Waiting

Waiting

Waiting - Audio/Visual

The head cupbearer told his dream to Joseph: “In my dream there was a vine in front of me with three branches on it: It budded, blossomed, and the clusters ripened into grapes. I was holding Pharaoh’s cup; I took the grapes, squeezed them into Pharaoh’s cup, and gave the cup to Pharaoh.” Joseph said, “Here’s the meaning. The three branches are three days. Within three days, Pharaoh will get you out of here and put you back to your old work—you’ll be giving Pharaoh his cup just as you used to do when you were his cupbearer. Only remember me when things are going well with you again—tell Pharaoh about me and get me out of this place. I was kidnapped from the land of the Hebrews. And since I’ve been here, I’ve done nothing to deserve being put in this hole.” But the head cupbearer never gave Joseph another thought; he forgot all about him …. Two years passed and Pharaoh had a dream…. (Gen. 39:9-15; 23; 40:1)

There I was, sitting in the waiting room. The receptionist took my name, got my insurance information and motioned to a chair. "Have a seat; we’ll call you when the doctor’s ready." I took a look around – a mother holding a sleeping baby; a fellow thumbing through Sports Illustrated; a woman with her iPhone, looking at the clock overhead, sighing and continuing the task of the hour: waiting.

The waiting room. Not the examination room – that’s down the hall. Not the consultation room – that’s on the other side of the wall. Not the treatment room – exams, consultations and treatments all come later. The task at hand is the name of the room: the waiting room. And those who are seated know the assignment: to wait. We don't treat each other. For instance, I don't ask the nurse for a stethoscope or blood pressure cuff. I don't pull up a chair next to the jock reading Sports Illustrated and say, "So tell me, what prescriptions are you taking?" That's the job of the nurse. My job is to wait. So I do, but I can’t say that I like it very much. I don’t think many people do. In fact, just look around you. Oh, you can’t – you’re in Coronavirus quarantine self-isolating and remaining socially distanced. Waiting.

Time moves at a glacial pace. The clock ticks every five minutes, not every second; it’s like someone pressed the pause button. Life in slow-motion. We don't like to wait. We’re the giddy-up generation. We weave through traffic, looking for the faster lane. We fume at the person who takes eleven items into the ten-item express checkout that’s standing right in front of us. We drum our fingers while the song downloads, or the microwave heats our coffee. "Come on, come on." We want six-pack abs in ten minutes, and minute rice in thirty seconds. We don't like to wait – not on the doctor; not on the traffic; not on the pizza. Not even on God.

Look around you – even if you’re sheltering in place. Where are you seated? This planet is God's waiting room. The young couple in the corner? They’re waiting to get pregnant. The fellow with the briefcase? He has resumes all over the country, waiting on work. The elderly woman with the cane? A widow, waiting a year for just one tearless day. Waiting. Waiting on God to give; God to help; God to heal. Waiting on God to come. We dwell in the land between prayers offered and prayers answered. The land of waiting. And if anyone knew the furniture in God's waiting room, Joseph certainly did.

Unfortunately, the problem with reading his story is its brevity. You can read the Genesis account of Joseph from start to finish in less than an hour, which gives the impression that all of his challenges took place before breakfast one morning. We'd be better off if we’d pace our reading over, let’s say, 20 years. Take chapter 37 into a dry cistern, and sit there for a couple of hours while the sun beats down. Recite the first verse of chapter 39 over and over for a couple of months: "Now Joseph had been taken down to Egypt." Joseph needed at least that much time to walk the 750 miles from Dothan to Thebes. Don’t forget the days, or even weeks on the auction block. Add to that a decade, likely, in Potiphar's house supervising the servants, doing his master's bidding, and learning Egyptian. Tick tock. Tick tock. Time moves slowly in a foreign land. And time stands still when you’re sitting in prison.

