Quenched

 

Quenched

Quenched - Audio/Visual

On the last day, the climax of the festival, Jesus stood and shouted to the crowds, “Anyone who is thirsty may come to me! Anyone who believes in me may come and drink! For the Scriptures declare, ‘Rivers of living water will flow from his heart.’” (When he said “living water,” he was speaking of the Spirit, who would be given to everyone believing in him. But the Spirit had not yet been given, because Jesus had not yet entered into his glory.) When the crowds heard him say this, some of them declared, “Surely this man is the Prophet we’ve been expecting.” Others said, “He is the Messiah.” Still others said, “But he can’t be! Will the Messiah come from Galilee? For the Scriptures clearly state that the Messiah will be born of the royal line of David, in Bethlehem, the village where King David was born.” So the crowd was divided about him. Some even wanted him arrested, but no one laid a hand on him. When the Temple guards returned without having arrested Jesus, the leading priests and Pharisees demanded, “Why didn’t you bring him in?” “We have never heard anyone speak like this,” the guards responded. (John 7:37-46)

We’ve all been thirsty before. Our bodies, according to some estimates, are 80% fluid. That means a man my size lugs around a little over 150 pounds of water. Apart from brains, bones, muscles and some organs, we're walking water balloons. And that’s okay; we need to be. If you don’t believe me, just stop drinking water and see what happens. Coherent thoughts vanish, skin grows clammy, and vital organs start to wrinkle. The fact of the matter is that your eyes need fluid to cry; your mouth needs moisture to swallow; your glands need sweat to keep your body cool; your cells need blood to carry them; and your joints need fluid to lubricate them. In short, your body needs water the same way a tire needs air. In fact, your Maker wired you with something called thirst – it’s a "low-fluid indicator," of sorts. Let your fluid level grow low enough, and watch the signals begin to flare. Dry mouth. Thick tongue. Achy head. Weak knees. Deprive your body of necessary fluids, and your body will tell you.

Deprive your soul of spiritual water, and your soul will tell you that, too. Parched hearts send desperate messages. Snarling tempers. Waves of worry. Crashing waves of guilt and fear. Do you think God wants you to live with symptoms like hopelessness, sleeplessness, loneliness, resentment, irritability and insecurity? These are warning signs. Symptoms of a dryness deep down inside. Perhaps you've never thought of them that way. You've thought stuff like irritability and sleeplessness were like speed bumps – a necessary part of the journey. Anxiety, you assume, runs in your genes like eye color. Some people have bad ankles; others, high cholesterol or receding hairlines. And you? You fret. And moodiness? Everyone has gloomy days. These emotions are inevitable. But are they unquenchable? No.

View the pains of your heart, not so much as struggles to endure but as an inner thirst to quench – proof that something within you is starting to shrivel. So, treat your soul as you’d treat your thirst – take a gulp; imbibe moisture; flood your heart with a good swallow of water. And where do you find water for the soul? Jesus gave the answer to that question one October day in Jerusalem.

People had packed the streets for the annual reenactment of the rock-giving-water miracle of Moses in the Sinai desert. In honor of their nomadic ancestors, they slept in tents. In tribute to the desert stream, they poured out water. So each morning a priest would fill a golden pitcher with water from the Gihon spring and carry it down a people-lined street to the temple. Announced by trumpets, the priest circled the altar with a libation of liquid. He did this every day, once a day, for seven days. Then on the last day, the great day, the priest gave the altar a Jericho loop – seven circles – dousing it with seven containers of water. So, it may have been at this very moment that the rustic rabbi from Galilee commanded the people's attention: “On the last day, the climax of the festival, Jesus stood and shouted to the crowds, ‘Anyone who is thirsty may come to me! Anyone who believes in me may come and drink! For the Scriptures declare, ‘Rivers of living water will flow from his heart.’” (John 7:37-38)

Finely frocked priests likely turned in shock. The crowd probably looked on in surprise. Wide-eyed children possibly paused. Because they knew this man. Some had heard him preach in the Judean hills; others, in the city streets. Two and a half years had passed since he'd emerged from the Jordan waters. The crowd had seen this carpenter before, but they’d never seen him this intense. He "stood and shouted." Now, the traditional rabbinic teaching posture was sitting and speaking. But Jesus stood up and shouted like the blind man who shouted, appealing for sight (Mark 10:46-47); or the sinking Peter who shouted, begging for help (Matt. 14:29-30); or the demon-possessed man who’d shouted, pleading for mercy. (Mark 5:2-7) John uses the same Greek verb to portray the volume of Jesus's voice.

So forget about Jesus just clearing his throat … ahem. God was pounding his gavel on heaven's bench. Christ demanded attention. He shouted because his time was short. The sand in the neck of his hourglass was down to a few grains. In six months he'd be dragging a cross through these streets. And the people? The people thirsted. They needed water – not for their throats, but for their hearts. So Jesus invited, “Are your insides starting to shrivel? Drink from me.” What water can do for your body, Jesus can do for your heart. Lubricate it. Aquify it. Soften what’s crusty, and flush out what’s rusty. But how?

Well, like water, Jesus goes where we can't. Throw a sack of potatoes against a wall, and it thuds and crashes to the floor. Splash water against a wall, and the liquid conforms and spreads. Its molecular makeup gives water great flexibility: one moment separating and seeping into a crack, another collecting and thundering over Niagara Falls. Water goes where we can’t. So does Jesus. He is a spirit, and although he forever has a body, he is not bound by a body. In fact, John parenthetically explains, (When he said “living water,” he was speaking of the Spirit, who would be given to everyone believing in him. But the Spirit had not yet been given, because Jesus had not yet entered into his glory.) (John 7:39)

The Spirit of Jesus threads down the throat of your soul, flushing fears and dislodging regrets. He does for your soul what water does for your body. And, thankfully, we don't have to give him directions. We don’t give directions to water, do we? Before swallowing, do you look at a glass of water and say, "Fifty drops of you go to my spleen, and the rest of you head north to my scalp – it’s really itchy today." Water somehow knows where to go. Jesus does too. Your direction is not needed, but your permission is. Like water, Jesus won't come in unless swallowed. That is, we must willingly surrender to his lordship. You can stand waist deep in the Colorado River and still die of thirst. Until you scoop and swallow, the water does your system no good. And until you gulp Christ, the same is true.

