Today someone offered me a piece of a chocolate donut … and it made me cry.
I spent this morning at Manna House in midtown Memphis, which offers hospitality, showers, change of clothes, coffee and rest to area homeless persons. After we served coffee, provided showers and dispensed basic toiletries, socks and clean clothes, we spent some time in the back yard, just talking and listening to our guests.
One man talked about how hot Memphis is in summer, and that he really wants to find a place to sleep inside before it gets too hot. Another told me which alley he sleeps in. Both had come into the backyard at Manna House with sack lunches and quickly began making trades: a peanut butter sandwich for a brownie, ham for a bag of chips. One of the men spent a good minute or so driving a hard bargain for a donut. Then he sat down, began to unwrap it and before he took a bite, he offered a bite to me.
He knows I’m not homeless. I’m obviously a middle-class white woman and I wore a nametag that identified me as a volunteer. But he offered me the first bite of his donut. Not what was left over when he finished it. Not the donut he didn’t want. The donut he negotiated and traded for. The first bite.
One of the founders of Manna House explained to me that the name comes from the manna God sent from heaven to feed the Israelites after they left Egypt. (Exodus 16) He sent it each day; just enough for that day, no more, no less, and instructed them not to gather more than they needed. They trusted Him to provide the next day. In much the same way, Manna House meets the daily needs of its guests; their mission is not to solve all problems, but to meet daily needs: basic hygiene, clean socks, a good cup of coffee and companionship — for that day.
I don’t know why my donut friend offered me the first bite; why didn’t he keep it for himself? He may or may not get another donut any time soon; I can buy a dozen without a second thought. Why was he so willing to share with me?
Maybe a better question is: why are so many of us unwilling to share what we proudly call ours? Our money, our home, our time.
We turn our heads and our hearts away and refuse to give of our abundance, while this man offers the first bite.
This day was different. My 16-year-old daughter, Sara Ann, five of her friends and I were in Atlanta for a church youth weekend. We left the church to get out into the city and learn about poverty and homelessness. Our first stop was an area near downtown Atlanta where the homeless live under the overpasses. We parked our cars on the street and scaled a steep, rocky hill under a bridge. At the top of the hill, we began to see piles of clothing, mattresses, furniture and blankets, all damp from the rain. My first impression was, ewww, trash; then I realized it is someone’s couch … bed … home.
We turned a corner and saw people who had made their home in the shelter of the concrete posts. Two guys named Bob and Willie, who work with a ministry called 7 Bridges to Recovery, showed us around and told us about their work. Willie, who only four months ago was homeless, pulled a few bags of food and some clothes out of the back of a minivan.
Bob explained that the mission of 7 Bridges is to get people off the streets and break the cycle of homelessness, alcoholism, drugs, sexual addictions, prostitution and abuse. I was surprised when he told us that few of the homeless accept their help. Perhaps they are afraid or maybe they have just come to accept their circumstances, or don’t want to leave the people they live with. As we walked and talked with them, it seemed that, much like the rest of us, some were angry, some had faith and some just seemed to feel hopelessly resigned to this life.
I don’t understand homelessness. I’ve never been without a warm bed or a good meal, never had to walk over rocks in worn-out shoes or put on a rain-soaked coat to keep warm. Our visit didn’t change any of their lives that day, but it did change me. It brought me face-to-face with the reality of a life that no one should have to live and reminded me that they are not so different from me, and most of all, that they are equal to me in God’s eyes.
‘ … For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’ “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’” He will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’
— Matthew 25:42-45
My very first guest blogger is my 16-year-old daughter, Sara Ann. She wrote this article for her school newspaper about a cause that is very close to her heart.
The Price of Peace
“If the greatest generation sacrificed for war, what will our generation be known for if we sacrifice for peace? Peace is closer than ever, but Invisible Children’s work is far from done. This is an important time in Uganda’s history and we must be a part of its future.”
— Invisible Children
For more than a decade, Ugandan people have been relocated and forced to live in overcrowded displacement camps. This is a result of the most neglected humanitarian emergency in the world. The Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and the Government of Uganda have been waging a war for more than 23 years, which has left an entire generation of youth that has never known peace.
