Lost & Found
I will rescue those who love me. I will protect those who trust in my name. When they call on me, I will answer; I will be with them in trouble. I will rescue them and honor them. I will satisfy them with a long life and give them my salvation. (Ps. 91:14-16)
I glanced at the sign as I drove past but wasn’t sure that I’d actually seen what I thought I’d just read. So, I drove back around for a second look. The announcement, taped to a wooden post, had a homemade look to it – yellow paper, thick letters and a picture. Rural neighbors in my community print and post all sorts of stuff. So, the sign didn't surprise me, but the words did. “Found: Potbellied Pig.” Two phone numbers followed – one to call during the day; the other at night. I'd never seen an announcement like that before. Similar ones, sure. “Found: Black Retriever,” or “Found: Pygmy Goat.” But "Found: Potbellied Pig"? Who loses a pig? Better yet, who owns a pig that sounds like a stove?
I know plenty of pet owners, but pet-pig owners? None that I can recall. Can you imagine caring for a pig? For instance, do pig owners invite dinner guests to pet their pig? Do they hang a sign on the gate – “Caution! Potbelly on Patrol"? This kind of pig owner must be a special breed, just like their pet. But the people who would rescue them? They’ve got to be another breed altogether, because the sign presupposes a curious moment – that someone would spot the pig lumbering down the road and think, "Poor thing. Climb in little piggy. The street is no place for a lonely sow like you. Come here. I'll take you home." Or, suppose a potbellied pig showed up on your porch. Hearing a snort at your front door, would you open it? A Yellow Lab? Sure. Cocker Spaniel? Absolutely. But a potbellied pig? Sorry. I'd leave him on the Jericho Road. I wouldn't claim one. But God would. And God did. God did when he claimed us.
We assume that God cares for the purebreds of the world. Those clean-nosed, tidy-living, convent-created souls. When God sees German Shepherds, or Huskies or even Pit Bulls wandering the streets, he swings his door open. But what about runts like us? And like that poor pig, we're prone to wander. We find ourselves far from home. Do we warrant his care? Psalm 91 offers a rousing, “Yes.” If you want to know the nature of God's lordship, nestle under the broad branches of David's poetry:
“Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty. This I declare of the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God, and I am trusting him. For he will rescue you from every trap and protect you from the fatal plague. He will shield you with his wings. He will shelter you with his feathers. His faithful promises are your armor and protection. Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night, nor fear the dangers of the day, nor dread the plague that stalks in darkness, nor the disaster that strikes at midday. Though a thousand fall at your side, though ten thousand are dying around you, these evils will not touch you. But you will see it with your eyes; you will see how the wicked are punished. If you make the Lord your refuge, if you make the Most High your shelter, no evil will conquer you; no plague will come near your dwelling. For he orders his angels to protect you wherever you go. They will hold you with their hands to keep you from striking your foot on a stone. You will trample down lions and poisonous snakes; you will crush fierce lions and serpents under your feet! The Lord says, "I will rescue those who love me. I will protect those who trust in my name. When they call on me, I will answer; I will be with them in trouble. I will rescue them and honor them. I will satisfy them with a long life and give them my salvation." (Ps. 91:1-16)
Sixteen verses collaborate to give us a visual of just one image: God as our guardian. See if you can spot the most common word of the psalm: "Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest." "He will rescue you." "He will shield you." "He will shelter you." "Evils will not touch you." "They [angels] will hold you." "The Lord says, 'I will rescue.'" "I will protect." "I will answer." "I will be with them." “I will rescue.” “I will honor.” "I will satisfy." Got the hint? Then don't miss the point: God offers more than the possibility of protection, or even the likelihood of protection. Your serenity matters to heaven. God's presence encapsulates your life. Separating you from evil is God, your guardian.
He sizes up every person who comes your way. As you walk, he leads. As you sleep, he patrols. "He will shield you with his wings. He will shelter you with his feathers." (v. 4) The image of living beneath El Shaddai's shadow (God Almighty) reminds me of a picture I saw recently. Apparently, a heavy rain had preceded the photograph, and it was a picture of a mother bird, having been exposed to the elements, with her wings extended over her baby chicks – both of whom were sitting on the perch on either side of her. Apparently, the fierceness of the storm had prohibited her from leaving the confines of her perch, so she covered her children until the winds and rain had passed.
