Abraham, a man of faith, chooses deception with Sarah and bows to her wishes for Ishmael. The next Patriarchs, Isaac and Jacob, also practice deceit. David, a man after God’s own heart, succumbs to adultery and murder. Noah, who saves the world, overindulges in alcohol. And on it goes. Every human on earth has a character flaw. And so, I need to examine my life. Where have I failed to be true to myself and to God?
I can see the roots of my compromise in Grade 12 when my parents returned to Africa without me. My authority, my protection, was gone. The tempter came in the form of “Uncle J,” a broken man who desired to do right but carried too much pain inside. Couple that with my own rebellious and hurting heart, insecure and vulnerable, and I began to lower my moral standards and boundaries. There is no one but me who can claim responsibility, but Satan took advantage of my innocence.
I am who I am today because of those broken places in my heart. I may not have committed fornication or murder like David, but I kept a secret from preschool days where the seeds of guilt and shame were planted, took root, and grew.
Redemption is available to all, no matter what our character flaw. The past has been washed clean. I am free of guilt and shame. Yet I know the depravity of my heart. I know when judgmentalism and criticism and self-righteousness flit into my brain and I have to “take captive every thought” of unrighteousness. I see, I know, I recognize my bent toward self. Lord, have mercy. Keep me close to You so that I don’t stray.
There are seasons and rhythms of our lives when things go dead and sometimes when they sprout to new life. Years, months, weeks, and days cycle round and round. What I do this day may seem very insignificant, yet small habits yield big results and can set the course of my history.
I seem to be in a special season right now, however brief, without clients daily clamoring for my time. For three days my husband will be golfing, and I have potential alone time. I think of all the things I could do with this precious gift, and I feel conflicted. I know what my heart wants to do, and that is to write. And so, I indulge myself. It feels like pure joy and delight to organize thoughts, rearrange them, and make them permanent by recording them. I asked the girls about writing a blog, and I got a resounding yes! Is this a priority? Do I have the time . . .?
VISUAL: I’m a disciple in the boat on the Sea of Galilee, and Jesus is about to walk by. I call out to Him, “Will you join me in the boat?”
He is more than willing. He climbs in, sits, and hands me some bread. It’s just the two of us.
“You’re worried,” He comments.
Yes, I suppose I am. I wait for Him to tell me what about, but I know Him well. He will pause to let me figure it out.
“I’m worried that I will not use my time wisely. Time is a finite commodity.”
I find it easier to function with a predetermined schedule, decisions in place, and brain on autopilot. It reminds me of scheduled time at boarding school with bells and sirens that dictated our routine. Decisions were made for us. Summers, on the other hand, were wide open with no expectations, and laziness was sure to follow.
“Go on,” He prompts.
“I don’t want to waste it.”
“Are you wasting it?” He asks.
I don’t think I am. Then what’s the issue? It’s a matter of portioning it out to match the allotted time I have at my disposal.
“You’re feeling rushed—like you want to do what your heart wants to do, but your head is giving you alternative coulds and shoulds.”
Yes! That’s it! So how do I silence those words and voices? I want to write, but my head says, “You need to file and exercise and clean house and visit neighbors.” This issue is about alone time—there are certain things I can do best when I’m uninterrupted.
Jesus leans back, hands behind His head and smiles at me. “You have a problem, then, don’t you?”
I know He’s teasing me. I’m way too serious and stressed over this.
“What do you want to do?” He asks.
“Write!” I exclaim.
“But . . .?”
I feel rising exhilaration . . . and guilt.
I ask Him for a visual. He shows me a row of boxes, some smaller, some larger, each containing one task on my to-do list.
During my time allotted for each box, I have permission to compartmentalize and block out all the other thoughts that belong to other boxes.
And so, just for today, I’ll write, uninterrupted, without guilt or remorse. I’ll seize the precious time that I have and just focus. The dirty dishes can wait.
A 2024 Update. I smile as I read back on this journal entry. I feel no guilt now whatsoever over taking time out of a busy (or not-so-busy) schedule to write. It’s one of my default activities along with sitting at my dining room table arranging jigsaw puzzle pieces. Reading a book in the middle of the day, though—now that feels decadent. Perhaps I need to address any emotion behind that thought!
