Signs of Growth
Saturday afternoon when the men paraded out the door, a beautiful sound rose up from the hush they left behind: January thaw.
I heard snow settle, water trickle . . . and the clomp clomp clomp of three pairs of feet on my roof.
This is what kids in South Dakota do for fun.
:: (more…)
Nothing to Fear
The distress signal came in earlier this evening.
Nobody wants to overreact.
But this was bad.
It was ugly.
She wasn’t sure, but she just didn’t have a good feeling. If it turned out to be what she thought, she’d never sleep again.
Maybe it was nothing.
But what if it were something? The wrong kind of something? The scary kind of something?
The only way to know would be to move stuff out of the way and get a better look with a little more light.
But . . .
But . . .
But . . . if it were really the bad thing, moving stuff and poking around might just wake it up.
And the unspeakable would happen. The horror movie music was already playing in the background.
So the distress signal went out.
The text message buzzed in.
I think I may have found a gargantuan spider.
:: (more…)
Don’t Lose Your Head
In God I trust; I will not be afraid;
What can man do to me? (Psalm 56:11)
I’m reminded of one of the reasons I don’t see a lot of television lately. It’s mostly because it sucks me in and all of a sudden I realize that I’ve just given away a half hour . . . or an hour . . . or more that I just can’t get back. And it’s given me nothing to show for it.
The tv is on in the background now, weaseling my attention away. I’ve just seen two completely unrelated incidents of people losing their heads.
Literally.
Sort of.
::
The first instance was an episode of Punk’d. A guy got on a bus and his head fell off into his hands. But it was ok. He put it back on his shoulders and staggered to the back of the bus. Where his head fell off again. When the bus finally stopped, a whole bunch of people ran screaming from the bus.
Somehow, his fellow passengers couldn’t get their heads around the idea that real heads don’t fall off and still permit folks to walk around holding them.
Talk about losing your head.
Then, a few moments later, a commercial came on for a headache reliever. To demonstrate how much her head hurt, the lady in the ad ripped her head off (not in a bloody way, just as though tearing paper). And then she stood in the produce aisle casually holding a torn off picture of her head telling us how she was affected by light and sound.
All the while, a torn hole in the video gaped at the viewer reminding us that her head was missing.
People keep losing their heads.
And they make it look so easy.
Almost commonplace.
::
I don’t think it’s supposed to be like that. I think we’re supposed to keep our heads.
Paul told Timothy that God didn’t give him a spirit of fear, but one of a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7). And here the psalmist reminds us that man is powerless to do us real harm. Nor can anything else for that matter.
Does it mean nothing bad ever happens?
Hardly.
I’m pretty sure we’ve all see enough of life to know better. Bad things happen. But God stays with us no matter what. With Him, we can persevere. We can hold on. We can keep our heads.
Stuff happens.
But it’s no reason to lose our heads.
::
An Abnormal and Persistent Fear
Yet you are near, O LORD,
and all your commands are true.
Long ago I learned from your statutes
that you established them to last forever. (Psalm 119:151-152)
Last night I walked the track at the gym (I’m trying to reconstruct this habit). The walking track is actually suspended about 15 to 20 feet over a basketball court. It’s structurally sound, well constructed and has a very solid and secure guardrail all the way around that extends at least past waist height.
It’s not dangerous.
::
Yet, last night as we walked, each time we rounded the far corner, my stomach dropped out in terror. Kind of like that feeling when the roller coaster drops. It was bad enough that, even though I’m not all that verbally emotive, I often let out an involuntary gasp or groan as we walked around the corner. You see, tucked up against the guard rail a mother sat with her two young boys, contentedly watching their big brother’s basketball game on the court below.
They weren’t rambunctious. They weren’t misbehaving. They didn’t run out onto the track. They sat, quietly. They peered through the very safe, very secure rails. Their mom even kept a hand on their sweatshirts most of the time to make sure they didn’t take off anywhere.
They were safe.
I was sick to my stomach.
::
I’m not afraid of heights.
I’m not.
At least not as far as I’m concerned. I can climb stuff. I even fell off a ladder picking apples a couple of years ago. And I still don’t mind being up off the ground.
But for other people? Heights terrify me. It’s the stupidest thing I have ever seen.
My brain told me that these little boys were safe. They couldn’t fit their heads through the rail, let alone somehow slip their entire bodies through unnoticed by their very attentive mother. But my belly told me different.
