Writers In The Storm

I wish life were easy. I wish it for me. I wish it for my loved ones. I even wish it for my enemies. It might make them less hateful.

But it isn’t. The tough things in life have the deepest impact. Good. Bad. Either way.

It’s easy to sit back and observe the difficulty of another’s life picking and choosing what should stay or go. The effort isn’t mine. I won’t pay that cost. The fallout won’t settle on me.

In teaching my wonderful son about the bible, he is often dismayed at the behavior of people. It’s easy to judge Adam and Eve as foolish. The Hebrews as stiff-necked. The Sanhedrin as short-sighted. Judas as a traitor. These guys saw a bush burn, the sea part, and the dead get up and walk. Now me, I would have chosen to stay in the Garden of Eden. He only held back one little tree.

I have my own list of poor choices. Always made with the intent to make my life easier, in some way, and never in consultation with my Creator. Nobility, righteousness, grace were given little consideration in my processing. Consequently, my life became more difficult.

Ah, sweet irony.

Now that I try to live on God’s frequency-more righteous, more noble, more gracious, though I often fail miserably-decisions for myself are more clear. In my walk with Him, I have my own examples of bushes burning, seas parting, and my previously dead soul that now dances. I don’t want what he chooses to keep from me.

Now the hard thing, is less the decisions, but the enduring. The knowing that the world is fallen and won’t get fixed before He returns. It grieves me, but it also frees me to keep a heavenly perspective.

But there may be decisions-not passive, non-decisions-but hard, tough, difficult decisions that require nobility, righteousness, and grace in quantities I am ill-equipped to offer in the natural. I know He will be there with me. In His protections, with His love, and through His strength, I can do that hard thing for His glory, whatever my role may be.

God gave Joseph a dream, and he dared to share it. Joseph spoke the truth; he shared what God had whispered to his heart as he slept. He shared his dreams.

Some say taunting arrogance, lack of discernment, and naivete led him to speak of his dreams. Some say he deserved the scolding from his father and even the harsh treatment he received from his brothers. Some say he never should’ve spoken of the mysteries revealed to him in the darkness.

Perhaps.

Perhaps if he’d just kept his mouth shut, thought before he spoke, put himself in his listeners’ shoes… maybe if he had just pondered the words in his heart without spilling it all out to his family…. He could’ve avoided the pain of the next thirteen years-slavery and imprisonment in a foreign land.

But as we witness the life of Joseph unfold, we see a young man who believed God. Speaking of God’s work was a natural part of who Joseph was-he couldn’t stop speaking of what God was doing in his life. He certainly didn’t hide from his own family what he learned from God. Surely family was the place to share his most intimate thoughts, his quirky dreams, his good news. Wouldn’t they want to know what God was up to in his life? Who else was he going to tell?

His message was true. The events he foretold eventually came to pass. But his willingness to trust his family with his dreams came with a price. Joseph was misunderstood, rejected, and even hated. It wasn’t his own sin that led to Joseph’s slavery. His brothers chose to embrace murder in their hearts. Joseph wasn’t responsible for their hatred and he didn’t deserve their response.

But Joseph didn’t let their unfair treatment muzzle him. We later see him boldly proclaiming the truth of other dreams-even though he knew the listeners could’ve responded like his brothers, with ridicule and harsh consequences. He understood God was behind the dreams, and knowing that truth gave him the courage to speak up. As in the dreams of his youth, God had given him a message and he couldn’t keep quiet.

As the child of parents raised during the Depression, I credit both Mom and Dad with my resilience. While my father tended to tough out everything, even some of the should-be-fun stuff, Mom offered thanks for her basket of lemons and proceeded to stir the pitcher of lemonade. A genuine Minute Maid, that one, nothing kept her indefinitely low.

This characteristic has served me well as I have journeyed up the hills and through the vales of my life. If I fell off the horse, I got back up there and rode the beast.

Tenacity. Persistence. Determination. Good stuff, eh?

But on occasion, the horse I was determined to ride more resembled a merry-go-round. Somewhere along the way my fixation on achievement, finishing a job, or seeing something through, slipped into a personal goal of avoiding failure, stubbornness, or headstrong stupidity serving only to perpetuate my continued misery. Pride blinded my judgment.

The goal, whether unhealthy, unwise, or simply out of my reach became my personal white whale. Do, or die. In these cases, my resilience served only to see just how far I could sttretttccchh. Before I-

Snapped!

I rarely ascribe my decisions to God’s will. A couple of times I have clearly felt His nudging. And when He nudged, some things took place that sure felt like heavenly grease on the skids. He can give me a run-down on the actual event later. Until then, I pray for guidance. And obedience.

It’s tough for Christians, who genuinely look to God for answers, to have certainty in every situation. Moses had a hot line to God. There was no ambiguity in what God told him. Yet, he still doubted, groused, and occasionally got it wrong.

That’s where I cling to Romans 8:28.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, those who have been called according to His purpose.

The bible has countless examples of a bumbling human trying to act only in God’s will, yet blowing it big time. I’m grateful that He watches my feeble efforts to honor Him and still, somehow, finds a way to love me. That, my friends, we call grace.

I often wonder how many people I’ve disappointed in my life. My husband, my son, absolutely my parents over the many years of my youth. I’ve had opportunity to make amends with them. I don’t pretend to be perfect. Too much evidence to the contrary.

I remember early in my born-again walk I prayed for a Christian radio station. I commuted then and wanted to put the time to good spiritual use. I had read the bible starting at John and back again, and was on my second round. I didn’t understand it all, still don’t, but God was working on me.

My prayer was answered in a local station and a man with a worldwide ministry. He could locate bible references faster than I could find A in the dictionary. I thought he had a computer until I saw him on public access TV. Just him and a well-thumbed bible answering questions. Impressive.

One day he made some comments about angels that I didn’t recall in my personal read through the testaments. Not a major point, but I was curious as to what formed that particular pronouncement. Another day, he announced the date of Jesus’ return. I turned off the radio with a shudder.

I stewed over that for two weeks. I knew he was wrong. I’d read it in the bible:

                  But of that day and hour man knows, no, not the angels which are in
                         heaven, neither the Son, but only the Father.  Mark 13:31

But who was I? I couldn’t find the book of Amos without the lookup table, or an hour to kill. The event unnerved me.

Then I got mad. How dare he? I was mightily disappointed. The man had tried to mislead me. To this day, I cannot fathom why the man stepped out onto that particular ledge. His error was simply stunning.

But then a smile of joy burst upon my heart. Only the Holy Spirit enlightens our minds with scriptural truth. It was a gift of discernment. To me. The little ignorant one. The one whose bible still reeked of the box. I needn’t look to others for guidance. God held a firm grip on my soul.

That moment of understanding is favorite memory. I eventually turned the radio back on, in search of other stations. Some I listened to, others I rejected. The Holy Spirit truly became my guide.

Unlike the rest of us, He never disappoints.