It began in the 1980s when a woman named Alice Lakwena believed that the Holy Spirit spoke to her and ordered her to overthrow the Ugandan government for injustice. As she gained followers, her movement gained momentum and resentment toward the government increased. Lakwena was later exiled and a man named Joseph Kony took control and her movement became the LRA. As the LRA attacked villages, the government was forced to evict Ugandans and relocate them into displacement camps, in which they must stay, for fear of abduction by the LRA.
Surprisingly, the LRA does not care who they abduct, including small children ages 10 and younger. In fact, it is estimated that more than 90 percent of the LRA’s troops were abducted as children. Even in these displacement camps, where they were moved as a safety precaution, the children leave, walk three to four hours, and stay the night only to get up bright and early and make the walk back “home.”
One of the many informative videos tells the story of a boy named Ofonyo Innocent who was one of those children, called a night commuter. He witnessed the abductions of friends, relatives, and peers by the LRA and watched as they were forced to commit horrifying acts against their own people. What child deserves to live this way?
Invisible Children officials encourage people through their mission statement, Invisible Children is all about using who we are to meet people where they are; every individual doing what they can to make a difference.
Open your eyes, let your mind leave the comfortable city of Germantown and realize what these children must endure. Most of us never encounter the circumstances these children must tolerate on a daily basis. Do what you can, raise awareness and get involved. Let’s make these invisible children visible; not just to our school, our city, our state, or even our country. Let our whole world see the lives of the invisible.
Watch the movie. Purchase the The Rough Cut on DVD and share it with your friends.
Buy a bracelet. Bracelets are made by Ugandan natives, and each is associated with an “invisible child.” When you order a bracelet, you also receive a video about this child.
Tri campaign involves a simple donation of as little as three dollars each week and sustains life-changing programs in Uganda.
Buy a t-shirt. Donate money and help spread the word with a great t-shirt.
About Sara Ann (by her mom)
The coolest thing about Sara Ann is that her faith is not about a set of rules; it’s about Jesus’ love and compassion and she puts feet to it as she strives to love and serve as He calls us to do.
Last year at a youth event she heard a presentation on Invisible Children, a nonprofit organization that serves children in war-torn Uganda. The images of the children stirred her heart and moved her to action. She established a Facebook group to promote Invisible Children at her school, and within one day there were 180 members. Membership is now 300.
Sara Ann has been on two short-term mission trips to Puerto Rico and is active in small groups and student ministries at Germantown United Methodist Church and Living Hope Church. Each month she goes downtown with her Germantown United Methodist youth group to serve breakfast to homeless persons.
She is currently a junior in high school and plans to major in journalism and move to Africa after college as a missionary and journalist.
One of the last photos taken of my Dad; Jim took it in the backyard of the house I grew up in, probably in late May 1993; they were cooking on the grill, which is why the dishtowel is slung over his shoulder.
The most important thing my Daddy taught me: grace
The Oxford American Dictionary defines grace as:
Simple elegance or refinement of movement,
(in Christian belief) The free and unmerited favor of God, as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings.
A divinely given talent or blessing
The condition of being favored by someone
My Dad had grace in all its meanings. He moved gracefully, both physically and socially. He swung a golf club with grace and practiced orthodontics with grace. When he drove the boat, he could bring the rope right into the hands of the skier without missing a beat.
He loved to learn and schooled himself thoroughly on a variety of subjects; it’s hard to imagine that he never knew the Internet, never had an email address.
He loved most music, especially classical, and amassed an enviable collection. Among his favorites were Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Pathétique, Op. 74, The Impossible Dream, from Man of LaMancha and his favorite hymn, When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.
He had a nickname for each of his patients and always remembered it. A handsome, well-dressed man, he could move easily in the most sophisticated social and professional circles, yet he could truly relate to and be accepted by those in the most humble of circumstances.
He wrote beautifully, was an accomplished and poised public speaker, he sang beautifully and just about the only thing at which he was not particularly adept was resealing a zip-top plastic bag.
His faith was profound as anyone I’ve ever known, yet as simple as a child’s. He knew that it was not our own goodness or our compliance to a set of rules that earned our place in heaven. If we could earn our own way, it would only give us cause for pride and arrogance. With a burning passion he hated the legalism that so many are willing to accept as a counterfeit for grace. Though they frustrated him, he felt for them, as he knew they would never know the true peace of the Father’s agape love.