Don't you need a drink? Don't you long to flush out the fear, the anxiety and the guilt? You can. Note the audience that was present at Jesus’ invitation. "If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink." (v. 37 – emphasis mine) Are you anyone? If so, then step up to the well. You qualify for his water. All ages are welcome. Both genders are invited. No race is excluded. Scoundrels, rascals and rubes. All are welcome. You don't have to be rich to drink, religious to drink, or successful to drink; you simply need to follow the instructions on what – or better, who – to drink. Him.

In order for Jesus to do what water does, you’ve got to let him penetrate your heart. Deep, deep inside. Internalize him. Ingest him. Welcome him into the inner workings of your life. Let Christ be the water of your soul. But how’s that done? Well, it starts by heeding your thirst. Don't dismiss your loneliness. Don't deny your anger. Your restless spirit, churning stomach, and the sense of dread that turns your armpits into swamplands – these are signal flares exploding in the sky. “We could use a little moisture down here!” Don't let your heart shrink into a raisin. For the sake of those who need your love, hydrate your soul. Heed your thirst. And drink good water.

You don't gulp dirt or swallow rocks, do you? Or, do you drink plastic or paper or pepper? No. When it comes to our body’s thirst, we've learned how to reach for the right stuff. So, do the same for your heart. Not everything you put to your lips will help your thirst. For instance, eighty-hour workweeks may grant a sense of fulfillment, but they will never remove the thirst. And pay special attention to that bottle labeled, "religion." Jesus did. Note once again the setting in which he was speaking. He isn't talking to prostitutes or troublemakers, penitentiary inmates or reform-school dropouts, is he? No, he’s addressing churchgoers at a religious convention.

This day is an ecclesiastical highlight; like the Vatican on Easter Sunday. You half expect the pope to appear in the next verse. And the religious symbols are all laid out like a yard sale: the temple, the altar, the trumpets, the robes. He could have pointed to any one of those items as a source of drink and spiritual hydration. But Jesus didn’t. These were mere symbols. Jesus points to himself, the one to whom those very symbols were pointing, and in whom they were fulfilled. Religion pacifies, but it never satisfies. Church activities might hide a thirst, but only Christ can quench it. Drink him. And drink often.

Finally, Jesus employs a verb that suggests repeated swallows. Literally, "Anyone who believes in me may come and drink, and keep drinking." That’s because one bottle won't satisfy your thirst. Regular sips satisfy thirsty throats. There’s an old saying that goes, “Drink before you’re thirsty.” It may not be as scientific as it once sounded, but it does promote awareness. Ceaseless communion satisfies thirsty souls. Don't you need regular sips from God's reservoir? We all do. You don't have to live with a parched heart. Drink deeply and often. And out of you will flow rivers of living water.

Grace,

Randy

Evil. God. Good.

 

Evil. God. Good.

Evil. God. Good. - Audio/Visual

Then Joseph returned to Egypt with his brothers and all who had accompanied him to the funeral of his father. But now that their father was dead, Joseph’s brothers were frightened. “Now Joseph will pay us back for all the evil we did to him,” they said. So they sent him this message: “Before he died, your father instructed us to tell you to forgive us for the great evil we did to you. We servants of the God of your father beg you to forgive us.” When Joseph read the message, he broke down and cried. Then his brothers came and fell down before him and said, “We are your slaves.” But Joseph told them, “Don’t be afraid of me. Am I God, to judge and punish you? As far as I am concerned, God turned into good what you meant for evil, for he brought me to this high position I have today so that I could save the lives of many people. No, don’t be afraid. Indeed, I myself will take care of you and your families.” And he spoke very kindly to them, reassuring them. So Joseph and his brothers and their families continued to live in Egypt. Joseph was 110 years old when he died. (Genesis 50:14-22)

Life can turn anyone upside down. No one escapes unscathed. Not the woman who discovers her husband is having an affair. Not the businessman whose investments are embezzled by a crooked colleague. Not the teenager who discovers that a night of romance has resulted in a surprise pregnancy. We'd be foolish to think we’re invulnerable. But we'd be just as foolish to think that evil wins the day.

The Bible reverberates with the steady drumbeat of faith: God recycles evil into righteousness. When God gets in the middle of life, evil becomes good. Haven't we discovered that in the story of Joseph? He was saddled with setbacks like family rejection, deportation, slavery and imprisonment. Yet he emerged triumphant – a hero of his generation. Among his final recorded words are the comments he said to his brothers: "As far as I’m concerned, God turned into good what you meant for evil." (Gen. 50:20). And this is the repeated pattern in Scripture: Evil. God. Good.

Evil came to Job. Tempted him, tested him. Job struggled. But God countered. He spoke truth. Declared sovereignty. Job in the end chose God, and Satan's prime target became God's star witness. Good resulted.

Evil came to Moses. Convinced him to murder an Egyptian guard, and liberate a people with anger. God countered – he placed Moses in a 40 year time-out. Moses in the end chose God. This time, he liberated like a shepherd, not a soldier. Good resulted.

Evil came to David: he committed adultery. To Daniel: he was dragged off to a foreign land; to Nehemiah: the walls of Jerusalem were destroyed. But God countered. And because he did, David wrote songs of grace, Daniel ruled in a foreign land, and Nehemiah rebuilt Jerusalem's walls with lumber and hardware he purchased at the local Babylonian Ace Hardware. Good happened. And evil came to Jesus, too.

How many times in his earthly life did bad become good? The Bethlehem innkeeper told Jesus' parents to try their luck in the barn. That was bad. God entered the world in the humblest place on earth. That was good. The wedding had no wine. Bad. The wedding guests witnessed the first miracle of Jesus. Good. The storm scared the faith out of the apostles. Bad. The sight of Jesus walking on the water turned them into worshippers. Good. Five thousand men needed food for their families. Bad day to be a disciple. Jesus turned a basket into a bakery. Good day to be a disciple. With Jesus, bad became good just like night becomes day – regularly, reliably, refreshingly. And redemptively.

Can you picture that cross on the hill? Can you hear the soldiers pound the nails? Jesus' enemies were smirking. Satan's demons were lurking. All that was evil rubbed their hands in glee. "This time," Satan whispers. "Yes, this time I will win." And for a sad Friday and a silent Saturday it appeared that he had. The final breath. The battered body. Mary wept. Blood seeped down the timber into the dirt. Followers lowered God's Son before the sun set. Soldiers sealed the tomb. Night fell over the earth. Yet what Satan intended as the ultimate evil, God used for the ultimate good. God rolled the rock away and Jesus walked out on that Sunday morning with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step. And if you look closely, you can see Satan scampering from the cemetery with his forked tail between his legs. "Will I ever win?" he grumbles. No. He won't.

