Let Me Finish

I’m not sure what it is about enclosing ourselves in a metal capsule on wheels and rolling down the road that makes it seem as though no one can see us anymore.

Even though the top half of the capsule is all glass.

Yet, I fancy myself invisible when I get behind the wheel, despite the windows in front, behind and beside that expose me to all the travelers around me.

I suppose I served up a big fishbowl of entertainment to those sharing the road with me last week as I took another tour through Iowa.

Thanks to some audio deficiencies, I was left to the mercy of the radio.

No mp3 tunes to run through the stereo.

No podcasts.

No CD player.

Just the radio.

And 700-odd miles.

So I did what any self-respecting traveler would do and turned on public radio.

I grinned for an hour while Jonathan Winters narrated Peter and the Wolf.

I found myself unable to answer a single trivia question in honor of Schumann’s birthday.

And I read aloud from Psalm 71 to the sounds of a stringed quartet, matching David’s worship and pleas to the adagio and fortissimo and libero of the concerto. (Yep, I just looked those terms up to put cool words on what I was doing. And I do wish I’d found a way to use my new favorite musical term, klangfarbenmelodie.)

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To those who might drive ahead or alongside, I’m sure it looked like a lot of crazy talking to myself and arm waving. Normally more reserved, I guess I get a little that way when I think I’m invisible.

For the next hundred miles or so, I worked on an installment to the “mobile journal,” those times I can’t write things down save for an illegible scribble on a napkin I pulled out from under the floor mat. But chattering to myself and prodding God for a couple of hours straight works just as well as a few pages of handwriting for me.

The tough thing is remembering what all the lather was about when I arrive at my destination.

What I recall is this:

But as for me, I will always have hope;
I will praise you more and more.

My mouth will tell of your righteousness,
of your salvation all day long,
though I know not its measure.

I will come and proclaim your mighty acts, O Sovereign LORD;
I will proclaim your righteousness, yours alone.

Since my youth, O God, you have taught me,
and to this day I declare your marvelous deeds.

Even when I am old and gray,
do not forsake me, O God,
till I declare your power to the next generation,
your might to all who are to come.

Your righteousness reaches to the skies, O God,
you who have done great things.
Who, O God, is like you? (Psalm 71: 14-19, emphasis mine)

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David had one of those days — the kind where everyone was in pursuit of his life.

He’s acknowledged God as his fortress and refuge and hope. And he continued to proclaim His greatness.

And then this. This: “Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, O God, till I declare your power to the next generation, your might to all who are to come.” (vs. 18)

David’s plea, despite the terror that surrounded him, was Let me finish.

Don’t forsake me just yet, God, I still need to declare your greatness to another generation.

I circled with God around the idea that He would forsake David at all, and why David might suggest that he would. But then, David always did ride the rickety roller coaster of raw emotion. I won’t be letting go my theology because he had another bad day.

Even so, I can’t help but let it take me that, considering abandonment by God to be at least a remote possibility, he would say, Okay, You can go. But not yet. First, let me finish. I still have You to declare.

David saw an emerging generation that needed to hear God’s greatness proclaimed. He would go out kicking and screaming before He’d let God dump him before he’d finished.

I’m thinking, if I thought God might bail on me (and I don’t), I’d tell Him to just get it over with. If you’re going to go, then go! Why prolong the agony? Just be done already.

David, no. David still wanted to howl God’s greatness from the top of the mountains and to the depths of the sea.

Let me finish!

I’m reminded, David was not alone. Moses once asked God to blot him out of His book for the sake of the Israelites in their moment of rebellion. And Paul offered to be separated from Christ himself if it meant his people would grasp the truth of God’s mercy.

None of them, in those moments, thought of losing their lives to find it. They thought only of losing their lives if that’s what it would take.

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As the gauge dipped toward empty and I pulled back into civilization for fuel and a bite to eat, I kept my arms down and dropped my voice to just a mumbled hush. (That way my lips don’t move so much.) I arrived at the gas pump and the conclusion that, mercifully, God took none of these fellows at their word.

He saw their hearts ripped open, bleeding wild for the sake of their people and His name, and He accomplished His purpose without asking them to make good on their promise.

Because when it comes to the hearts of His own, He has never been in the business of forsaking and blotting and cursing.

He will always let us finish, and finish well.

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Photo: Moonlight Highway by abcdz2000 via Stock.xchng