Wake Up Call

Awakened by a replay of something that had happened more than a decade ago, I leaned over to find 2:46am staring back at me from the alarm clock. The next thought was a statement so clear it was almost audible, “I have always protected you.” This straight-forward statement seemed oddly out of place but was the answer to a heart’s cry mulled over two weeks before. While rehearsing a long list of relational fractures—I kept coming up with the same conclusion. “God could fix this.” It would be admirable to say that I sent my complaints heavenward. Instead, I just kept stirring and stewing the what-ifs. Whether our concerns take the form of prayers, complaints or feeble mumblings, the Lord knows, cares and desires to meet us at our point of need.

Two forty six in the morning, wide awake reliving a forced review of events that could have ended in tragedy. Ten years ago, a friend’s child ran into my utility room and grabbed my sleeping shepherd. We would learn later that the child had just come from her brother’s house and been playing with his Rottweiler. Startled from a dead sleep, my dog interpreted the child’s animal scented hug as an attack and snapped before he even opened his eyes. The results was two small puncture wounds that we would be told by the Emergency Room physician were 1/8 of an inch from the child’s carotid artery. While the child adamantly protested the treatment and the mother argued against my dog’s impound, I blasted gratitude to the throne.

It went without saying that this incident could have ended so differently. While, tracing the minuscule fissures in the ceiling of my aged abode and rewinding the words, “I have always protected you”; other forgotten scenes came forward. A near crash at a busy intersection on my 18th birthday, missed by an intoxicated driver whose demolished vehicle would later be on the evening’s new. A split second and a fourth of a mile separated our destinies. How had I so glibly taken this noteworthy protection for granted?

Next, the camera in my mind’s eye trained on the quivering hand of a young gangster as he screamed, pointed the handgun in my direction and began firing dead on from less than twenty feet away. The anguish in his eyes, a resolute combination of anger and fear, is bolted onto my brain. The “startled” reaction to unexpected noises faded within a few weeks but, the cold sad impression left by that young man’s eyes remains. Untouched, not even a bullet hole in my car…

Yes, Lord…You have always protected me. You are amazing and completely trustworthy. You are my fortress. Your very name is my strong tower (Proverbs 18:10), even during times when—I do not recognize your faithful watch care; you are there. Not one thing that happens here on this confused planet takes you off guard. Thank you for the times of loving protection I am able to recall and for the dozens that slip by without fanfare. You are far more than I deserve. It is a privilege to reside under the shadow of the Almighty (Psalm 91). You are my God, my shield, my protector and the author of amazing wake-up calls.

steps

Months of pressing forward...just take the next step. God blesses small, faithful steps and big, fearful ones and those we take when we are pushed and we clumsily land a little dazed waiting for the next instruction. God is gracious and merciful and loving and kind and just. He is so different from us, so different from our earthly endeavors and yet, he understands. His word is clear that he cares and he has felt every feeling that we will ever experience. Since, the pressing forward is motivated by his sovereign plan—the pressing down can only be explained and patiently endured by his sovereign grace.

You are my deliverer and my strength. As you have faithfully held me in the past, I know that the trials of this moment are minute from your perspective. The onslaught of broken promises; the blood shot eyes that were so full of hope when they looked out the window of the rehabilitation center attempt to look any other direction than mine. How do I tell her little boy that she is going to jail? What else could have been done? Should I have just camped out on her front step? Oh Father, does your heart hurt when I break my promises to you? The numbing sound of a dial tone, confirmation that the conversation has been terminated without being completed. The rejection that was once a simple, questioned undercurrent is now a full blown tsunami. Do you feel an emptiness within your chest when I reject you by living for myself? Family member are supposed to love, forgive, understand and care. The members of your family are supposed to do the same, aren't we? We live so selfishly and choose our own way and your heart is broken—yet, you never give up. You never give up. Your mercies are new every morning. So, I am able to stand up and walk forward when, I would rather hide away—I am able to love when, the rejection has been so devastating that my emotions have been torn to shreds.

My heart is so sad. I know that I am not alone but, my feelings scream otherwise. You are my majority. Today, I want to “want” according to your will and your perfect plan. I want to live according to whatsoever things are lovely and walk as a luminary of the Holy Spirit reflecting the fruit of your Light: love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, and temperance (Galatians 5:22-23) You Father, speak light and life so whom shall I fear? What dark sadness can diminish your everlasting day? Your light is not kindled by earthly measures. Your light is not extinguished by earthly means. Your light forces away the darkness. Your peace resonates a beautiful melody to even the most remote cavern of my soul. You fill my life with light and song and power and the will to take the next step.

Cheyenne

God always answers prayer. Not always in the way we plan, usually not within our time frame but, He always answers. A few days ago, I was privileged to spend the day with my precious granddaughter while her Mom was attending discipleship and her daddy was working.