The stories of Jesus, Joseph and a thousand others assure us that what Satan intends for evil, God uses for good. Christine Caine is walking proof of that promise. She’s an Australian spark plug – 5’3” of energy, passion, determination and love. To hear Christine’s story is like sharing a meal with a modern-day Joseph. She’s at war with one of the greatest calamities of our generation: sex slavery, or human trafficking. She travels three hundred days a year. She meets with cabinets, presidents and parliaments. She stares down pimps and defies organized crime. With God as her helper, she will see sex slavery and human trafficking brought to its knees. Pretty impressive for a girl whose world had once been turned upside down.

At the age of thirty she stumbled upon the stunning news of her adoption. The couple who raised her never intended for her to know. So when Christine happened upon the truth, she tracked down her biological parents. The official records of her birth told her this much: she was born to a Greek mother named Panagiota, and the box designated "Father's Name" bore the word "Unknown." Christine recounts how she lingered over this word, trying to understand how someone so important to her could be reduced to seven letters in one word. And that single word seemed so inadequate. But there’s more.

Next to the box marked "Child's Name" was another seven-letter word. It sucked the air out of Christine. "Unnamed." So that was Christine’s entry into the world – Father "unknown" and Child "unnamed." According to that document, Christine Caine was simply "birth number 2508 of the year 1966." Abandoned by those who conceived and bore her. Wow. Could anything be worse? Actually, yes.

Christine was sexually abused by members of her own family. Time and time again they took advantage of her. They turned her childhood into a horror story of one encounter after another. Twelve years of unbridled and ugly evil. Yet what they intended for evil, God used for good. Christine chose to disregard the hurts of her past and follow the promise of her heavenly Father.

Christine made a Joseph-like decision to believe in the God who believed in her. She laid hold of Isaiah 49:1 – “Before I was born the Lord called me; from my mother’s womb he has spoken my name.” And years later, when she heard of the plight of girls caught in the sex trade, she knew that she had to respond. When she saw their faces on missing-person posters, and heard of the abuse at the hands of captors, this unnamed, abused girl set out to rescue the nameless and abused girls of her day. Satan's plan to destroy her had actually emboldened her resolve to help others.

Today, her A21 Campaign has 12 offices in 11 countries throughout the world. They combat human trafficking, establish prevention programs in schools and orphanages, represent victims as legal advocates, and give them refuge – first in safe houses and then restoration in transition homes. Hundreds of young women have been assisted and released. Once again, what Satan intended for evil, God . . . Well, you know the rest. Or do you?

Do you believe that no evil is beyond God's reach? That he can redeem every pit, including the one you may be in now? What if Joseph had given up on God? Lord knows, he could have turned his back on heaven. At any point along his broken road, he could have turned sour and walked away. "I’m done. I’m through. I'm out." And you can give up on God if you wish. The cemetery of hope is over-populated with sour souls who have settled for a small god. Don't be among them.

God sees a Joseph in you. You in the pit. You with your family full of flops and failures. You incarcerated in your own version of an Egyptian jail. And God’s speaking to you. Your family needs a Joseph – a courier of grace in a day of anger and division. Your descendants need a Joseph – a sturdy link in the chain of faith. Your generation needs a Joseph – there’s a pandemic out there.

Will you harvest hope and distribute it to the people? Will you be a Joseph? Trust God. No, really trust him. He will get you through this. Will it be easy or quick? I hope so, but it seldom is. Yet God will make good out of your mess. He did for Joseph, and he will for you.

That's what He does: Evil. God. Good.

Grace,

Randy

Catastrophe

 

Catastrophe

Catastrophe - Audio/Visual

The time eventually came when there was no food anywhere. The famine was very bad. Egypt and Canaan alike were devastated by the famine. Joseph collected all the money that was to be found in Egypt and Canaan to pay for the distribution of food. He banked the money in Pharaoh’s palace. When the money from Egypt and Canaan had run out, the Egyptians came to Joseph. “Food! Give us food! Are you going to watch us die right in front of you? The money is all gone.” Joseph said, “Bring your livestock. I’ll trade you food for livestock since your money’s run out.” So they brought Joseph their livestock. He traded them food for their horses, sheep, cattle, and donkeys. He got them through that year in exchange for all their livestock. When that year was over, the next year rolled around and they were back, saying, “Master, it’s no secret to you that we’re broke: our money’s gone and we’ve traded you all our livestock. We’ve nothing left to barter with but our bodies and our farms. What use are our bodies and our land if we stand here and starve to death right in front of you? Trade us food for our bodies and our land. We’ll be slaves to Pharaoh and give up our land — all we ask is seed for survival, just enough to live on and keep the farms alive.” So Joseph bought up all the farms in Egypt for Pharaoh. Every Egyptian sold his land — the famine was that bad. That’s how Pharaoh ended up owning all the land and the people ended up slaves…. (Genesis 47:13-21)

Who can forget 9/11, or Pearl Harbor, or the Titanic? Catastrophes can leave us off balance, bewildered and confused. So, consider the catastrophe of Joseph's generation. "The time eventually came when there was no food anywhere. The famine was very bad. Egypt and Canaan alike were devastated by the famine." (Gen. 47:13) During the time Joseph was struggling to reconcile with his brothers, he was also navigating a worldwide catastrophe.

It had been two years since the last drop of rain. The sky was endlessly blue; the sun relentlessly hot. Animal carcasses littered the ground, and no hope appeared on the horizon. The land was a dust bowl. No rain meant no farming. No farming meant no food. When people appealed to Pharaoh for help, he said, "Go to Joseph; whatever he says to you, do." (41:55) Joseph faced a catastrophe of global proportions. Yet, contrast the description of the problem with the outcome. Years passed, and the people told Joseph, "‘You’ve saved our lives! Master, we’re grateful and glad to be slaves to Pharaoh.’" (47:25) The people remained calm. A society that was ripe for anarchy actually thanked the government rather than attacking it. Imagine that – thanking the government instead of burning it all down.

If Joseph ever taught a post-doctoral crisis management course, he probably included the words he told his brothers: "God sent me before you to preserve life. For these two years the famine has been in the land, and there are still five years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvesting. And God sent me before you to keep you and your families alive, and to preserve many survivors." (45:5-7) Joseph began and ended his crisis assessment with references to God. God preceded the famine. God would outlive the famine. God was all over the famine. "God . . . famine . . . God." So, how would you describe your crisis? "The economy . . . the economy . . . the economy." "Unemployment . . . Unemployment . . . Unemployment." "Pandemic . . . Pandemic . . . Pandemic."