From what elements is God protecting you? His wing, at this moment, shields you – a slanderous critic heading toward your desk is interrupted by a phone call; a burglar in route to your house has a flat tire; a drunk driver runs out of gas before your car passes his. God, your guardian, protects you from "every trap" (v. 3); "the fatal plague" (v. 3); "the plague that stalks in darkness" (v. 6); "the terrors of the night . . . the dangers of the day." (v. 5) One translation boldly promises: "Nothing bad will happen to you." (v. 10 NCV) "Sure. Then why do bad things happen to me?" you ask. "Explain my job transfer. Or the bum who called himself my dad. Or the guttersnipe who used to be my husband. Or the death of our child." And here’s where our potbellied-pig thoughts begin to surface. Because God protects Golden Retrievers and miniature, long-haired Dachshunds. But mutts like me and you? If God is our guardian, then why do bad things happen to us? Well, have they? Have bad things really happened to you?
God may have a different definition for the word bad than you and me. Parents and children do. Look up the word bad in a high-schooler's dictionary and you'll read definitions like: "pimple on your nose;" "Friday night alone;" or "Pop quiz in geometry." "Dad, this is really, really bad," your child says. Mom and Dad however, having been around the block a time or two, think just a little differently. Pimples pass, and it won't be long before you'll treasure a quiet evening at home. Inconvenience? Yes. Misfortune? Sure. But bad? Save that adjective for emergency rooms and cemeteries. What's bad to a child isn't always bad to a Mom or a Dad. And what you and I might rate as an absolute disaster, God may rate as a pimple-level problem that will pass.
He views your life in much the same way as you may view a movie after you've read the book. When something bad happens, you can feel the air getting sucked right out of the theater. Everyone else gasps at the crisis on the screen. But not you. Why? You've read the book, of course. You know how the crisis resolves. You know how the good girl or guy gets out of the tight spot. God views your life with the same confidence. And, he's not only read your story . . . he wrote it. His perspective is different, and his purpose is clear. God uses struggles to toughen our spiritual skin. “Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don't try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work, so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way.” (James 1:2-4)
Sometimes, one of God's cures for a weak faith is a good, healthy struggle. Many years ago, I joined my middle-schooler on a trip to Washington, D.C. During the trip, we had the opportunity to go to Colonial Williamsburg, a recreation of eighteenth-century America in Williamsburg, Virginia. And if you ever get a chance to visit, pay special attention to the work of the silversmith. The craftsman places an ingot of silver on an anvil and pounds it with a sledgehammer. Once the metal is flat enough to shape, into the furnace it goes. The artisan alternately heats and pounds the metal until it takes the shape of something he has in mind. Heating, pounding. Heating, pounding. Heating, pounding.
Just like deadlines, traffic. Arguments, disrespect. Loud sirens, silent phones. Heating, pounding. Heating, pounding. Did you know that the smith in silversmith comes from the old English word smite? Silversmiths are accomplished smiters. So is God. Because once the silversmith is satisfied with the form of his design and creation, he begins to planish and pumice it. Using smaller hammers and abrasive pads, he or she taps, rubs and decorates. And no one stops them. No one yanks the hammer out of their hand and says, "Hey, go easy on that silver. You've pounded it enough!" No, the craftsman buffets the metal until she or he is finished with it. Some silversmiths, we were told, kept polishing until they could see their face in their creation. So, when will God stop with you? Maybe when he sees his reflection . . . in you.
"The LORD will perfect that which concerns me." (Ps. 138:8) Jesus said, "My Father never stops working." (John 5:17) God guards those who turn to him. The pounding you feel isn’t a reflection of his distance; it proves his nearness. Trust his sovereignty. Hasn't he earned your trust? Has he ever spoken a word that proved to be false? Given a promise that proved to be a lie? Decades of following God led Joshua to conclude: "Not a word failed of any good thing which the Lord had spoken." (Josh. 21:45)
Look up reliability in heaven's dictionary and read its one-word definition: God. "If we are faithless, he always remains faithful. He cannot deny his own nature." (2 Tim. 2:13) For instance, go ahead and make a list of God’s mistakes. Pretty short list, right? Now, make a list of the times he has forgiven you for yours. So, who on earth has that kind of record? "The One who called you is completely dependable. If he said it, he'll do it!" (1 Thess. 5:24) You can depend on him because he is "the same yesterday and today and forever." (Heb. 13:8) And because he’s Lord, "He will be the stability of your times." (Isa. 33:6)
Trust him. "But when I am afraid, I put my trust in you." (Ps. 56:3). Join with Isaiah, who resolved, "I will trust in him and not be afraid." (Isa. 12:2) God is directing your steps and delighting in every detail of your life. (Ps. 37:23-24) It doesn't matter who you are. Whether potbellied pig or prized purebred, God sees no difference. He just sees you – the person that he made. “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful; I know that full well. (Psalm 139:13-14) God sought you out. He found you and then invited you in – you and all the other rescues on the road. You see, God’s in the rescue business and he loves to take in strays – even strays like you and me.
Grace,
Randy
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