My belly told me those boys were going to fall. Over the rail, under the rail, through the rail. They’d find a way to fall to the ground.
::
“Do you see how easily a little kid could slip through the rail?” I asked my friend. “All she’d have to do is look away for two seconds, and WHOOSH! There he goes!”
She chuckled. And shook her head. She’s been there with me before.
“No way he could fall, right?” I conceded.
“Nope,” she said.
And we walked on. Until we came back to that corner.
My stomach dropped.
I searched for a bucket.
And then I regained my composure, only to reach the corner and go through it all over again.
::
It’s an irrational fear, through and through. I can’t find a definition in a medical dictionary for my particular idiosyncrasy. But there is a definition for its counterpart, the more “normal” kind of fear of heights:
Fear of heights: An abnormal and persistent fear of heights. Sufferers experience severe anxiety even though they realize as a rule that heights pose no real threat to them. (MedicineNet.com)
Even though they realize as a rule that heights pose no threat to them. In my case, to others.
::
You know, I was normal once. Well, more normal. Until Josiah was about four years old. One fateful day at Camp Snoopy, he rode with Isaac in the big, huge, monstrous ferris wheel. The one that went way high. The one that had no seat belts or restraints of any kind to prevent a fearless sort of kid from standing up, walking around and occasionally leaning over the side.
I looked up at my one son sitting quietly in his seat. But I saw the other taking in all the sights from halfway out of the car. Seven stories in the air, he was leaning over the side wall, which was really no higher than his little waist. As I stared up aghast, I no longer saw them in the car. I only saw a little boy on the ground.
I had to find a place to throw up.
::
In the end, they both came safely down to earth, delighted to tell of their exhilarating ride in the sky.
Meanwhile, I’m wrecked. I can no longer bear the sight of anyone in any position even slightly above the ground, even though I know there is no real danger. It’s an abnormal reaction to a circumstance my head knows to be harmless. But my heart, or perhaps my stomach, does not.
The disconnect.
::
Not unlike the disconnect between what I know God’s Word says and what I act like I believe in the midst of pain or doubt or disruption.
It seems at times that I have an abnormal and persistent fear that the truth of His Word should turn out to be untrue after all. (Yes, I’m afraid many of my roads still lead back here.) I know there is no basis for that fear. I know it to be an abnormal fear, for His Word is true.
His Word is solid.
His Word endures.
His Word is enough to overcome an abnormal and persistent fear.
::
Don’t Let God Talk to Us
When the people saw the thunder and lightning and heard the trumpet and saw the mountain in smoke, they trembled with fear. They stayed at a distance and said to Moses, “Speak to us yourself and we will listen. But do not have God speak to us or we will die.” (Exodus 20:18-19)
I think a lot of Moses. I’m impressed with his faith, his obedience, his boldness. After a reluctant start, Moses really stepped up and carried the day. He led a thick headed, stiff necked, stubborn bunch of people who often lamented that they had to go to the Promised Land instead of getting to keep on being slaves in Egypt. But as much as I’m impressed with Moses and wouldn’t mind at all having a chance to sit down with him for a slice of manna and a cup of water from a rock, if I had the choice between having Moses speak to me or having God speak to me, I’d have to pick God. No contest.
But the Hebrews? Naa. God scared ‘em. Way too much.
This moment between the people of God and Moses comes just as God has come to them on Sinai and is giving the people His commands. The ten plus some. And the people have gotten a little freaked out, in the Hebrew vernacular. This whole appearance of God Himself is all very worrisome to them, and they tell Moses, “Just you talk to us. Don’t let God talk to us. If God talks to us, we’ll die. We’ll just die.”
Now, in the Israelites’ defense, I’ll say that the whole lead-up to this event was pretty fearsome. God’s invited the people to obey Him fully, and to become His treasured possession. In His advance work, God had instructed the people to spend three days in preparation. They were to be consecrated. For those days, they were not to go up on the mountain, nor to touch it. If they did, they would be put to death. It was to be marked off and not until the horn sounded were they to go up on the mountain. When it was time, God would come in a dense cloud on the mountain and speak to them. They agreed that they would obey everything God said, and they set about to their preparation.