Do you ever find yourself reciting your woes more naturally than you do heaven's strength? If so, it’s no wonder that life’s tough. You're assuming God isn't in the catastrophe. But he is. Even a famine was fair game for God's purpose. Consider Isabel, for instance. She spent the first three and a half years of her life in a Nicaraguan orphanage. No mother, no father and no promise of either. As with all orphans, odds of adoption diminish with time, and every passing month decreased Isabel's chance of being placed in a home. And then a door slammed on her finger.

She was following the other children into the yard to play when a screen door closed on her hand. Pain shot up her arm, and her scream echoed across the playground. Now why would God let that happen? Why would a benevolent, omnipotent God permit an innocent, little girl – with more than her share of challenges – to feel more pain? Maybe he was calling for the attention of Ryan Schnoke, the American would-be father who was sitting in the playroom nearby. He and his wife, Cristina, had been trying to adopt a child for months. No other adult was around to help Isabel, so Ryan walked over, picked her up and comforted her. Several months later, when Ryan and Cristina were close to giving up, Ryan remembered Isabel and resolved to try one more time. This time the adoption succeeded and little Isabel is now growing up in a happy, healthy home.

A finger in the door? God doesn't manufacture pain, but he certainly puts it to use. "God . . . is the blessed controller of all things." (1 Tim. 6:15) His ways are higher than ours. (Isa. 55:9) His judgments are unsearchable, and his paths are beyond tracing out. (Rom. 11:33) We can't always see what God is doing, but can't we assume he’s up to something good? Joseph did. He assumed that God was in the catastrophe, and then he faced it with a plan. He collected grain during the good years and redistributed it during the bad years. When the people ran out of food, he gave it to them in exchange for money, livestock and – eventually – property. Then after he stabilized the economy, he gave the people a lesson in money management. "Give one-fifth to Pharaoh, and use the rest for farming and eating." (Gen. 47:24 – my paraphrase).

The plan could fit on an index card. "Save for seven years. Distribute for seven years. Manage carefully." Could his response have been simpler? But could it have been more boring? Some flamboyance would have been nice, don’t you think? A little bit of the Red Sea opening, or Jericho's walls tumbling, or a dead man walking, like Lazarus. A dramatic crisis, or catastrophe, requires a dramatic response, right? Not always. We equate spirituality with high drama, like Paul raising the dead or Peter healing the sick. Yet for every Paul and Peter, there are a dozen or more Josephs. Men and women blessed with skills of administration. Steady hands through whom God saves people. Consider that Joseph never raised the dead, but he kept people from dying. He never healed the sick, but he kept sickness from spreading. He made a plan and stuck with it. And because he did, the nation survived. He triumphed with a calm, methodical plan.

In the days leading up to the war with Germany, the British government commissioned a series of posters. The idea was to capture encouraging slogans on paper and distribute them about the country. Capital letters in a distinct typeface were used, and a simple two-color format was selected. The only graphic was the crown of King George VI. The first poster was distributed in September of 1939:

YOUR COURAGE

YOUR CHEERFULNESS

YOUR RESOLUTION

WILL BRING

US VICTORY

Not long after, a second poster was produced:

FREEDOM IS

IN PERIL

DEFEND IT

WITH ALL

YOUR MIGHT

These two posters appeared up and down the British countryside – on railroad platforms and in pubs, stores and restaurants. They were everywhere. Ubiquitous. Kind of like “Where’s Waldo?” A third poster was actually created, but it was never distributed. More than 2.5 million copies were printed, yet the first such poster wasn’t seen until nearly sixty years later when a bookstore owner in northeast England discovered one in a box of old books he had purchased at an auction. It read:

KEEP

CALM

AND

CARRY

ON.

The poster bore the same crown and style of the first two posters. It was never released to the public, however, but had been held in reserve for an extreme catastrophe, such as an invasion by Germany. The bookstore owner framed it and hung it on the wall. It became so popular that the bookstore began producing identical images of the original design on coffee mugs, postcards and posters. No, I don’t know if he got sued for patent or trademark infringement. Everyone, it seems, appreciated the reminder from an earlier generation to keep calm and carry on. And of all the Bible heroes, Joseph is the one most likely to have hung a copy on his office wall. He indwelt the world of ledgers, flowcharts, end-of-the-year reports, tabulations and calculations. Day after day. Month after month. Year after year. He kept a cool head and carried on. And you can do the same.

You can't control the weather. You aren't in charge of the economy. You can't un-wreck your car, or cure COVID but you can map out a strategy. Remember, God is in the catastrophe. Ask him to give you an index card-sized plan, and two or three steps that you can take today. Seek counsel from someone who has faced a similar challenge. Ask friends to pray. Look for resources. Most importantly, make a plan. Management guru Jim Collins has some interesting words on this subject. He and Morten T. Hansen studied leadership in turbulent times. They looked at more than 20,000 companies, sifting through reams of data in search of an answer to this simple question: Why in uncertain times do some companies thrive while others do not? They concluded, "[Successful leaders] are not more creative. They're not more visionary. They're not more charismatic. They're not more ambitious. They're not more blessed by luck. They're not more risk-seeking. They're not more heroic. And they're not more prone to making big, bold moves." Well then, what set them apart? "They all led their teams with a surprising method of self-control in an out-of-control world."

In the end, it's not the flashy and flamboyant who survive; it is, instead, those with steady hands and sober minds. People like Roald Amundsen. In 1911, he headed up the Norwegian team in a race to the South Pole. Robert Scott directed a team from England. The two expeditions faced identical challenges and terrain. They endured the same freezing temperatures and unforgiving environment. They had equal access to the technology and equipment of their day. Yet Amundsen and his team reached the South Pole thirty-four days ahead of Scott. What made the difference? In a word? Planning.

Amundsen was a tireless strategist. He had a clear strategy of traveling fifteen to twenty miles a day. Good weather? Fifteen to twenty miles. Bad weather? Fifteen to twenty miles. No more. No less. Always fifteen to twenty miles. Scott, by contrast, was irregular. He pushed his team to exhaustion in good weather, and completely stopped in bad. The two men had two different philosophies and, consequently, two different outcomes. Amundsen won the race without losing a man. Scott lost not only the race but he also lost his life and the lives of all of his team members on the return trip to their base camp – some 150 miles away, but only 11 miles from the next depot. All because they lacked a plan.