Joseph had asked the butler to put in a good word for him. "Remember me when things are going well with you again — tell Pharaoh about me and get me out of this place. I was kidnapped from the land of the Hebrews. And since I’ve been here, I’ve done nothing to deserve being put in this hole." (Gen. 40:14-15) And you can almost hear the butler’s giddy reply after he got news of his impending pardon, "Of course I’ll mention you to Pharaoh! First chance I get. You'll be hearing from me; I promise!" So, on the heels of the butler’s quick assurances, Joseph hurried back to his cell and started packing. He wanted to be ready when the call came. A day passed. Then two. Then a week. A month. Six months. Nothing. As it turned out, “ . . . the head cupbearer never gave Joseph another thought; he forgot all about him.” (Gen. 40:23) In your Bible, the space between that verse and the next is scarcely wider than a hair ribbon. It takes your eyes only a split second to see it. Yet it took Joseph two years to experience it. Chapter 41, which follows Gen. 40:23, starts like this: Two years passed and Pharaoh had a dream. . . .

Two years. 24 months of silence. 104 weeks of waiting. 730 days of wondering. 2,190 meals alone. 17,520 hours of listening for God, yet hearing nothing but crickets. Plenty of time to grow bitter, cynical and angry. People have given up on God for lesser reasons, and in a lot less time. But not Joseph. On a day that began like any other, he heard a stirring at the dungeon entrance. Loud, impatient voices demanding, "We’re here for the Hebrew! Pharaoh wants the Hebrew!" Joseph looked up from his corner to see the prison master, white-faced and stammering. "Get up! Hurry, get up!" Two guards from the court were on his heels. Joseph remembered them from his days as Potiphar's lieutenant. They took him by the elbows and marched him out of the hole, walked him across a courtyard into a room where attendants removed his soiled clothing, washed his body and shaved his beard. They dressed him in a white robe and new sandals. The guards reappeared and walked him into the throne room.

The king hadn't slept well the night before. Dreams had troubled his rest. "They say you can interpret dreams. Can you help me?" Now Joseph's last two encounters hadn't ended so well: Mrs. Potiphar lied about him, and the butler forgot about him. In both cases Joseph had mentioned God. So, maybe he should hedge his bets and keep his faith under wraps. But he didn't. "Not I, but God. God will set Pharaoh's mind at ease." (Gen 41:16) Joseph emerged from his prison cell bragging on God. Jail time didn't devastate his faith; it deepened it. And you? You aren't in prison, but you may be infertile, or inactive, or in quarantine, or in search of health, help, a house or a spouse. Are you in God's waiting room? If so, here’s what you need to know: while you wait, God works. "My Father is always at his work," Jesus said. (John 5:17) God never twiddles his thumbs. He rested on the seventh day but got back to work on the eighth and hasn't stopped since. Just because you’re idle, don't assume God is.

Joseph's story appeared to stall out in chapter 40 – our hero was in shackles; the train was off the tracks; history was in a holding pattern. But while Joseph was waiting, God was working as he assembled the characters. God placed the butler in Joseph's care. He stirred the sleep of the king with odd dreams. He confused Pharaoh's counselors. And at just the right time, God called Joseph to duty. And God’s working for you as well. "Be still, and know that I am God," reads the sign in God's waiting room. (Psalm 46:10) You can be still because he’s active. You can rest because he’s busy.

Remember God's word through Moses to the Israelites? "Do not be afraid. Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord . . . The Lord will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace." (Ex. 14:13-14) The Israelites saw the Red Sea ahead of them and heard the Egyptian soldiers thundering behind them. Death – coming or going. “Stand still? Are you kidding me?” But what the former slaves couldn't see was the hand of God at the bottom of the sea, creating a path, and his breath from heaven, separating the waters. God was working for them.

