Why is it that we think we can hide from God? If you have ever read Psalm 139, you must know hiding from God is impossible. That chapter in the Bible happens to be one of my favorite and yet there are times that I think I can keep Him at arm’s length.
Have you ever just been cruising along in life at a comfortable speed and the bottom falls out in the middle of your journey? Every turn to correct your course is wrong and you soon discover you’ve lost control? So often I will work to take back control of my situation only to discover God is in the midst of the chaos and has a purpose for the course change. I’ve come to realize God will be using me and my situation or someone in my life and their situation in the future.
When you first meet someone, often they ask you “What do you do?” While we do not want to be defined by our occupation, it is a very common means of getting to know someone. Over my lifetime there have been many answers to that question. At one time I was a member of a bull gang at a paper mill, another time I was an administrative assistant, yet again a pastor, a teacher, a mechanic, a carpenter, electrician, school bus driver, and on and on. Truth be told, I did what I had to do, when I had to do it. The major work of my life has been “Servant of Jesus Christ.”
Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you needed to pray but didn’t know what to pray?
Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you wanted others to pray for you and a situation but there wasn’t time or it seems an inconvenient time to “phone a friend” or reach out to anyone? Do you feel unqualified to pray or don’t know how to pray?
“Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.”
These words, from the Rime of the Ancient Mariner (text of 1834) by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, are the cries of a man on a ship that is adrift on the sea close to Antarctica. He is not holding out much hope for himself or the others on the ship.
My mother tells me of a time that I don’t remember well. When I was around 2nd or 3rd grade, I was walking home from the bus stop after school (back in the day when kids were allowed to do such things). The windows of our house were open and she could hear me singing as approached the house. Suddenly, the sweet melodic sound of my voice was replaced with crying. Our next-door neighbor boy, Luis, had jumped out from behind the hedgerow and whacked me on the head with a small pipe. You might guess that we weren’t fast friends. Over the few years that we lived in that house we had a handful of disagreements that resulted in fisticuffs a few times.