You'd prefer a miracle for your catastrophe? You'd rather see the bread multiplied, or a return to “normal” without the masks and social distancing and isolation, or the stormy sea turned glassy calm in a finger snap? God may do that. Then, again, he may tell you, "I'm with you. I can use this for good. Now let's make a plan." Trust him to help you. God's sovereignty doesn't negate our responsibility. It’s just the opposite, actually. It empowers it. When we trust God, we think more clearly and react more decisively – like Nehemiah who said, "We prayed to our God and posted a guard day and night to meet this threat." (Neh. 4:9) “We prayed . . . and posted.”

Stated differently? We trusted and acted. Trust God to do what you can't, and obey God and do what you can. Don't let the catastrophe or the pandemic paralyze you. Don't let the sadness and isolation overwhelm you. Don't let the fear of infection, or a second wave intimidate you. To do nothing is the wrong thing. To do something is the right thing. And to believe is the highest thing. In the words of Moses, “There are secrets the Lord our God has not revealed to us, but these words that he has revealed are for us and our children to obey forever.” (Deut. 29:29)

In other words, “Keep calm and carry on.”

Grace,

Randy

Goodbye

 

Goodbye

Goodbye - Audio/Visual

Then he sent his brothers off. As they left he told them, “Take it easy on the journey; try to get along with each other.” They left Egypt and went back to their father Jacob in Canaan. When they told him, “Joseph is still alive — and he’s the ruler over the whole land of Egypt!” he went numb; he couldn’t believe his ears. But the more they talked, telling him everything that Joseph had told them and when he saw the wagons that Joseph had sent to carry him back, the blood started to flow again — their father Jacob’s spirit revived. Israel said, “I’ve heard enough — my son Joseph is still alive. I’ve got to go and see him before I die.” (Genesis 45:24-28)

John Glenn knew how to fly a fighter jet – he completed 59 missions in World War II and 90 in the Korean War. He also knew how to fly fast – he was the first pilot to average supersonic speed on a transcontinental flight. He knew how to fly into outer space – in 1962 he became the first American to orbit the earth. He knew how to win elections – he was a U.S. Senator from 1974 to 1999. John Glenn did a lot – gave speeches, led committees, inspired audiences, even wrote books. But for all of his accomplishments, there’s one skill he never mastered – he never learned how to tell his wife goodbye.

The two met when they were toddlers and grew up together in Ohio. Though John went on to achieve national fame, he would have told you that the true hero of the family was the girl he married in 1943. But Annie suffered from dysfluency, or severe stuttering. She couldn't talk on the phone, or order food in a restaurant. Just the idea of requesting help in a department store frightened her. So, she’d wander the aisles, reluctant to speak. She feared the possibility of a family crisis because she didn't know if she could make the 911 call. Hence, the difficulty with “goodbye.”

At the time, John couldn't bear the thought of separation from his Annie. So the two developed a code. Each time he was deployed on a mission or called to travel, the couple bid each other farewell the same way: "I'm just going down to the corner store to get a pack of gum," he’d say. "Don't be long," she'd reply. And off he’d go . . . to Japan, Korea, or outer space. Over the years, Annie's speech improved with therapy. Even so, “goodbye” was the one word the couple couldn’t say to each other. In fact, in 1998, Senator Glenn became the oldest astronaut in history. He reentered space aboard the shuttle Discovery, and prior to lift-off, he told his wife, "I'm just going down to the corner store to get a pack of gum." This time, however, he gave her a present: a pack of gum. And Annie kept it in a pocket near her heart until he was safely home. John Glen died at the age of 95 in 2016; Annie died this past May at the age of 100 from COVID complications. They were married for 73 years, and were devout Christians.

Goodbye. No one wants to say it. Not the spouse of an astronaut. Not the mom of a soon-to-be preschooler. Not the father of the bride. Not the husband in the convalescent home. Not the wife grieving at the funeral home. Especially not her. Death is the most difficult goodbye of all. Some say that death is a natural part of living, but it isn’t. Birth is. Breathing is. Belly laughs, big hugs and bedtime kisses are. But death? We weren’t made to say goodbye. God's original plan had no farewell – no final breath, day or heartbeat. Death is an interloper, an intruder, the stick-figure sketch in the Louvre. It doesn't fit. Why would God give a golfing buddy and then take him? Fill a crib and then empty it? No matter how you frame it, “goodbye” doesn't feel right. And Jacob and Joseph lived beneath the shadow of “goodbye.”

When the brothers lied about Joseph's death, they gave Jacob a blood-soaked coat; a wild beast had dragged the body away, they implied. Jacob collapsed in sorrow. "Then Jacob tore his clothes, put on sackcloth and mourned for his son many days." (Gen. 37:34) Jacob wept until the tears turned to brine; until his soul shriveled within him. The two people he loved the most were now gone. Rachel dead. Joseph dead. Jacob, it seems, died, too. "All his sons and daughters came to comfort him, but he refused to be comforted. 'No,' he said, 'in mourning will I go down to the grave to my son.' So his father wept for him." (v. 35)

Joseph lived with the same sorrow. Two decades had passed. No word from home. Birthdays, holidays, harvest days. Jacob was never far from his thoughts. In fact, the moment Joseph revealed his identity to his brothers, he asked, "I am Joseph; does my father still live?" (45:3) Question number one: "How's Dad?" Priority number one: a family reunion. So, Joseph told his brothers to saddle up, ship out and come back with the entire family. He even supplied them with provisions for the journey. And he gave each of them new clothes. Well, except for Benjamin to whom he gave five changes of clothes and three hundred pieces of silver. He sent his father ten donkeys loaded with the good things of Egypt, and ten donkeys loaded with grain and all kinds of other food to be eaten on his journey. So he sent his brothers off, and as they left, he called after them, "Take it easy," and “try and get along.” So the brothers left Egypt and returned to their father, Jacob, in the land of Canaan. (vv. 21-25)

Jacob's boys returned to Canaan in grand style. Gone were the shabby robes and skinny donkeys. They drove brand-new pickup trucks loaded with all sorts of stuff. They wore leather jackets and alligator skin boots. And when their wives and kids spotted them on the horizon, they shouted, "You're back! You're back!" Hearing that, Jacob emerged from a tent. A rush of hair, long and silver, reached his shoulders. Stooped back. Face leathery, like rawhide. He squinted at the sun-kissed sight of his sons and all the plunder. He was just about to ask where they stole the stuff when one of them blurted out, “Joseph is still alive — and he’s the ruler over the whole land of Egypt!” he went numb; he couldn’t believe his ears." (v. 26)