God worked for Mary, the mother of Jesus, too. The angel told her that she would become pregnant. The announcement stirred a torrent of questions in her heart. How would she become pregnant? What would people think? What would Joseph say? Yet God was working for her. He sent a message to Joseph, her fiancé. God prompted Caesar to declare a census. God led the family to Bethlehem. "God is always at work for the good of everyone who loves him." (Rom. 8:28)

To “wait,” biblically speaking, is not to assume the worst, or worry, fret, make demands or take control. Nor is waiting inactivity. Waiting is a sustained effort to stay focused on God through prayer and belief. To wait is to "rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him; do not fret . . . ," David said. (Ps. 37:7)

Nehemiah shows us how to wait. His book is a memoir of his efforts to reconstruct the walls of Jerusalem. His story starts with a date: "It happened in the month of Chislev, in the twentieth year, as I was in Susa the citadel, that Hanani . . . came with certain men from Judah." (Neh. 1:1-2) These men brought bad news – hostile forces had flattened the walls that had once guarded the city. Even the gates had been torched. The few remaining Jews were in "great trouble and shame." (Neh.1:3)

Nehemiah responded with prayer. "O Lord, let your ear be attentive to the prayer of your servant . . . and give success to your servant today, and grant him mercy in the sight of this man." (Neh. 1:11) "This man," by the way, was King Artaxerxes, the monarch of Persia. Nehemiah was his personal cupbearer – on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. So, Nehemiah couldn’t just leave his post and go to Jerusalem. Even if he could, he had no resources with which to rebuild the walls. So he resolved to wait on the Lord in prayer.

The first verse of the second chapter of his memoir reveals the length of that wait. "And it came to pass in the month of Nisan" that Nehemiah was appointed a spot on the king's Jerusalem Commission. How far apart were the dates? Four months. Nehemiah's request, remember, was for an immediate answer, i.e., "Give your servant success today." God answered the request four months later. Waiting is easier read than done. I know, because it doesn't come easily for me.

I've been in a hurry my whole life. Hurrying to finish assignments; pedaling faster; driving quicker. I wonder if I could have obeyed God's command to keep the Sabbath holy – to slow life to a crawl for 24 hours. The Sabbath was created for frantic souls like me, people who need a weekly reminder that the world will not stop if I do. The past 82 days have been, if anything, proof of that.

And this seems timely: "Three times a year all your men are to appear before the Sovereign Lord, the God of Israel. I will drive out nations before you and enlarge your territory, and no one will covet your land when you go up three times each year to appear before the Lord your God." (Ex. 34:23-24) God instructed the Promised Land settlers to stop their work three times a year and gather for worship. All commerce, education, government and industry came to a halt while the people assembled. Can you imagine that happening today? Maybe you can, given current events, since we need more prayer, not less. Yet God promised to protect the Israelites’ territory. No one would encroach upon them. What's more, they wouldn't even desire to do so: "No one will covet your land." God used the pilgrimage to teach this principle: if you will wait in worship, I will work for you.

Daniel waited. In one of the most dramatic examples of waiting in the Bible, Daniel kept his mind on God for an extended period. His people had been oppressed for almost 70 years. Daniel entered into a time of prayer on their behalf. For 21 days he ate only “… plain and simple food, no seasoning or meat or wine.” (Dan. 10:3) He labored in prayer. He persisted and pleaded. No response. Then on the 22^nd day – a breakthrough. An angel of God appeared and revealed to Daniel the reason for the delay. Daniel's prayer was heard the moment it was offered. The angel was dispatched with a response. "That very day I was sent here to meet you. But for twenty-one days the mighty Evil Spirit who overrules the kingdom of Persia blocked my way. Then Michael, one of the top officers of the heavenly army, came to help me, so that I was able to break through these spirit rulers of Persia." (Dan. 10:12-13)

From an earthly perspective nothing was happening. Daniel's prayers were falling like rocks on hard ground. But from a heavenly perspective a battle was raging. Two angels were engaged in fierce combat for three weeks. While Daniel was waiting, God was working. What if Daniel had given up? Lost faith? Walked away from God? Better yet, what if you give up? Lose faith? Walk away? Don’t.