How do I respond when someone is furious with me—especially when I know I have made the right decision?
Amaziah, King of Judah (the Southern Kingdom), hired 100,000 soldiers from Israel (the Northern Kingdom), to help him fight a war (II Chronicles 25:6-10).
But a man of God told King Amaziah he needed to let the mercenaries go, for God was not with the Northern Kingdom, and “If they go with you, you’ll lose the battle.”
“But what about the 100 talents I already paid them?” the king asked.
“Not to worry,” said the man of God. “God is able to more than make it up to you.” And so Amaziah dismissed these soldiers.
Surprisingly, the mercenaries “were furious with Judah and went home in a great rage.” They’d be paid whether they fought or not, so what was the big deal? Apparently they’d lose out on the percentages from the spoils. So, in retaliation, they “raided towns belonging to Judah . . . and they killed three thousand people and carried off great quantities of plunder” (v.13).
But Amaziah stood his ground and stayed on God’s side. Good for him! No codependence there! He obeyed God in spite of man’s response.
BUT the story doesn’t end well.
Sadly, Amaziah brought home idols among the spoils of war and began to worship them. And God was furious. (I think I’d rather have man furious at me than God!)
Next, God sent a prophet to Amaziah to tell him to quit it, but Amaziah told him to shut up or he’d kill him. And so, the prophet shut up—after this one last warning: “God will destroy you.”
Now for some reason, Amaziah invited Joash (the Northern king), to join him on the battlefield, but Joash scoffed: “Your victory over the enemy has gone to your head! Stay in your palace!”
Verse 20 (NET) intrigues me: “But Amaziah did not heed the warning [why did he obey God the first time, but not the second?], for God wanted to hand them over to Joash because they followed the gods of Edom.”
God WANTED Amaziah to go to war with the Edomites (enemies) and He WANTED Amaziah to go to war with Israel (fellow Jews), but for different reasons—one to destroy and one to be destroyed. God’s choice versus man’s choice. Check and checkmate.
Sometimes God uses man to accomplish His purposes. He could have simply killed Amaziah on the spot, but He used his bad choice in order to get the job done.
This story is an amazing illustration of Romans 8:28. God will make everything right in the end, somehow weaving in man’s choices for good or for ill to accomplish His purposes. But I’d rather do right, every time!
Once more as we stuff the turkey, open the can of cranberry sauce, and bake the pies, I wonder if this Thanksgiving feast is a waste of our money. Could we not choose to eat simply and give that money to the poor? Do I need to feel guilty over our indulgence? Christmas can also be tricky. Should we give all our gifts to charity? Always? No, I don’t think so. Should we spend all on ourselves? Again, no, that wouldn’t be right either. Somewhere there’s a balance.
There is a time and place for feasting as well as fasting. God commanded and scheduled Jewish feast days. In Luke 6, Jesus is caught attending a party, a feast, and His disciples are accused of not fasting like the Pharisees.
When you’re celebrating a wedding, you don’t skimp on the cake and wine. You feast. Later you may need to pull in your belt, but this isn’t the time. As long as the bride and groom are with you, you have a good time. When the groom is gone, the fasting can begin. (From The Message)
“But I’m not . . . special,” Bailey says. “Not the way they are. I’m not anyone important.” (Erin Morgenstern in The Night Circus)
My mind won’t stay still enough to focus on the Word or prayer this morning. When this happens, writing helps slow my brain. There’s something about the physical act that’s connected to my mental thoughts. Yet even as my hand puts thought to paper, my mind flies in another dimension—a dissociation of sorts. Why does my mind go on tangents, cover the days’ schedule, rehearse conflicts, recall history, and plan for future goals, instead of staying present with the Living Lord Jesus?
I see a Gatekeeper Guardian silhouetted in a doorway with heaven’s brilliant bright light behind her. Why won’t she let me get past her?
“Because your heart is not ready or prepared yet,” I hear her say. Apparently, she can read my mind. (Oh, wait, she is my mind!)