The old man grabbed his chest. He had to sit down. Leah brought him some water and glared at the sons as if to say they’d better not be playing a joke on their father. But this was no trick. "… the more they talked, telling him everything that Joseph had told them and when he saw the wagons that Joseph had sent to carry him back, the blood started to flow again — their father Jacob’s spirit revived." (v. 27) Sadness had sapped the last drop of joy out of Jacob. Yet when the sons told him what Joseph had said, how he had asked about Jacob, how he had called them to Egypt, Jacob's spirit revived. He looked at the prima facie evidence of carts and clothes. He looked at the confirming smiles and nods of his sons, and for the first time in more than twenty years, the old patriarch began to believe he would see his son again. His eyes began to sparkle, and his shoulders straightened. "Israel said, ‘I’ve heard enough — my son Joseph is still alive. I’ve got to go and see him before I die.’” (v. 28)

Yes, the narrator calls Jacob by his other name. The promise of a family reunion can do that. It changes us. From sad to seeking. From lonely to longing. From hermit to pilgrim. From Jacob (schemer) to Israel (prince of God). "So Israel took his journey with all that he had, and came to Beersheba, and offered sacrifices to the God of his father Isaac." (46:1)

Jacob was 130 years old by this point. Hardly a spring chicken. He had a hitch in his get-along, and an ache in his joints. But nothing was going to keep him from seeing his son. He took his staff in hand and issued the command: "Load 'em up! We’re headed for Egypt." The text then goes to wide-angle at this point, and we’re given an aerial view of the entire clan in migration. By virtue of a census, the narrator mentions each family member by name. The sons, the wives, the children. No one left out. The whole gang of seventy made the trip. And what a trip. Pyramids. Palaces. Irrigated farms. Silos. They’d never seen anything like it.

Then the moment they'd been waiting for: a wide flank of royalty appeared on the horizon. Chariots, horses and the Imperial Guard. As the entourage drew near, Jacob leaned forward to get a better glimpse of the man in the center chariot. When he saw his face, Jacob whispered, "Joseph, my son." Across the distance Joseph leaned forward in his chariot. He told his driver to go faster. When the two groups met on the flat of the plain, the prince didn't hesitate. He bounded out of his chariot and ran in the direction of his father. "The moment Joseph saw him, he threw himself on his neck and wept." (v. 29) Gone were the formalities. Forgotten were the proprieties. Joseph buried his face in the crook of his father's shoulder and “wept a long time." (v. 29) As tears moistened the robe of his father, both men resolved that they would never say goodbye to each other again.

“Good-bye.” For some this word is the challenge of your life. To get through this is to get through raging loneliness, or strength-draining grief. You sleep alone in a double bed. You walk the hallways of a silent house. You catch yourself calling out his name or reaching for her hand. As with Jacob, the separation has exhausted your spirit. You feel quarantined, isolated. The rest of the world has moved on; you ache to do the same. But you can't; you can't say goodbye.

If you can't, take heart. God has served notice. All farewells are on the clock. They are filtering like grains of sand through an hourglass. If heaven's throne room has a calendar, one day is circled in red and highlighted in yellow. God has decreed a family reunion. “The Master himself will give the command. Archangel thunder! God's trumpet blast! He'll come down from heaven and the dead in Christ will rise – they’ll go first. Then the rest of us who are still alive at the time will be caught up with them into the clouds to meet the Master. Oh, we'll be walking on air! And then there will be one huge family reunion with the Master. So reassure one another with these words.” (1 Thess. 4:16-18) This day will be no small day. It will be the Great Day. The archangel will inaugurate it with a trumpet blast, and thousands and thousands of angels will appear in the sky. (Jude 14-15) Cemeteries and seas will give up their dead. "Christ . . . will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him." (Heb. 9:28) His coming will be the only event witnessed by all of humanity.

Not everyone will want that moment, however. "Unready people all over the world . . . will raise a huge lament as they watch the Son of Man blazing out of heaven." (Matt. 24:30) Just as the book of Genesis lists the family of Jacob, the Book of Life lists the family of God. He will call the name of every person who accepted his invitation and became his child. And he will honor the requests of those who refused him and dismiss them for eternity. Then he will bless the desire of those who accepted him and gather them for a family reunion. That will be some kind of reunion. "He will wipe every tear from their eyes." (Rev. 21:4)

It’s as if his first action will be to rub a thumb across the cheek of every child to say, "There, there . . . no more tears." This long journey will come to an end. You’ll see him. And you’ll see them. Isn't that our hope? "There will be one huge family reunion with the Master. So reassure one another with these words." (1 Thess. 4:17-18) Remember, your future with your loved ones is infinitely greater than was your past with them. But death seems to take so much. We bury not just a body but the wedding that never happened, the golden years we never knew. We bury dreams. But in heaven these dreams will come true. God has promised a "restoration of all things," (Acts 3:21) and "all things" includes all relationships.

Colton Burpo was only four years old when he survived an emergency appendectomy. His parents were overjoyed at his survival. But they were stunned at his stories. Over the next few months Colton talked about his visit to heaven. He described exactly what his parents were doing during the surgery and told stories of people he had met in heaven – people he had never met on earth or had even been told about. In the book, Heaven Is for Real, Colton's father relates the moment that the four-year-old boy told his mom, "’You had a baby die in your tummy, didn't you?’" The parents had never mentioned the miscarriage to their son. He was too young to process it. Emotion filled his mother's face. ‘Who told you I had a baby die in my tummy?’ Sonja said, her tone serious. ‘She did, Mommy. She said she died in your tummy.’" . . .

“A bit nervously, Colton . . . faced his mom again, this time more warily. ‘It's okay, Mommy,’ he said. ‘She's okay. God adopted her.’ Sonja slid off the couch and knelt down in front of Colton so that she could look him in the eyes. ‘Don't you mean Jesus adopted her?’ she said. ‘No, Mommy. His Dad did!’ . . . Sonja's eyes lit up, and she asked, ‘What was her name? What was the little girl's name?’ . . . ‘She doesn't have a name. You guys didn't name her.’ The parents were stunned. There was no way Colton would have known that. But he had one more memory. He shared it before he went out to play: ‘Yeah, she said she just can't wait for you and Daddy to get to heaven.’” Whether you believe stories like Colton’s, which he stands by to this day, is not the point. If you’re a Christian, believing is seeing.