All of heaven is warring on your behalf. Above and around you at this very instant, God's messengers are at work. Keep waiting: “Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.” (Isa. 40:31) Fresh strength. Renewed vigor. Legs that don't grow weary. Delight yourself in God, and he will bring rest to your soul. You can wait out this waiting room season.

Oh, and pay careful attention while you wait. You’ll find the most wonderful surprise. The doctor will step out of his office and take the seat next to yours. "Just thought I'd keep you company while you’re waiting." Most doctors won’t do that, but yours will. After all, he is the Great Physician.

Grace,

Randy

Exhausted

Exhausted

Exhausted - Audio/Visual

The apostles gathered around Jesus and reported to him all they had done and taught. Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” (Mark 6:30-31)

Not too long ago I saw a woman walking her dog on a leash. Actually, I saw a woman pulling her dog with a leash. The day was brutally hot, and the dog had completely shut down. He’d plopped, belly-down in the grass, choosing to swap the blistering pavement for a cooler lawn. The woman pulled and pulled, but she’d have had more success pulling a parked semi. Apparently, the dog’s get-up-and-go had gotten-up-and-left, so down he went. Have you ever reached your plopping point? Blame it on the Coronavirus – “Just stay socially distant and isolated one more month.” Blame it on your boss – “We need you to take one more case.” Maybe your spouse – “I’ll be out late one more night this week.” Possibly your parents – “I have just one more chore for you to do.” Even a friend – “I need just one more favor.”

The problem? You’ve handled, tolerated, done, forgiven and taken until you don’t have one more “one more” in you. You’re exhausted, so you plop down. Like that beleaguered beagle, you’re thinking, Who cares what the neighbors think. Who cares what the Master thinks. Let them yank that leash all they want; I’m not taking one more step. But unlike Snoopy, you don’t plop down in the grass. If you’re like David’s men, you plop down at a brook called Besor. But don’t feel bad if you’ve never heard of the place. Most haven’t, but more need to. The Brook Besor narrative deserves shelf space in the library of the worn-out because it speaks tender words to the tired heart.

The story itself emerges from the ruins of Ziklag. David and his six hundred soldiers had just returned from the Philistine war front to find utter devastation at home. A raiding band of Amalekites had swept down on the village, looted it and taken the women and children hostage. The sorrow of the men began to mutate into anger – not against the Amalekites mind you, but against David. After all, hadn’t he led them into battle? Hadn’t he left the women and children unprotected? Isn’t he the one to blame? Well then, he needs to die. So, they start grabbing rocks.

What else is new? David has grown accustomed to this kind of treatment. His family ignored him. Saul raged against him. And now David’s army, which, if you’ll remember, sought him out, not vice versa, has turned against him. David is a psycho in the making – he’s been rejected by every significant circle in his life. This could have been one of his worst hours. But he makes it one of his best.

While six hundred men stoke their anger, David seeks his God. “But David strengthened himself in the Lord his God.” (1 Sam. 30:6) How important that we learn to do the same, because support systems don’t always support. Friends aren’t always friendly. Preachers can wander off base, and churches can lose touch. When no one can help, we have to do what David does – he turns toward God. “Shall I go after these raiders? Can I catch them?” “Go after them! Yes, you’ll catch them! Yes, you’ll make the rescue!” (1 Sam. 30:8)

Now freshly commissioned, David redirects the men’s anger toward the enemy. So, they set out in hot pursuit of the Amalekites. But keep the men’s weariness in mind. They’re still wearing the trail dust of a long military campaign, and it’s not as if they’ve gotten over their resentment of David, either. Further, it’s not as if they have a map of the Amalekites’ hideout. In fact, if not for the sake of their loved ones, they might have just as well given up. And a third of them do.