“So how do I get ready?” I ask.
“You just did,” she says, smiling and pointing inside. My eyes try to adjust to the blinding light. I can hear laughter and the clinking of glasses and utensils. It seems there’s a party going on.
“Come on in!” I hear a voice calling out.
I step forward, groping, uncertain. An angel appears by my side, takes my elbow, and guides me to a bench. I find myself seated at a lengthy table and join the revelers. I don’t know who these beings are. Angelic hosts? Parts of my heart? Or those loved ones who have gone before? I can only see the table area directly in front of me.
Suddenly, I see God the Father “up front” wherever we are in this banquet hall. He’s introducing His Son. The hall erupts in cheers and hoots and hollers and wild clapping. I stand to join them and clap politely, but I don’t know yet what we’re celebrating. When the noise subsides, He approaches the podium.
“Thank you all for coming to my banquet,” He begins.
My mind starts to wander as I look around, my eyes adjusting to the light, able now to take in more of the scene. There are rows and rows of these banquet tables, but I still can’t make out the attendees or why we’re here.
And then I spy them—different Parts of my heart are all gathered together for a great feast. I decide I better refocus on Jesus.
“And so in conclusion . . .,” He says.
I’m chagrined. I’ve missed the whole speech!
People start clapping and I do, too, till He descends the platform, takes my hand, and leads me to the front. Uh-oh. Am I in trouble?
“Everyone, thank Grandma today for coming. She’s led you well.” Jesus has a twinkle in His eye. He knows good and well I’m here because of Him. He chose me from the foundation of the world. He wooed me and kept me and pursued me. I wouldn’t be here except for Him.
“Don’t be so modest,” He responds. “I didn’t force you to come. You chose well. You have a hard time accepting praise.”
“Because I don’t deserve it,” I think. I know my heart and its potential for pride and arrogance.
“I want you to see yourself as I see you, Karen. Are you willing to do that? That’s not pride. That’s honesty.”
And so I agree. Of course I agree. How can I oppose God? “Ok, Lord, fire away.”
Canons of confetti pop and spill their contents into the air, and the crowd cheers and roars.
“That’s my girl!” Jesus exclaims. “I love her so much. She doesn’t know how much. I’m so proud of her.”
I’m blushing bright pink. I throw my arms around Him and sob. Why tears? Why now? He may have chosen me, but I chose Him!
I see the scene in Secondhand Lions when the character Walter chooses to leave his irresponsible mom to go live with two eccentric old uncles. He’s found love, acceptance, and stability. There’s no pride in his choice. It’s a response to love.
“You bet I choose Jesus!” I shout. “He loves me! He died for me! Why would I choose the unloving, unfaithful, self-centered, wounded parent (the world, the flesh, and the devil) when I can have the real thing? I’ll choose love every time.”
“Come here, Children!” I cry, and the whole room rushes toward me for an embrace.
“Thank you for choosing Jesus!” they call out. There’s laughter, love, and delight. Dancing breaks out and raucous music surrounds us. Some return to quiet conversation over their wine.
One shy little girl approaches me, and I bend toward her. “Yes, Little One?”
She stretches on her tiptoes and whispers in my ear, “I love you.” I’m not sure of her identity, but she’s a pretty little thing, a cutie. And off she skips to play.
I glance over at Jesus.
“Aren’t you glad you came to the party?” He asks.
“Yes!” I shout to the skies. “Yes!” I’m grateful for the invitation. And we join the dancing and the merriment. It’s pure joy.
It’s time for me to start my earth day with its food preparation, exercise, emails, housework, and praying with people, but I have an open door in my heart now where I can see a party going on, and I can join in anytime I want to.
That afternoon when I gave a gift to a friend, she said, “I don’t deserve it.” Ouch! Didn’t I just say that to Jesus?
I feel conflicted about my schedule. I have not built in enough margin, enough down time, enough me time. My fault, I know. It feels overwhelming to think about all my relationships, responsibilities, commitments, and projects. There has to be a balance somehow. Life is messy and moves from day to day whether or not I plan or organize or prioritize. And I can make all the plans and goals I like, but they get interrupted on a daily basis.