When we chose his epitaph, we decided on one simple word — one word with several meanings that represented every facet of the life he lived on earth: grace.
This is my Daddy giving me my diploma at my high school graduation. He was president of the school board at that time and it just worked out so he could do that. And, yes, I know my hair is bad and that the white sandals are very bad, especially with the tan pantyhose.
This is my Daddy giving me my diploma at my high school graduation. He was president of the school board at that time and it just worked out so he could do that. And, yes, I know my hair is bad and that the white sandals are very bad, especially with the tan pantyhose.
So here are some more things my Daddy taught me:
“A mean-spirited person is his/her own punishment.” Daddy would always say in response to mean, hurtful behavior, whether directed toward us or others. I’m not sure it was great comfort at the time, but it has proven true. I’ve seen many miserable, hateful people in my life, and none of them are happy. Anyone who purposely inflicts pain on others is more miserable than they are making you. Don’t waste time and energy on revenge; it is unnecessary and really isn’t as much fun as it seems anyway.
God really is merciful. Daddy’s faith was the strongest, most powerful, simple, pure and most authentic of anyone I’ve ever known. He touched many people and impacted many lives for Christ. But the one thing Daddy knew that he could never bear was the loss of a child. He always said that if he ever lost a child, he would go crazy. God spared him that. Two of his children have been diagnosed with cancer, one suffered multiple miscarriages and one buried his wife of five years at the age of 30. Although I believe that Daddy’s faith would have seen him through any of these trials, he was spared and I’m grateful for that.
Love deeply, fully, unconditionally. His love never depended upon my accomplishments, outward appearance or anything but the fact that I was his child. He told me truth that I didn’t want to hear and when he hugged me he was never the first to let go. When I hug my kids, I never let go first.
Give. This might seem obvious, but it amazes me that so many people don’t get it. Stuff is not as important as people. He gave sacrificially and he gave with joy. He was generous wihout being indulgent. When I was pregnant with Elizabeth, just before she was born, we had an unexpected car repair. The charge was $1800, which may as well have been $180,000 at that time in our lives. Jim’s first call was to my dad. I know he must have been scared, he must have rehearsed how he was going to ask his father-in-law for $1800, but there was no need. Daddy sensed what he was trying to say and just asked, “How much do you need?” He sent the check that very day. He never asked when, how or if we would pay him back. We did, but we knew we didn’t have to. He knew our situation and our struggles without being told and he cared more about us than he did the money. After he died, we found several of the checks that he had never even cashed. I think I still have them somewhere, as a reminder that people really are more important than stuff.
The first week in October is always hard. My dad’s birthday was October 4 and it always makes me feel a little blue, though this is Daddy’s 15th birthday in Heaven.
He loved my daughters deeply and cherished his time with them. They are now 15 and 19, yet his earthly life with them stopped when Elizabeth was a new preschool graduate about to enter Kindergarten and Sara Ann was a happy one-year-old with beautiful dark eyes who took her first steps a mere month before he died. He was strong, with a gentle and protective way of loving my girls that is one of the things I miss the very most about him.
He taught me so much — over the next few days I’m going to share some of those things, as there are too many for just one day.
Never buy the one in front. He would get up early on our wekeends at our lakehouse in Arkansas and Elizabeth and her Dada would go to Wal-Mart. Months later, after I had bought some defective product, which I had picked up in haste, she reminded me, “I knew that would happen. You broke Dada’s rule. Never buy the one in front.” To this day, Elizabeth will reach to the far back of the shelf to avoid the one in front.
Pay attention to things. Sometimes we are so busy running to and fro that we don’t pay attention to things around us. On another one of Elizabeth and Dada’s early morning Wal-Mart trips, he had shown her how the the early morning dew sparkles on the grass. She still remembers the “sparklies,” and, at 19, still remembers the moment. Great moments often come when we pay attention to small things.
Don’t be afraid to feel. My dad was deeply emotional. He was not afraid to feel and not afraid to express it. He could never say the blessing at Christmas or Thanksgiving without choking up and making everyone else cry too. When he hurt, he hurt deeply, but his joy was deep.
Good things come to those who wait. He often drove us crazy moving slowly and taking his time making decisions or major purchases, but he taught us that the best things don’t come quickly or easily and are always worth waiting for.
More tomorrow as I remember him throughout the week.