The army reaches a brook called Besor, and they all dismount. Soldiers wade in the creek and splash water on their faces, sink tired toes into cool mud and stretch out on the grass. Hearing the command to move on, two hundred choose to rest. “You go on without us,” they say. Wow. How tired does a person have to be to abandon the hunt for his own kidnapped family?

The truth is that the church has its fair share of these folks, too. Good people. Godly people. Only hours, or years ago they marched with deep resolve. But now fatigue consumes them. They’re exhausted – so beat-up and worn down that they can’t summon the strength to save their own flesh and blood. Old age has sucked up most of the oxygen. Or, maybe it was a string of defeats. Divorce can leave you at the brook. Addiction can as well. Even the Coronavirus has inspired the use of a new term – doctors call it “quarantine fatigue.” But whatever the reason, churches have their share of people who just sit and rest. And these assemblies have to decide: “What do we do with the Brook Besor people?” Berate them? Shame them? Give them a rest, but measure the minutes? Or do we do what David did? David let them stay.

So, David and the remaining 400 fighters resume the chase. They plunge deeper but grow more discouraged with each passing sand dune. The Amalekites have a big lead and have left no clues. But then David hits the jackpot. “They found an Egyptian in the field, and brought him to David; and they gave him bread and he ate, and they let him drink water.” (1. Sam 30:11)

The Egyptian is a disabled servant who weighs more than he’s worth. So, the Amalekites leave him to starve in the desert. But David’s men nurse him back to life with figs and raisins, and then ask the servant to lead them to the campsite of his old cronies. Suffice it to say, he’s more than happy to oblige. So, armed with this new intelligence, David and his men pounce on the Amalekites like white on rice. Every Israelite woman and child is rescued. Every Amalekite either bites the dust or hits the trail, leaving their plunder behind. David goes from scapegoat to hero. The punch line, however, is still yet to come. And to feel the full force of it, imagine the thoughts of some of the players in this story.

The rescued wives. Picture this. You’ve just been snatched from your home and dragged through the desert. You’ve feared for your life and clutched your kids. Then, one day, the good guys raid the camp. Strong arms sweep you up and set you in front of a camel hump. You thank God for the SWAT team who rescued you, and you begin searching the soldiers’ faces for your husband’s. “Honey!” you yell. “Baby! Where are you?” Your rescuer reins in the camel to a halt. “Uh,” he begins, “Uh . . . your honey-baby stayed back at camp.” “He did what???” you shout. “Yeah, he decided to hang out with the guys back at Brook Besor,” your rescuer flatly responds. Now, I don’t know if Hebrew women had rolling pins, but if they did, they’d have probably started looking for them just about now. “Besor, huh? I’ll show him who’ll be sore.”

Or, the rescue squad. When David called, you risked your life. Now, with victory in hand, you gallop back to Brook Besor. You crest the ridge overlooking the camp and see the two hundred men below. “You scum,” you think. Because while you fought, they slept. You went to battle; they went to matinees and massage therapists. They shot eighteen holes of golf and stayed up late playing poker and smoking cigars. And if that were you, you might even feel the way some of David’s men felt: “Because they did not go with us, we will not give them any of the spoil that we have recovered, except for every man’s wife and children.” (1 Sam. 30:22)

Wrathful wives and resentful rescuers. And what about the 200 men who’d rested? Worms have higher self-esteem. They feel about as manly as a pink tutu. And the result? A Molotov cocktail of emotions is mixed, lit and then plopped in David’s lap. And here’s how he defuses it: “Don’t do that after what the Lord has given us. He has protected us and given us the enemy who attacked us. Who will listen to what you say? The share will be the same for the one who stayed with the supplies as for the one who went into battle. All will share alike.” (1 Sam. 30:23–24)

Note David’s words: they “stayed with the supplies,” as if that had been their job. They didn’t ask to guard the supplies; they wanted to take a break. But David dignifies their decision to stay. David did a lot of great deeds in his life, and he did a lot of foolish deeds, too. But perhaps his noblest deed was this: he honored the tired soldiers at Brook Besor.