My heart relaxes with this visual: All the parts of my day and my life are pieces on a spinning pie chart. But if God is in the center, there’s stability and peace.
In the Good Friday service tonight, I saw a visual of a thin waif. As we partook of the elements of communion, I shared them with her and she revived.
“Who is this, Lord?” I asked.
“She’s the young mom you were, trying to raise your daughters, mistakes and all. You’ve not been kind to that self.”
And as we sang, I helped the waif nail her shame, chains, and guilt, regrets, disappointments and should-haves to the cross, and I forgave her for being “less than.”
Looking back, I wonder how different I would have been as a wife and mom had I known then what I know now. I would have stayed more present, rather than hiding my true self. I kept her safe and hidden for almost 20 years, and another 10 before she fully came back to life.
I can hide parts of my heart from myself or from others or even try to hide them from God. But God knows each part intimately and wants connection with each one.
Check out these verses on hiddenness.
Times are not hidden from the Almighty (Job 24:1 KJV).
Thou desirest truth in the inward parts: and in the hidden part thou shalt make me to know wisdom (Psalm 51:6 KJV).
And God who knows the heart . . . (Acts 15:8 ESV).
In the book Rees Howells-Intercessor, the author Norman P. Grubb says, “This is the law of intercession: that only so far as we have been tested and proved willing to do a thing ourselves can we intercede for others. Christ is our Intercessor because He took the place of each one prayed for” (p. 93).
The thought here is that we cannot intercede for someone unless we are willing to answer the prayer ourselves. Rees prayed that God would spare the life a woman who was dying; but if she died, he would have to be willing to care for her children since the father was out of the picture. When she died, he was prepared to take up the slack, but her sisters stepped in at the last minute. His intercession included being willing to lay down his life for another.
Regarding medicine vs. faith for healing, he was not opposed to medicine and would recommend it. His prayer for healing was usually applied to those for whom medicine had failed—and only after he was SURE that God had told him that the person would be healed. He didn’t pray for it or believe it unless the Lord told him what to pray for.
Always, always do what God says, even when it feels bizarre. He seldom works the same way twice. Only once did the children of Israel march seven times around a city. And when they tried to conquer Ai, they failed because God didn’t tell them to do so.
Rees Howells had a policy of “First need, first claim.” Whenever he had money, he’d give it away to whatever need presented itself to him, believing God would supply his own need when the time came.
The ultimate test came when God asked Rees and his wife to leave their son behind so they could go to Africa to become missionaries. We read this today and shake our heads. Some of the Gowans Home* kids might disagree that the sacrifice was worth it. Some would protest that God wouldn’t ask a person to do that (though He did it Himself when He left His only Son to die on a cross).
I think God calls certain people to an exceptional life of faith. When He has an extraordinary job for them to do, their testing is also extraordinary. God had a special hand on Rees and on George Mueller and today on Angus Buchan (Read the book or see the movie Faith Like Potatoes).
Are we all expected to make sacrifices in our intercessions?
*GH was a home in Canada for missionaries’ children in the 40s and 50s. It was not safe in those days to take children overseas to disease-ridden countries or during wartime, so missionaries left their children behind for four to five years at a time.
I’ve been on a journey all my life to discover the secret of prayer. When I read others’ stories, they don’t match mine. I shift between guilt (not enough) to apathy and forgetfulness, from rote to relationship, from works to worry, from self-condemnation to self-awareness.
I’m reading the biography of Rees Howells who discovered that prayers were best made when they were God-directed. For example: don’t pray for healing unless God directs me to. Yet I do pray for healing of my every ache and pain as well as for everyone in my life who is suffering. But I don’t really expect Him to heal, or I’m so surprised when He does.
Today, Lord, I want to listen, wait, and ask for what is on Your heart. I want to be a prayer warrior.
“Hmmm,” says Jesus. “What does a warrior do?”
Well, he fights—fights for truth, fights against an enemy, defends himself, defends the weak. The weapons of warfare are spiritual, not physical. I know I’m supposed to just stand once I’m fully armed. So I guess the first step is to make sure I’m fully armed. You’re faithful to point out the chinks in my armor. And I know how to stand . . .