Grandchildren are tagged that (grand) for a reason. They are born with the capacity to love you just the way you are, trust you without a valid reason, welcome your presence without notice and believe that you are an amazing part of the universe. We as grandparents have a wonderful opportunity/obligation to keep up this image by investing our lives in them.

As I opened the bedroom door my tiny tumbled down princess peeped her head out from her rosebud blanket and said with great excitement, “Hi, Nana” and the adventure began. We had a tea party, read all about the “Silly Monkey” and built a fabulous tent out of blankets—all before breakfast.

When it was finally time for a snack, Cheyenne climbed into her high chair and I took a seat across the table from her. To my left and right were empty spots at the small round table. The chair just to my right was pulled from the table; left askew from the night before when everything else had been put back in its place. As I looked around the apartment, noticing every detail and thinking back to where this little family had been both physically and spiritually just a year ago, I was totally overwhelmed by the gracious hand of God. As a result, I just started to pray aloud, thanking the Lord and watching one of those “reasons” for gratitude munch on her breakfast. My prayer was a simple, joy filled conversation and Chey didn’t even seem to notice until I said, “and Lord Jesus thank you so much for”.

Immediately, Cheyenne looked up from her breakfast, shot a puzzled look my way and then to the “empty” chair to my right. She quizzically looked at me and then back to the empty chair. Without even the slightest hesitation, she cocked her little head, pointing toward the empty chair she said, “He’s wight day-uh” as if to say, why are you looking at me if you are talking to him?

Needless to say, my chill bumps had chill bumps (as they do now and have every time I have shared this story). There is no doubt in my mind that Cheyenne saw Jesus. Her vision, unlike mine has not been tainted by the world, life experience and rationale. Even though my vision is marred, the eyes of my heart can see perfectly and just as He has promised, He is with me always even unto the end of world. God used a tiny piece of Heaven seated in a highchair to remind me.

holding me

Are you a poor leader or am I a pathetic follower? Well, that goes without explanation. Every miniscule fragment of history indicates that you are an impeccable leader. The perfect, sovereign, awesome leader of Daniel in the den of lions and Moses in the midst of the unforgiving crowd of future Israelis; the matchless leader of the stars of the millionth galaxy as they line up in perfect order to be tagged and tossed purposefully into the velvet atmosphere. Your majesty and leadership again and again are proven perfect.

Obviously, the flaw is not with the leader but with the designated follower: me. Oh, I do great for a second or so then the wearisome details of the journey get me completely side tracked. Sadly the good that I do along the way in a feeble attempt to “feel” close to you only brings distance that is almost more than I can bear.

When I look up from my completed task, beaten and exhausted, starved for a tender nod of approval, I find that you are so far away that you are almost unrecognizable. How did I lag so far behind? How could you leave me? Don’t you love me? Can’t you see I am trying so hard to please you? Why did you keep walking away from me? I was doing fine for awhile, you saw didn’t you? You knew, yet you allowed me to slowly step back, you could have stopped me. Why do I keep lagging behind? Every weary, leaded, fractured step depletes me.

Standing, extending to the greatest height I can muster (like a little girl tip-toeing to see something wonderful), I see you are a vague shadow, distant, far away; but as my posture changes from head strong and tall to kneeling then falling on my face, I find that you are no longer the vague figure on the nebulous horizon. You are present, a touchable, tangible Savior and a gentle, caring Master. You are anxious to lift me to my feet, ready to set me aright, forgiven, new and on my way. I however want to stay at your feet, clinging to you, like a little child grasping her mother’s ankles, holding tightly; partially out of humility and gratitude; mostly convinced that if I let go it is easy to once again lose my perspective. Oh precious Master, could that have been the reason Mary brilliantly chose to anoint your feet, to be near you, to honor you, to take her rightful place?

If I cling to you just at the hem of your garment, I will know when we are to move, I cannot make a misstep and I will not stray from the One who should be the grandest object of my affection. If I hold on tightly all is well, always, forever. It is then that I realize You, lovingly, are with Your very thought, holding me.

war

What could cause a mild mannered thirteen year old to turn into a ball of fury—screaming threats, slamming doors and continually disrupting the harmony of her typical suburban church going (three times a week) Christian family? What would turn an up and coming executive into a mass murderer? How could a mommy become her child’s murderer? What is this dark epidemic that seems to be taking our nation systematically one situation at a time?

There does not seem to be a safe place. When our sons and daughters learn about phone sex and homosexuality through acquaintances in their youth groups and parents do not allow their daughters to go to football games, unchaperoned because they are being stalked by other girls. Does this smack of Sodom and Gomorrah…or worse?