Someday somebody will read what David did and name their church the Congregation at Brook Besor. Because isn’t that what the church is intended to be? A place for soldiers to recover their strength? In his book about David, Leap Over a Wall, Eugene Peterson tells of a friend who sometimes signs her letters, “Yours at the Brook Besor.” I wonder how many could do the same.

Too tired to fight. Too ashamed to complain. While others claim victories, the weary sit in silence. How many do you know that sit at the Brook Besor? If you’re listed among them, here’s what you need to know: it’s okay to rest. Jesus is your David. He fights when you can’t. He goes where you cannot. He’s not angry if you sit. Didn’t he say to his apostles, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest”? (Mark 6:31)

Brook Besor blesses rest. Brook Besor also cautions us against arrogance. David knew the victory was a gift. So, let’s remember the same. Salvation comes like that Egyptian slave in the desert – a delightful surprise on our path. Unearned. Undeserved. And who are the strong to criticize the tired, anyway? We’re all God’s children.

Are you weary? Then catch your breath. Because if you worship with a group of believers, they need your strength. Or, maybe you’re strong. If so, reserve passing judgment on the tired. Odds are you’ll need to plop down one of these days yourself at some point. And when you do, Brook Besor is a good story to remember. It’s a place of grace in the midst of exhaustion – even quarantine fatigue.

Grace,

Randy

Slumped

Slumped
Slumped - Audio/Visual 

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me — watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Matt. 11:28-30)

Your Goliath owns a weapon. It doesn’t fire bullets; it fires sadness, instead. It doesn’t take lives; it takes smiles. It doesn’t inflict flesh wounds; it inflicts faith wounds. Ever been hit? If you can’t find your rhythm, you have. If you can’t seem to get to first base, or even get out of bed for that matter, you have. Every step forward gets lost in two steps backward. Relationships sour. Skies darken. Your nights defy the sunrise. You’ve been hit. It’s like your problems are the Sioux, and you’re feeling a lot like Custer – on your last stand.

David feels like it’s his. Saul has been getting the best of David, leaving him sleeping in caves and lurking behind trees. Six hundred soldiers depend on David for leadership and provision, and these six hundred men have wives and children. David has two wives of his own – which probably guarantees a little tension in his tent, too. Running from a crazed king. Hiding in hills. Leading a ragtag group of soldiers. Feeding more than a thousand mouths. And the enemy’s weapon has found its mark. Listen to David: “David thought to himself, ‘Sooner or later, Saul’s going to get me. The best thing I can do is escape to Philistine country. Saul will count me a lost cause and quit hunting me down in every nook and cranny of Israel. I’ll be out of his reach for good.’” (1 Sam. 27:1) No hope and, most of all, no God. David focuses on Saul. He hangs Saul’s poster on his wall, replays his voicemail messages and re-reads his texts. David immerses himself in his fear until his fear takes over: “I will be destroyed.”

He knows better, however, because in brighter seasons and healthier moments, David modeled heaven’s therapy for tough days. The first time he faced the Philistines in the wilderness, “David inquired of the Lord.” (23:2) When he felt small against his enemy, “David inquired of the Lord.” (23:4) When attacked by the Amalekites, “David inquired of the Lord.” (30:8) Puzzled about what to do after the death of Saul, “David inquired of the Lord.” (2 Sam. 2:1) When crowned as king and pursued by the Philistines, “David inquired of the Lord.” (5:19) David defeated them, yet they mounted another attack, so “David inquired of the Lord.” (5:23) In other words, David kept God’s number on speed dial. Confused? David talked to God. Challenged? He talked to God. Afraid? He talked to God . . . most of the time. But not this time.