“But . . . ?”
But I don’t know how to use words. I don’t know what to say or what to pray for.
“Then why don’t you repeat after me?”
Huh?
“Like when you learned your ABCs or the prayer I gave the disciples or The Lord Rebuke You prayer or . . .”
So it’s that simple? Repeat after You? I can do that. Okay, I’m listening.
“Dear Lord,” He begins.
Wait a minute! You’re sitting right here with me. Why do I need to address You? When I’m talking to my husband, and he’s the only one in the room, I don’t have to say his name to get his attention—unless he’s not listening of course. Do I need to start “Dear Lord” every time?
He laughs. “No, of course not,” He teases. “I was just seeing if you were paying attention.”
Very funny. Ok, try again. I’m listening.
“Hi, Karen.”
Hi, Lord.
I wait. He seems to be thinking. (God has to think? Doesn’t He always know exactly what to say?)
“Okay, repeat after Me:
I, Karen, do solemnly swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me, God.”
This is not funny! What kind of prayer is that!?
“I like honesty. I want you to tell yourself the truth as well as to Me.”
Okay, I’m all in.
“Good. Now tell Me the truth. What’s in your heart?”
Well . . . I’m worried that . . .
“Choose your words. Take your time—and be honest.”
Okay . . . I’m worried that I’ll be judged for how little I pray.
“You mean little in chronos time?”
I suppose.
“Who’s keeping track?”
I suppose I am, for one.
“And?”
And . . . I feel guilty if I neglect to pray, to ask for favors, to cover people with the prayer of protection, to intercede for their needs.
“Intercede . . . ooooh that’s a big word.”
You’re teasing me. (I’m feeling petulant.)
“What do you want, Karen?”
What do I want? What do I really want? I want a heart that is so connected and in tune with You that conversation (prayer) flows as naturally and comfortably as breathing. I want every thought I think and every breath I take to be in sync with Yours. I want our conversation to feel natural, not formal; intimate, not forced or stilted.When I pray for people, I feel like I’m straining to think up stuff to say, but I’m not always sure what to say or if that’s what their true need is.I also want to know how often I should pray for someone. Expectations are daily, and somehow if I miss a day, I believe it’s my fault if they fail or are vulnerable to Satan’s attacks. How’s that for being honest?
“That’s better. What else?”
There’s more?
“Oh, yes. Dig a little deeper.”
It’s about me, isn’t it? It’s about pride. What if someone should discover what a fraud I am? That I don’t spend x number of hours a day on my knees. Or I can’t say with sincerity, “I prayed for you today.” How would that feel? Shameful? Embarrassing? Guilty? Or, since we’re being honest here, how I look compared to so-and-so. How sick is that?
“Anything else?”
Oh, I think that’s enough shame for the moment.
“Okay, what do you want to do about it?”
Me? I thought it was Your job to lift shame and give me truth and offer something in its place.
“Why should I? I didn’t put it there!”
Then who did? Oops . . . I guess I did. Help me, Lord, please. I want to give it up. I really do. But self-shame and blame is too heavy a brick to lift by myself.
(He hands me a sledgehammer.)
I smash the brick into smaller pieces, small enough for me to carry. What to do with them, though? It seems we’re building a brick wall for some sort of dwelling. I’m not sure I understand the significance yet, but brick now feels useful—like it’s serving a purpose.
Oh! I see it now . . . I think we’re building a house of prayer. Okay . . . but still not sure about this.
“There’s more to come,” He says. “For now, let’s stop and get a bite of lunch.”
This morning, when I asked God how best to pray for my friend Suzie, He gave me this visual.
Jesus scooped me up on His white horse, and we flew over to Suzie’s heart castle. I was dismayed to look down and see the devastation. The enemy had penetrated in spite of the thick stone walls around the property. The castle and the grounds had been burned and blackened, and only the charred remains of the beautiful oak trees dotted the landscape.
“So where is Suzie?” I cried.
“Listen,” He said.