For the word of the Lord is right and true; He is faithful in all he does. Psalm 33:4
For the past few months, I have been thanking God for His provision and His faithfulness as Jim searches for a new job. It has been stressful, scary and has worn on us as a family at times. Even so, I always felt an underlying peace that God would bring us through this and that He would use it, perhaps just to teach us to trust Him more completely.
This past Friday (April 20) Jim signed an offer letter for a new job. We are thrilled and so very thankful. It’s a great opportunity and allows us to stay in Memphis, which we all wanted very much. But make no mistake: I don’t thank Him for His faithfulness because he provided the job; He was faithful before Jim got the job, and He would still be faithful if there were still no job.
When I was growing up, and I’d ask my parents for something I wanted, sometimes (usually) they would say yes and sometimes they would say no. My Dad was a very generous person, so when he said no, there was a reason. I never got the trampoline I begged for because my Dad saw so many kids with broken bones in his orthodontic office who answered trampoline when he asked them how it happened. I wasn’t happy that I didn’t get the trampoline, but I knew that my Dad meant it only for my own good and I never doubted his love for me, or whether he cared or would provide for me. And, even if I think completely materialistically, he gave me nearly everything else I ever wanted. Not only were they faithful, they were generous as well.
I think that’s what I learned about God through all of this — that He doesn’t show Himself faithful by what he does for us — that is His generosity; He shows Himself faithful by walking through it all with us. He never promised us ease, comfort, affluence or freedom from stress, but He did promise He would never leave our side. And if He had, I know that I would not have survived with my sanity intact.
Even on the worst days, during the two-month stretch when there was just nothing to even apply for, I never doubted that He was there and that it would eventually be ok. What if His will had been no job at all — if His will for us meant that we would lose our house, cars, all the stuff? I still would not doubt His faithfulness. Though it would not have been my preference, He brought me to the point that I could be ok with that.
His faithfulness has given me comfort, peace and security, and His generosity has given extra measures of joy — some are short bursts, others are lasting, but all are meaningful. Consider:
Encouragement from friends — lunches, phone calls and emails
Friends and family who understood when Christmas was just a hug and a promise of a later gift
Retail therapy (thanks, Mom!) which cannot buy happiness but sure can lift the spirit.
Dinners out, as restaurant meals were the first thing cut from our post-employment budget
A tremendous network of caring, loving, Christian friends who diligently lifted us up in prayer.
My role at home — I have for a long time felt a call to be home full-time, and my prayer was that I would be able to continue in this role. Not only did God grant me this, He did so with complete peace on my part and Jim’s. Jim never asked me to try to find work, and God continually confirmed my decision, though to some I admit it must have seemed illogical. I’m so glad God doesn’t operate by human logic!
So now we get to return to normal. I wonder what our new normal will look like. I guess time will tell. But for now I’m looking forward to my first professional haircut since November, new glasses and getting the refrigerator fixed so it doesn’t leak all over the kitchen floor.
As a long-time United Methodist, I have always looked forward to the Maundy Thursday service, which takes place the night before Good Friday and commemorates the Last Supper and Jesus’ agony in the Garden of Gethsemane.
I love Easter, but for me to really “get” Easter, I have to think about Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. We say Christ the Lord is Risen! but there is no resurrection without the crucifixion. How can we really appreciate His resurrection without absorbing the reality of the agony in the Garden and the torment of the cross?
Nowhere is His humanity more evident to me than in the Garden, when He prayed:
“Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. Luke 22:42-44
Maundy Thursday inspires me to reflect on the humanity of that anguished plea and His ultimate surrender to His Father’s will as he began His journey to Calvary. He must have dreaded the suffering, but in obedience He prayed more urgently, submitted His own will to that of the Father and willingly accepted His fate on the cross.
Good Friday reminds me of the wounds.
Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.
We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all. Isaiah 53:4-6
And, finally, Easter reminds me that not even a gruesome, agonizing death could conquer the mind-blowing, awe-inspiring, magnificent love of a God who would sacrifice His Son — for me.
For the word of the Lord is right and true; He is faithful in all He does. Psalm 33:4
Here we are in mid-March and still no job. Back in November, when I first posted about the job situation, (We are OK) I felt confident and sure of God’s faithfulness and care in our need. I knew that He would see us through this crisis and that His plan for us was greater than anything we ever could have imagined.