But then the time comes, and the horn blows, and the Lord has spoken. At that moment the people stretch beyond fearing God, that reverent awe and respect we looked at the other day, and reach into the realm of being afraid of Him. Of being scared of Him.
Moses, don’t let God talk to us. You’re ok. We’re ok if you talk to us. And we’re ok if you talk to God. But don’t let God talk to us. That’s too scary. We’ll die.
Think about what God said before. Look how tender He is toward His people.
“You yourselves have seen what I did to Egypt, and how I carried you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself.”
“Out of all nations you will be My treasured possession.”
“You will be for Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.”
He wants to be with His people. He wants to be close. He carried them on eagles wings and brought them to Himself. They will be His treasured possession.
But the people are just so scared.
Too scared to see His desire for them. Too scared to see His compassion for them. Too scared to see His vision for them.
So they ask Moses to continue to mediate. To continue to stand between them.
Because if God speaks to them directly, they will die.
Crazy thing is, if they’d have let God speak to them, what a life they’d have had. If they’d have sat at the table face to face with God, just imagine what they could have experienced. But they kept living their relationship with God through Moses, not taking it as their own. Missing the chance to experience fully His desire. Missing His tender and compassionate touch.
Letting God speak to me might be a fearsome, awesome thing. But it shouldn’t scare me to death.
::
Fearing God Fearlessly
“Now I know how fearlessly you fear God; you did not hesitate to place your son, your dear son, on the altar for Me.” (Genesis 22:12b – The Message)
This account of Abraham’s near-sacrifice of his son Isaac, of relinquishing his grip on the very fulfillment of God’s promise, just keeps on giving. I’d guess that if I went back and read this again a month from now I’d see something altogether new. Maybe I’ll do that. But today, look at it with me just once more.
Look at that half-verse we were talking about yesterday. Only look at it this time in The Message with me. The word selection stops me.
“Now I know how fearlessly you fear God.”
Abraham feared God fearlessly.
At first glance it hardly makes sense. But think about it a little more.
In taking Isaac with him to the mountain with the intent of giving him up as a sacrifice to the Lord, literally as a burnt offering, there was plenty for Abraham to fear. Oh, he had cause to be fearful.
There was the fear of losing his son, his only son, losing that which he must have valued most in all the world.
There was the fear of giving up his dream for good, of letting go of his legacy, of walking away from the promise God made to him that He would make of him a great nation and that he would have descendants too numerous to count. They were already old when he and Sarah had Isaac. Ending Isaac’s life would surely also end any hope of a dream fulfilled.
There was the fear of what Sarah was going to do to him when he got home and she found out what he’d done. Read back a little bit. The text doesn’t suggest that he consulted with Sarah before he left with Isaac for the mountain. She would have been given no opportunity to protest, no chance to even say goodbye to her son. This was Sarah’s only son too, the son whom she loved. Sarah would have his head.
There was the fear of what the neighbors would say, and what they would do. At best it would be “Crazy old Abraham. Killed his own son as a human sacrifice.” At worst, they may attempt to extract justice for such a deed.
There was the fear of wondering if he’d called it wrong. What if God didn’t really tell him to do this? What if he missed it? What if God were speaking completely figuratively? What if it were only Sarah’s new enchilada recipe that kept him up last night? What if God had told him no such thing? And then what if he went through with it? Then what?
And there was of course the fear of looking into his son’s eyes, his trusting but confused eyes as he lay bound on the altar, his father’s hand poised with a knife to slay him. He faced the fear of the excruciating pain that would accompany looking back into his son’s desperate, pleading eyes, the eyes of one fully dependent on him in the moment of realization of what could only appear to Isaac as utter betrayal.
Fears within. Fears without. Abraham had much cause for fear.
Yet he fearlessly turned his attention from the fears within and without and acted instead on his fear of God.
Abraham had plenty of things to be scared of. God wasn’t one of them. This fear of God didn’t reflect a scariness about God. It was a response of awe and reverence, of honor and respect.
And that fear of God was sufficient to make him fearless in the face of so many terribly scary things. He let his fear of God lead. He let his fear of God go before him. And his fear of God was so great that those scary things, those very fearsome prospects diminished in God’s shadow. He became fearless in his fear of God. In his pursuit of the things of God. In his brokenhearted submission to the hand of God.
What scares me today? Will I let my fear of God lead? Will I fearlessly fear God?
::
The Conversation