And then I heard it. Cries of anguish came from the direction of the one standing turret. I knew then that Suzie was trapped inside, fighting for her life. She had barred and locked the door from the inside, fully armed, on high alert. The enemy troops surrounded the walls and were gleefully gloating, not paying much attention except to their own shenanigans. They knew they were helpless to penetrate the turret, but they didn’t care. They knew that eventually Suzie would run out of food and water, and their mission of destruction would be accomplished.
My inclination was to rush in with a flaming sword and rescue the damsel in distress, but I knew Jesus far too well than to make plans without him. Besides, He had told me I didn’t need to bring any weapons with me because I had Him; and as long as I stayed close to Him, I’d be okay. I looked at Jesus to see what He would do.
We glided over the walls and landed softly in front of the turret. I laughed in glee as the enemy hordes scattered like rats to the edges of the compound. What will He do next, I wondered. Will He knock, inform her that all is well, and that would be that?
Instead, we slid off the horse, and He sat by the door and pulled out a bag of marbles. “Care to play?” He asked.
What!? Really? Well, okay, I trust He knows what He’s doing.
I glanced up to see a shadow cross the window above us.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“She’s noticing the quiet,” He whispered.
I listened. The screeching of the devils around us had stopped, but no sound of birds could be heard or rustling in the trees. Just silence.
Okay, that’s good, I thought. What’s next?
“She needs to know that she’s safe before she will put down her weapons, stop fighting, and rest,” He said. (He had read my thoughts, of course.)
“So why don’t we just go on in and rescue her?” I asked. “You can go through walls.”
“I could . . . but it might scare her, and she’d pick the weapons back up if she hears noises on the stairs. I want her to learn to trust Me. I’m not like the destroyer who’s out to get her. But she doesn’t know that yet.”
“But she might starve to death while You wait for her!” I exclaimed.
He smiled. “Don’t worry, Little One. She’s been starving a long time already. That’s why she called for my help.”
“Then why don’t You help her?” I asked.
“I will . . . as soon as she opens the door and lets Me in.”
“But . . . ?”
“But what?”
The question died on my lips. I already knew the answer. I had learned firsthand the lesson of waiting—when I’m ready . . . when the Kairos time is right . . . at the appointed time, all shall be well.
“Thank You, Jesus, for letting me come with You today. I asked You to help her because I knew You would. But it’s always fun to watch You work. What’s next?”
“Wait and see the salvation of the Lord.”
And so we continued to play marbles on the soft dirt. Then Jesus began to whistle a tune—a lovely melody. (I love it when Jesus sings over me. I hoped it would reach Suzie’s ears so she could hear it too.)
And that’s when we heard the sobbing. Deep, wrenching sobs of pain coming from within the turret walls.
“Now, Jesus?” I looked to see what He would do. I wanted to rush in and scoop her in my arms and tell her all would be well.
He just shook His head, silent, and I knew I was expected to stay still and remain quiet. We both looked up at the same time. A shadow and then a tousled head appeared in the window. She glanced furtively about trying to determine where the sound was coming from. But all she could see was the desolation below in her garden. We were too close to the door for her to see us from that angle.
And so we waited. But it didn’t take long. We heard the sound of footsteps on the spiral stairs, closer and closer to the door. I held my breath. What would she do next? I glanced at Jesus. A little smile played about his lips. I could hear her breathing heavily on the other side of the door, waiting for something. Jesus paused for one beat, then two, and then very softly knocked on the door. “Suzie? It’s Me. Jesus. It’s okay. It’s safe to come out now. You are safe with Me.”
“How do I know it’s You?” she demanded. I’ve been tricked before.
“Tell you what,” He replied. “Why don’t you open the window in your front door and peek outside. Don’t open the door itself until you know it’s Me and not the enemy.”
“Yes, but the last time I did that, I saw what I thought was an angel of light. But when I opened the door, all hell broke loose.”
“Good point,” He countered. “Did you use the Demon Test first?”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“I know how much you love My words. You can trust them. They are life and they are true. Remember where I instructed John to write, ‘By this you know the Spirit of God: Every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is of God, and every spirit that does not confess that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is not of God” (I John 4:2-3)?’ Ask Me to say these words. The demons are incapable of saying them you know.”