Maybe your grandpa, your aunt, your child, your mom, your dad, is saying the same words about you. They’re looking toward the day when God's family is back together. Shouldn't we do the same? "Since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses . . . let us run with endurance the race that God has set before us." (Heb. 12:1) High above us there’s a crowd of witnesses. They’re the Abrahams, Jacobs and Josephs from all generations and nations. They’ve completed their own events and now witness the races of their spiritual, if not physical descendants. "Run!" they shout. "Run! You'll get through this!" No goodbyes in heaven. We’ll speak of the Good Book, but goodbye? Gone forever.

Let that promise change you. From sagging to seeking, from mournful to hopeful. From dwellers in the land of goodbye to a heaven of hellos. The Prince has decreed a homecoming. Let's take our staffs and travel in his direction.

Grace,

Randy

Big Brother

 

Big Brother

Big Brother - Audio/Visual 

Joseph could no longer control himself in front of all his attendants, so he declared, “Everyone, leave now!” So no one stayed with him when he revealed his identity to his brothers. He wept so loudly that the Egyptians and Pharaoh’s household heard him. Joseph said to his brothers, “I’m Joseph! Is my father really still alive?” His brothers couldn’t respond because they were terrified before him. Joseph said to his brothers, “Come closer to me,” and they moved closer. He said, “I’m your brother Joseph! The one you sold to Egypt. Now, don’t be upset and don’t be angry with yourselves that you sold me here. Actually, God sent me before you to save lives. (Genesis 45:1-5)

There’s just a few seconds left and the game teeters on these two free throws. The shooter gulps and the gym goes silent, except for the tapping of a white cane on the back of the rim. Yes, you read that correctly. The shooter's brother is under the hoop, rapping a cane on the rim. That's because the shooter, Matt Steven, is blind. Matt, a senior, had been on the St. Laurence Catholic Youth Organization team for a year and had never played in a game – never expected to. "He just likes being on the team," said Matt's brother and coach, Joe. Matt shoots free throws every practice, though, and makes about half of them. And that's what gave Joe a crazy idea. Before a charity tournament in February, 2009, Joe asked the other teams if Matt could shoot all of St. Laurence's free throws. Amazingly, they agreed and so did the refs.

The first game, to the crowd's shock, Matt made his first two attempts. He was escorted back to the bench, where he grinned as if he’d just kissed the head cheerleader. He was 4-for-8 that day. Matt doesn't talk much – he has a stutter – so when Joe got home late after the game, their mom, Joan, asked, "Why’s Matt been smiling all night?" "Oh," Joe yawned. "He shot all our free throws tonight. Going to tomorrow night, too." Joan just about dropped the spaghetti. Does she like it when Matt rides a bike? Ice-skates? Plays soccer? Sort of. She also dreads the day he comes home hurting.

But Matt already knows what it's like to be hurting. Hurting is being born with two permanently detached retinas. Hurting is having your left eye removed in the fifth grade, and the right in the sixth. Hurting is when they send you to a high school for the blind even though the last thing you want is to be around other blind kids. Matt aches to be treated normal; not, "He’s great for a blind kid!" Just normal. And that's why the free throws meant so much. He'd begged his parents to let him transfer to a regular school – Monsignor Bonner. And he'd begged his brother to let him join his friends on the CYO team. And then, for the first time in his life, he was going to be one of them. Which brings us to Matt's moment in that second game.

He'd missed his first six free throws, and St. Laurence was down eight to St. Philomena. Then a full-court press pulled the team to within one with 10 seconds left to play. That's when St. Laurence's best shooter was fouled in the lane. Surely with the game on the line the team’s stud would shoot his own free throws, right? Up in the stands, Matt's mom was hoping so. The star thought the same, too, until he looked over at Matt on the bench. “It's everyone's dream to make those shots,” he thought.

So out comes Matt. And for the first time, the St. Phil fans aren't rooting for him; they were hoping that Matt would shoot straight into the hot dog table. But, for once, Matt was just … Matt. Normal. And now the ball bounces under Matt's hand. Now the rim pings from the cane. Matt lets it go; off the backboard and through. Tie game. Crowd goes berserk. The crowd stills again. Dribble. Tap. Shoot. Bank. Swish! Up by one. The gym windows nearly break and the St. Phil's players forget to give Matt time to get off the hardwood, and race the ball up the court. Nine guys are running around Matt who's just trying to find a way to the bench. Make that 10, since the team stud is already off the bench and pressing. Make that 11, since Joe, with tears in his eyes, is trying to get to Matt. Chaos mixed with Joy. St. Phil's desperate shot misses. Game over. And since then, Matt's life has gone all kinds of crazy. His teammates call him “Shooter.” A girl says she’s heard all about him. He's even thinking about asking somebody to prom. I hope she said yes. That would have been the best blind date of her life.

Big brothers can make all the difference. Got bullies on your block? Big brother can protect you. Forgot your lunch money? Big brother has some extra cash. Can't keep your balance on your bike? He'll steady you. Big brother. Bigger than you. Stronger. Wiser. Since he’s family, you’re his priority. He has one job: to get you through stuff. Through the neighborhood; through the math quiz; through the shopping mall. Big brothers walk us through the rough patches in life. Need one? Maybe you’re not trying to make a basket, but you’re trying to make a living or make sense out of pandemic caused by a foreign microbe that you can’t see. Could you use a big brother? The sons of Jacob certainly did.

As they stood before Joseph, they were the picture of pity. Accused of stealing a silver cup. Tongue-tied goat herders before a superpower sovereign. Nothing to offer but prayers; nothing to request but help. Judah told the prince their story: how their father was frail and old; how one son had perished and how losing Benjamin would surely kill their father. Judah even offered to stay in Benjamin's place if that was what it would take to save his family. They were face-first on the floor, hoping for mercy. But they received a whole lot more.