And I have to admit that I hoped He would accomplish it quickly. I know that given today’s climate in corporate America, our search is relatively short. Layoffs are all too common these days at Jim’s level; in fact one colleague told him that very few executives get through an entire career without at least one layoff, particularly those who work for large public corporations.
So recently I have asked myself this question: I was sure, confident and faithful in November — am I still sure and confident when our prayers haven’t been answered as soon as we would have liked? I was sure when, by earthly standards, we were secure in our nice six-month severance package. Am I still sure when it’s now only a three-month severance package? Do I still trust Him?
The answer is — a qualified yes. Not a qualified yes because I doubt Him, but because I doubt me. Because I still freak out from time to time. When I think of this situation in earthly terms, I am insecure, because here on earth that security is measured in dollars, in my house, my car, my stuff. Stuff that could be gone in the blink of an eye anyway.
But despite my human frailty and weakness, the answer really is, yes, I am still sure, confident and faithful. Because I know that my real security is not in dollars, houses, cars, stuff — thank goodness because, frankly, we don’t have a lot of really great stuff.
My security is in God and His kingdom, and I’m up for whatever challenge He presents me with. Worst case — I lose all the stuff, and it really is just stuff. Just look what I get to keep: beautiful sunsets and sunrises, the love of my family, God’s grace and forgiveness poured out on me anew each day, and a place in eternity with Him. So I’m thinking, yes, I do still trust. What else can I do?
Jim took this photo on the Little Red River in Arkansas, near Heber Springs and Greers Ferry Lake.
Over the weekend I had a conversation that took me back 14 years to the sudden and unexpected death of my father. Although time has helped to heal the pain of loss, I could feel it again acutely as I heard this person speak of their own grief. Daddy was a man of strong Christian faith and loved the story of the hymn It is Well With My Soul, the lyrics of which were written in 1873 by Horatio Spafford. A wealthy businessman, Spafford was financially ruined in the Chicago fire of 1871. A short time after the fire, his four daughters were lost in a shipwreck while crossing the Atlantic; he received a telegraph from his wife that stated simply, saved alone.
Several weeks later as Spafford himself traveled through the same waters that had claimed the lives of his daughters, he wrote these words:
When peace, like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll; whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control, that Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and hath shed his own blood for my soul.
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought! My sin, not in part but the whole, is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more, praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
And, Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight, the clouds be rolled back as a scroll; the trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend, even so, it is well with my soul.
Refrain: It is well with my soul, it is well, it is well with my soul.
At my father’s memorial service, my husband and brother-in-law read Spafford’s story and the church choir sang the hymn, with Daddy’s robe and stole marking his usual spot in the bass section of the choir loft. Although I knew many dark days of grief awaited me, I was comforted by the hope of those words. As I rest in Christ, the peace like a river attends me, and even in the midst of earthly anguish, stress, worry and care, it truly is well with my soul.
Several years ago, in our Sunday School class, we took a spiritual gifts inventory. There were several pages of questions and none had quick or easy answers. I tried to answer as honestly as possible and anxiously awaited the results. I looked forward to discovering my gift — maybe I would be a great teacher or leader or evangelist who brings many people to Christ. Maybe I would be a servant like Mother Theresa.
The next week we returned to class and received the results of our spiritual gift inventories. I learned that my primary gift was hospitality. Yuck. That sounded silly, trivial and shallow. Having parties for God. I didn’t want hospitality, I wanted teaching, evangelism, mercy — something else — anything else sounded more spiritual than hospitality. In fact, not everyone even agrees that hospitality is in fact a spiritual gift.
At first I considered it a joke at my expense; that I could not possibly have the spiritual depth to have a real gift. But as I learned more about it, I realized that it was not so trivial as it had at first seemed.
I think that I didn’t recognize it as a gift because it has always come easy to me to welcome people into my home and my heart. I don’t care about the condition of my house; we once hosted a Sunday School party with bare sheetrock on the walls because we hadn’t gotten around to painting after stripping wallpaper. I was so excited by the idea of hosting the gathering that I didn’t care what anyone thought of my house.
But I have come to appreciate the deeper meaning of my gift. For the past few years, it has opened the door to relationships with many of my kids’ friends that I would not have known otherwise. Having them at my house gives me opportunities to talk to them, listen to them and interact on a deeper level than just seeing them waving from the carpool line.
