After the Storms and Anvil
Here we are already in the third week of Lent, that 40 day journey from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday. These are days to consider our lives, to slow our roll long enough to wonder how it all fits together and ponder if we are traveling on a worthy path or are corrections called for.
Two weeks ago in this space I talked about how every family has a story and many leave us questioning whether God really cares about us and our tiny corner of the world. We looked in on the story of Jesus in the boat with his guys in the midst of a storm. While they panicked and bailed water, Jesus was snoozing. “Don’t you care that we are drowning?” He rises, commands the storm to settle, then gives them a glimpse of who he really is and the powerful truth terrifies the followers. God does indeed care, and will never forget you in your story and storm. Not confusing his silence for absence helps.
Last week I took that idea and noodled on how God might use our stormy days with the image of a foundry, where only through the heat of a furnace and shaping by a hammer do we slowly, often painfully, find our form. Through the times in the shop we will fully live out our design to be used by the Master for our benefit and the good of our world. The very things we endure and pray to end turn out to be just what we need for who we are meant to be. Hard days, rightly responded to, create a terrible beauty in us.
This week a quote caught my eye from a NYC pastor, John Starke, who considered life these days.
In our life with God in this world, we often need to sit quietly and be honest with ourselves. What worries and anxieties are occupying our minds and governing our behavior more than they should? Sitting quietly is difficult. We don’t like what happens when we do. All the ghosts and goblins from below, which we have so effectively silenced in the hurry of each day, suddenly come to the surface. When we are still, we often scroll. We scroll through algorithms available to us for the silencing of the inner panic. But when we resist the scrolling, we are often left with lingering pains, insecurities, and thoughts that worry us and, more than we realize, control us.
If you take what Starke offers as the “what is” and then fold it into Psalms131, a way forward emerges.
LORD, my heart is not proud; my eyes are not haughty. I don’t concern myself with matters too great or too awesome for me to grasp.
Instead, I have calmed and quieted myself, like a weaned child who no longer cries for its mother’s milk. Yes, like a weaned child is my soul within me.
O Israel, put your hope in the LORD—now and always.
Starke’s assessment of our world and then countered by Ps.131 craft a worthy extension from the last two weeks looking at storms and foundries.
Thinking of Ps. 131, I clearly remember our girls in their pre-weaned days. Hunger was an emergency often announced with a wail. There was no sense that needs just met would be satisfied in the future. Panic (don’t you care?) and pangs of need (anvil time) cause an infant to cry out without confidence that all will be OK.
But over time, after consistently being fed and changed and dressed and loved, the child learns that when the needs arise, a loving parent is never far away and it’s going to work itself out. So, it’s an easy image to conjure that after feeding and diapers changed, the little one rests with contentment on mom’s chest.
While this comes naturally to kids as they grow, you and I have to choose to remember, to settle and then rest.
If we want to journey well, we can’t afford to just be consumers of the next thing, as though unhitched to all that has come before. So, remembering that we have been fed and cared for and guided and loved as we are sets the stage for any next chapter, especially when hard times come. Perhaps take a bit of time remembering and thanking God for the blessings you have enjoyed, for the challenges you faced that help make up your character, for the people you have traveled with in life.
Worthwhile prayer like this brings rewards as we reach back to go forward.
Then, settle the voices of infant-panic rattling in your mind with the truthful conviction like David sings, “I have calmed and quieted myself.” When we look at our life and see we are overmatched and that we don’t have what the moment demands, choose to calm and quiet the noise with the truth that he is the God who sees, who hears our call, and who whispers for us to trust him now.
Worthy self-talk can be a powerful tool for progress in life.
Over and over, as we face life and we remember the Jesus track record in our experience, then once again choose to settle the worries and anxiety that shadow our steps, we are free to rest. David, after choosing to trust, possibly sighs and leans back to sing “like a weaned child who no longer cries for its mother’s milk. Yes, like a weaned child is my soul within me.” We all desire rest and that is just what Jesus offers, soul rest.
The payoff is shalom with God, at home, unperturbed, beloved.
As we slowly move toward Holy Week, the Cross and the Empty Tomb, it’s worth taking some time to take stock of the health of your life in Jesus. Craft prayers that are honest with how you feel. Say out loud what troubles your heart, but then, just as clearly, verbally rehearse true truths: He will never forget you; He is the God who hears and sees it all and loves you thoroughly. All of life brings us to the place where we live in God, at rest, forever.
Music for the week…let’s do duets!
And a couple of lame jokes
Gina was taking an afternoon nap on New Year's Eve before the festivities.
After she woke up, she confided to Max, her husband, "I just dreamed that you gave me a diamond ring for a New Year's present. What do you think it all means?"
"Aha, you'll know tonight," answered Max smiling broadly.
At midnight, as the New Year was chiming, Max approached Gina and handed her a small package. Delighted and excited she opened it quickly.
There in her hand rested a book entitled: "The Meaning of Dreams."
*********************
A lawyer was reading out the will of a rich man to the people mentioned in the will:
"To you, my loving wife Rose, who stood by me in rough times, as well as good, I leave her the house and $2 million."
The lawyer continued, "To my daughter Jessica, who looked after me in sickness and kept the business going, I leave her the yacht, the business, and $1 million."
The lawyer concluded, "And, to my cousin Dan, who hated me, argued with me, and thought that I would never mention him in my will - well you were wrong...