“Okay . . . let me think about that . . . okay, yes, I do trust Your written words. So . . . whoever you are, say those words!”
“Jesus Christ is come in the flesh.”
Slowly and cautiously, the window swung open, and Suzie peered out. Jesus winked at her and smiled. “Good job!” He exclaimed.
And then He nodded over to the black spirits at the perimeter of the compound. Try making them say those words.
“Tell me ‘Jesus Christ is come in the flesh’!” she yelled in their direction.
Some of them smirked; others cringed; but they all looked away, silent.
Jesus waited.
“But what if I open this door and they come rushing back here?”
Silently, Jesus held up His flaming sword so she could see the words written on it:
And take . . . the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God (Eph. 6.17). For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart (Heb. 4:12).
“They really don’t like My sword.” He grinned.
And then I smiled because I knew what was coming. I’d seen it hundreds of times. I heard the bolts scraping open. Slowly the door swung inward, and Suzie stepped out into the bright sunshine. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes. And I saw Jesus sheath the sword and stretch out His hand in invitation. She hesitated. She still wasn’t sure she could trust Him. Maybe He was mad at her. Maybe He was going to whip out that sword to cut her in two. The thought was still very scary.
He lowered His arm. “Care to sit down and play marbles with us?” He asked.
“Marbles!? Are you mad?’ she said. “This place is in shambles; my kingdom is decimated, and you want to play marbles?! Aren’t you going to fix this place? That’s why I prayed to You, you know. You let this happen. Where were You when I was being attacked by the enemy? Where were You when my grandma’s life was cut short? You didn’t care that my parents divorced and left me to fend for myself.”
“Who are you really mad at, Suzie?” He asked gently.
“I’m mad at myself! I’m mad that I trusted you; I’m mad that I trusted other people and they betrayed me. But I’m mad at You too.”
Suddenly she stopped. I could see the fear in her eyes. She had just told off the King of the Universe. Would He strike her down for such insolence and disrespect? He’d done it before. She’d read about it when he disciplined the Israelites. Would He react to her the same way? She shrank back into herself, still on high alert, ready to bolt back into the turret and slam the door if necessary.
Instead, He waited, saying nothing.
When He didn’t make a move, she whispered, “Don’t you care!?” I could hear the silent scream behind the question.
“Yes, I care very much,” He replied. “I cared so much that I died for you so that you could be set free . . . if you want it.”
“Of course I want it,” she retorted. “But You didn’t do anything to stop it. And You didn’t come when I called.”
He waited, silent and patient.
“Well!? Aren’t you going to do something?”
“I’d love to, Suzie. But first, would you be willing to hand your anger to Me? I’m big enough to take it, you know. You’ve been carrying this for so long. How has it helped you? What has your anger done for you?”
“It’s kept me quite safe, thank you.”
He glanced up at the turret. “Sure, sure . . . quite safe . . . and starving.”
“Tell you what,” He added.” How about we do an exchange? You give me your anger, and I’ll give you some bread.”
By this time, Suzie knew her blood sugar was crashing, and she couldn’t keep up the tirade for much longer. Meekly, she handed over the fireball she’d been clutching under her arm, and He produced a warm, fresh-out-of-the-oven slice of bread, thickly slathered with melted butter and raspberry jam. Quickly she wolfed it down and then drank deeply from the bottled water He handed her. It tasted like nothing she’d experienced before—cool and warm at the same time, fizzy, like little sparkles of light dancing on her tongue. And she remembered those ancient words, “I am the Bread of Life; I will give you springs of Living Water.”
Suddenly, she knew she wanted more. More where this came from.
“Jesus?”
“Yes, my child?”
“Thank You.”
There was more, much more, to this story to come I knew. The kingdom had yet to be rebuilt and restored. But I knew there was time, plenty of time, because I knew that God’s timing is always perfect. For now, it was good to know that Suzie was with Jesus, getting to know Him and learning His ways, and would be pouring out all of her pain in the days ahead. It had been a good day.
In the Pursuit of Peace 