There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but the same God works all of them in all men. I Corinthians 12:4-6
So I see that it is God’s gift at work in me as I host them in my home, feed them, love them and hear about their joys and their sorrows and the inevitable trials of youth. They have been sent to me to receive what I have been gifted to pass along. I have learned to be grateful for my gift as I am happiest and most fulfilled when I am sharing it.
The same God who gave me the ability to enjoy a group of boisterous teenagers gave Mother Theresa the ability to minister to the poor, Billy Graham the ability to preach and that incredible voice to Art Garfunkel. Many gifts, one Spirit.
It was nearly two weeks ago that Jim was informed that his position will be eliminated as of 12/31. He works for an international Fortune 500 company, with sales of $26 billion, that has seen more than its share of downsizing and outsourcing over the past several years. So while not entirely unexpected, the confirmation of our concerns over the past few months was nevertheless a blow.
Through the years, our family has been extravagantly blessed — we will celebrate 20 years of marriage later this month; 20 years of commitment, love, friendship and a shared sense of calling to our highest mission — the spiritual growth and development of our two girls. God has used us in spite of our many weaknesses, mistakes and failures to shape them into bright, beautiful, gifted, fun-loving and (usually!) delightful human beings whose hearts belong first and foremost to Him.
He has comforted us in the loss of those we have deeply loved and guided us through uncertain and anxious times. We have trusted Him with major decisions, serious illnesses and the daily stress, anxiety and worries that accompany life with teenage girls. We trust that in this transition He will be faithful as He has been before.
— My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. “Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 2 Corinthians 12:9-10
When things are going well, we have the illusion of strength and security. It is not until we encounter a situation that is completely outside our control that we are forced to acknowledge that we are truly powerless. Nothing has really changed except our own mindset; we are not any less secure than we were when things were going smoothly; the only difference is that we now realize it! So — now that we have been reminded that we are weak, we can boast in our weakness and find peace and comfort in His strength.
Because we know that His grace is sufficient, we can choose to be free from worry about the future. That doesn’t mean that there is no fear or stress, or that there aren’t tears, discouragement and frustration; it doesn’t even mean that, knowing His goodness and faithfulness, we always do choose to be free from worry. There are good days and bad days.
What I do know for certain, though, is that, as I like to tell my kids, God’s plans for us have already been put into place. He had it figured out before we were born. He has answered the questions, done the deal, dotted every i and crossed every t. And He will reveal His plan to us on His timetable, not on our own. We are not called to understand His timing, just to trust Him and to do our best with the gifts He has given us.
Last week we heard a sermon from Sam, our former senior pastor. He preached from Daniel 3, (which is also what I’ve been studying in my Thursday morning Bible study) the story of Shadrach, Meschach and Abednego in the fiery furnace. The three men were thrown into the furnace by King Nebuchadnezzar because they would not worship the king’s idol. They could have avoided their fate by one simple act: bowing down to the idol. But they refused to take the easy way out; though they faced an agonizing death, they allowed themselves to be bound and faced the furnace. Here is what they said:
“O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.” Daniel 3:16-18
They knew that God was able to deliver them from death; but they trusted Him even if he chose not to. And we all know the end of the story; they survived the furnace without even the smell of smoke on their clothing (v.27). We also know that there was a fourth man in the fire with them, whom many Bible experts believe to be Jesus. And the three men went on to prosper as they never had before and the king decreed that all would worship the one true God.
Sam said it so much better than I ever could, but the point is that Shadrach, Meschach and Abednego trusted completely, even to the point of death, not knowing if God would deliver them or not. What blessings would they have missed if they had sought to save their lives and avoid the furnace? The nation would have continued to worship a worthless statue and the three probably would not have been promoted to the lofty positions they achieved.
So, maybe we are in the furnace now. But we are not alone. There is a “fourth man” right here with us. And although it’s scary, I really don’t like heat at all, and an easy way out could be really nice right now, there will be blessings on the other side that are immeasurably more satisfying than earthly security.
Please pray for us; pray for patience, strength, guidance. But don’t worry about us — there really is no need — we are already rejoicing in the good that will come from this trial as we trust in His perfect will.
For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11
