalk dust from my hands, satisfied with my effort, I looked for my next challenge.

Another climber suggested one: scaling the practice wall with no hands. My furrowed brow prompted his quick demonstration, leaning his body into the wall, touching only the strategically mounted holds with his feet.

At first, the drill seemed impossible, even unnecessary. My climbs weren't pretty, but I still made it to the top.

Reluctantly I obeyed. Using my legs to push my body upward, I slowly finished the course. Afterward, my climbs were smoother, less painful for my arms and even progressive. I felt more able to endeavor onto harder paths.

I had learned to rely on my strongest asset.

In life, I'm learning to do the same. God has given believers His Holy Spirit, a limitless Source of power, strength and direction. Yet, I often try to "muscle" my way through situations, neglecting to invite God in. I might sufficiently accomplish the task or endure a trial, but what would my life look like if I relied on my strongest spiritual asset?

Maybe those times would be smoother, less painful and even progressive. Or maybe I would still slip and fall. Either way, I've found the more I choose to rely on the Holy Spirit, the easier it is to remember the true Source of my strength.