What do we do? Complain, keep our children at home or confront the culprit? If we choose to confront, which situation should it be? Where do we begin? We may physically inhibit unacceptable activity (at least around our child) but the problem; like an anxious, active volcano, continually erupts. Its contents spew up from the “sewer” of our society and its vomit of degradation is oozing its way across our pristine landscape.

Not one of us is immune. Even the creamy complexioned, brace-faced, purposely polished teen fortunate enough to be homeschooled and sequestered from the plague that continually bombards the average teenager cannot be kept from the germ of sin. Yesterday, monitoring friends and media consumption was a pretty sound method of protecting the minds and hearts of our Treasures. Today, powerful corporations use sex to sell everything from cars to candy. Familiar cartoons that used to be entertaining and innocent promote many amoral conditions. If a specific lewd behavior is not promoted outright — then wrong is portrayed in such a light as to be entertaining and those who oppose the “wrong” are pictured as out of touch, narrow minded morons. Observe.

How did this happen in our clean, crisp, conscientious country? Those of us who were supposed to hold the standard have been unfaithful. Our post has been overrun. The Church (not the building) has been referred to as a sleeping giant. Unfortunately, that is not true; we are wide awake and apathetic. We see the problems; we have fought them for years. What began as a slow, low, under the radar crawl of the enemy Satan, has mushroomed, exploded and is raining it’s hideous debris into our lives while we that lodge under the name of Christ, wring our hands, talk about the problems and go on with business as usual. We act as though our children will grow out of this stage and morph into responsible adults, take on responsible roles and become “good” church goers and community leaders.

Hey—we weren’t perfect little saints and we turned out pretty good, right? No, we did not. We have swallowed what our parents would not tolerate. We embrace the things that would have given our grandparents nightmares. We have fallen much farther than our parents into the abyss. We have tolerated the “gray” so long that the dismal pitch of darkness doesn’t alarm us.

It is easy to be saddened yet, basically unaffected when I learn that a friend’s daughter has been exposed to a new level of filth through a casual friendship; but I’m left speechless when my adult son casually announces that he plays pool at a local restaurant/bar that gained its reputation by using buxom females as wait staff. Now, I am not naïve enough to think that this is the worst that he has been exposed to while living here in the first notch of the Bible belt. However, the stinging reality for me was that my child did not flinch when we discussed the reputation of the establishment. “What is wrong with going to ------ to play pool?” he shot. “The only other places are bars.” What does he think this restaurant is, Sesame Street? My son - loved, protected, brought up with morals, values and as much as our flawed frames could muster, was taught a Christian World View. If he thinks meeting his buddies for a game of pool and three dozen glances at scantily clad female bodies is not an issue, then I have missed a step somewhere and I honestly believe I know where.

All “good” parents pray for their children, right? Let’s say that we have read a lot of books on prayer, have attended seminars on prayer, have gone to Bible Studies on the “how to” and the “whys” of prayer. After all, we should talk to God shouldn’t we? God is the focus of our faith and our means of communicating with Him is prayer. Then why are those prayers so few, so sporadic and so impotent?

We are quick to toss a “God is great…” onto the list of things that are most important to teach our toddler. Yet, we give equal value to “Green Eggs and Ham” or “Goodnight Moon”. We (may) bow together before bedtime and rush through—“now I lay me down to sleep” but the evening news is priority. There are things that must be done before our racing minds attempt to rest.

Our world is in chaos, we wield the TV remote coasting from one disaster to the next. We watch stunned as the dominoes of financial misconduct, political confusion and feigned integrity tumble leaving circumstances too great for man to correct. We cast some words heavenward but they ricochet back like a shot from a BB gun set off in a steel room. We wrestle not against flesh and blood and we cannot “fight” as though we do. (Ephesians 6)

Is the problem in my mirror? Psalm 66:18 says, “If I regard (cherish, hold on to) iniquity (lawlessness, sin, unrighteous thought or behavior) in my heart, the Lord will not hear me”. When we face difficulties, we (may) race to God. We know that He has the answers but we are not familiar with talking to Him and we certainly feel uncomfortable listening to Him. We have access to the Creator of the Universe yet, we throw Him off like a cartoon character because we do not really believe.

My prayer today is that the troubles of the world, the apathy of our sons and daughters and the tragedies that we see will crush us to the heart of God. Only His intervention can redeem the past, repair the present and the rescue the future. He, alone is God. It would be foolish to miss an opportunity to know him intimately. One day, we will stand before him.

Let’s fight from a kneeling position. Satan despises a bowed heart. Our enemy loves for us to learn about prayer. He doesn’t care if we “talk” about prayer, attend dozens of prayer conferences and are familiar with all the conventional thought on the subject of prayer BUT, The gates of Hell quake when the simplest among us begins to earnestly seek the attention of Heaven.

Let’s commune (continually) with the One who can renovate us or our circumstances.

Let us pray.