Twenty-two years of tears and trickery had finally come to an end. Anger and love had dueled it out, and love had won. He broke the news: "I’m Joseph! Is my father really still alive?” (Gen. 45:3) Eleven throats gulped, and twenty-two eyes widened to the size of saucers. The brothers, still in a deep genuflect, didn’t move. They ventured glances at each other and mouthed the name: Joseph? Their last memory of their younger brother was of a pale-faced, frightened braggart being carted off to Egypt. They’d counted their coins and washed their hands of the kid. He was a teenager then and now he’s a prince? They lifted their heads ever so slightly. Joseph lowered his hands. His makeup was running and his chin was quivering. His voice shook as he spoke. "Come closer to me." They rose to their feet. Slowly. Cautiously. "I’m your brother Joseph, the one you sold to Egypt." (Gen. 45:4) And then Joseph told them not to fear. "Actually, God sent me before you to save lives." (v. 7)

The brothers were still not sure who this man was. This man who wept for them, called for them, and then cared for them? He promised to provide for them and sealed the promise with even more tears. He stood from his chair and threw his arms around his baby brother. "He fell on his brother Benjamin's neck and wept . . . he kissed all his brothers and wept over them, and after that his brothers talked with him." (Gen. 45:14-15)

He talked with Judah, the one who came up with the slave trafficking idea; Reuben, the firstborn who didn't always behave like a big brother; Simeon and Levi, who wrought such violence at Shechem that their father called them "instruments of cruelty." (Gen. 49:5) Those who had tied his hands and mocked his cries? He kissed them all. Hostility and anger melted onto the marble floor. Joseph didn't talk at them, or over them. They just talked. And the next thing you know, Joseph’s outfitting his brothers in new clothes and carts. Outcasts one moment. People of privilege the next. The famine still raged. The fields still begged. Circumstances were still hostile. But they were safe. They would make it through this. Because they were good men? No, because they were family. The prince was their brother.

We’ve known famine. Like Joseph’s brothers, we've found ourselves in dry seasons. Resources gone. Supplies depleted. Energy expired. We've stood where the brothers stood. We've done what the brothers did – we’ve hurt the people we love. We’ve lost our temper. We’ve misplaced our priorities. And like the shepherds of Beersheba, we've sought help from the Prince. Our Prince. We've offered our prayers and pleaded our case. We've wondered if he would have a place for the likes of us. And what the brothers found in Joseph's court, we find in Jesus Christ. The Prince is our brother.

Is that a new thought? You've heard Jesus described as Lord and Savior, King. But Brother? It’s biblical. On one occasion, Jesus was speaking to his followers when his family tried to get his attention. His mother and brothers stood outside and sent word that they wanted to speak to him. Jesus took advantage of the moment to make a tender gesture and statement. "He stretched out His hand toward His disciples and said, 'Here are my mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.'" (Matt. 12:49-50) Had you and I been present that day, we would have looked at the "family" of Jesus and seen little to impress us. None of his followers were of noble birth. No deep pockets or blue blood. Peter had his swagger. John had his temper. Matthew had his checkered past and colorful friends. And like Jacob's sons in the Egyptian court, they seemed outclassed and out of place. Yet Jesus was not embarrassed to call them his family. He laid claim to them in public.

He lays claim to us as well. "Jesus, who makes people holy, and those who are made holy are from the same family. So he is not ashamed to call them his brothers and sisters." (Heb. 2:11) Jesus redefined his family to include all who come near him. The account of Joseph is simply an appetizer for the Bible's main course – the story of Jesus.

So many similarities exist between the two men. Joseph was the favorite son of Jacob. Jesus was the beloved Son of God. (Matt. 3:17) Joseph wore the coat of many colors. Jesus did the deeds of many wonders. Joseph fed the nations. Jesus fed the multitudes. Joseph prepared his people for the coming famine. Jesus came to prepare his people for eternity. Under Joseph's administration grain increased. In Jesus' hands water became the finest wine, and a basket of bread became a buffet for thousands. Joseph responded to a crisis of nature. Jesus responded to one crisis after another – he told typhoons to settle down, and waves to be quiet; he commanded cadavers to stand up, the crippled to dance and the mute to sing an anthem. And people hated him for it.

Joseph was sold for twenty pieces of silver, Jesus for thirty. Joseph was falsely accused and thrown into a prison. Jesus was condemned for no cause and nailed to a cross. The brothers thought they’d seen the last of Joseph. The soldiers sealed the tomb, thinking the same about Jesus. But Joseph resurfaced as a prince. So did Jesus. While his killers slept and followers wept, Jesus stood up from the slab of death. God gave Jesus what Pharaoh gave Joseph: a promotion to the highest place. "God raised him from death and set him on a throne in deep heaven, in charge of running the universe, everything from galaxies to governments, no name and no power exempt from his rule. And not just for the time being, but forever. He is in charge of it all, has the final word on everything." (Eph. 1:20-22)

But this is where the similarities cease. Joseph's reign and life eventually ended. But Jesus'? Heaven will never see an empty throne. Jesus occupies it at this very moment. He creates weather patterns, redirects calendars, and recycles calamities and pandemics – all with the goal of creating moments like this one in which we, his undeserving family, can hear him say, "I am Jesus, your Brother." He weeps at the very sight of you – not tears of shame but tears of joy. He calls for you. "Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." (Matt. 11:28) He wants us to come near. All of us. We who threw him into the pit. We who sold him out for silver. We who buried the very memory of our deeds. Joseph gave his brothers wagons and robes. Your Brother promises to "supply all your needs according to His riches." (Phil. 4:19)

Let's trust him to take care of us. God is doing in our generation what he did in ancient Egypt: redeeming a remnant of people. In his final book God reiterates his vision: "A great multitude which no one could number, of all nations, tribes, peoples, and tongues, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, saying, 'Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!'" (Rev. 7:9-10) This dream drives the heart of God. His purpose from all eternity is to prepare a family to live with him in heaven – forever. "'I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" (Jer. 29:11)

Plans. Plans. Plans. God is planning for our good. In all the setbacks and slipups, he’s ordaining the best for our future. Every event of our days is designed to draw us toward our God and our destiny. When people junk us into the pit, we’ll stand up. When family members sell us out, we’ll climb to our feet. Falsely accused? Wrongly imprisoned? Utterly abandoned? Shut in, masked up and socially distanced? We may stumble, but we do not fall. Why? "[God] works out everything in conformity with the purpose of his will." (Eph. 1:11) And “everything” means everything. No exceptions. Everything in your life is leading to a climactic moment in which Jesus will "reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross." (Col. 1:20) Wonderful things happen when a big brother helps out. Not because you’re strong, but because your Brother is. Not because you’re good but because your Brother is. Not because you’re big but because your big Brother is. He’s the Prince, and he has a place prepared for you. Will you join Him?

Grace,

Randy