On this occasion, David talks to himself. He doesn’t even seek the counsel of his advisers. When Saul first lashed out, David turned to Samuel. As the attacks continued, David asked Jonathan for advice. When weaponless and breadless, he took refuge among the priests at Nob. In this case, however, David consults David. Poor choice for an advisor. Look at the advice he gives himself: “Sooner or later, Saul is going to get me.” (1 Sam. 27:1) No he won’t, David. Don’t you remember the golden oil of Samuel on your face? God has anointed you. Don’t you remember God’s promise through Jonathan? “You shall be king over Israel.” (23:17) Have you forgotten the assurance God gave you through Abigail? “The Lord will keep all his promises of good things for you. He will make you leader over Israel.” (25:30) God even assured your safety through Saul himself: “I know indeed that you shall surely be king.” (24:20)

But in a wave of weariness, David hits the pause button on good thoughts and thinks, “Sooner or later, Saul’s going to get me. The best thing I can do is escape to Philistine country. Saul will count me a lost cause and quit hunting me down in every nook and cranny of Israel. I’ll be out of his reach for good.” (27:1) So David leaves, and Saul calls off the hunt. David defects into the hands of the enemy. He leads his men into the land of idols and false gods and pitches his tent in Goliath’s backyard. He plops down in the pasture of Satan himself.

Initially, David feels relief. Saul gives up the chase. David’s men can sleep with both eyes closed. Children can attend kindergarten, and wives can unpack the suitcases. Hiding out with the enemy brings temporary relief. But doesn’t it usually? Stop resisting drugs, and you’ll laugh — for a while. Move out on your spouse, and you’ll relax — for a time. Indulge in porn, and you’ll be entertained — for a season. But then the talons of temptation sink in. Waves of guilt crash in. The loneliness of breaking up rushes in. “There’s a way of life that looks harmless enough; look again — it leads straight to hell. Sure, those people appear to be having a good time, but all that laughter will end in heartbreak.” (Prov. 14:12–13)

Listen to the third stanza of David’s song of the slump. In verse one, “he wore out.” So, “he got out.” And in order to survive in the enemy camp, David “sells out.” He strikes a deal with Achish, the king of Gath: “Give me a place in one of the cities in the country, that I may live there; for why should your servant live in the royal city with you?” (1 Sam. 27:5) Note David’s self-assigned title: the “servant” of the enemy king. The once-proud son of Israel and conqueror of Goliath lifts a toast to the arch-enemy of his family. And Achish welcomes the deal. He grants David a village, Ziklag, and asks only that David turn against his own people and kill them. And, as far as Achish knows, David does. But David actually raids the enemies of the Hebrews: “Now David and his men went up and raided the Geshurites, the Girzites and the Amalekites. . . . Whenever David attacked an area, he did not leave a man or woman alive, but took sheep and cattle, donkeys and camels, and clothes. Then he returned to Achish.” (27:8–9)

Not David’s finest hour, to say the least. He lies to the Philistine king and covers up his deceit with bloodshed. He continues this duplicity for sixteen months. Not surprisingly, there are no psalms from this particular season of David’s life. His harp hangs silent. The slump mutes the minstrel. And things get worse before they get better. he Philistines decide to attack King Saul. David and his men opt to switch sides and join the opposition. Envision U.S. armed forces joining with the Jihadists. They journey three days to the battlefield, get rejected, and travel three days home. “The Philistine officers said, . . . ‘He’s not going into battle with us. He’d switch sides in the middle of the fight!’” (1 Sam. 29:4) So, David leads his unwanted men back to Ziklag, only to find the village burned to the ground. The Amalekites had destroyed it while they were away, and had kidnapped all of their wives, sons and daughters. When David and his men see the devastation, they weep until they are “exhausted with weeping.” (30:4) Rejected by the Philistines. Pillaged by the Amalekites. No country to fight for. No family to come home to. Can matters grow worse? Yes, they can.

Anger flares in the soldiers’ eyes. David’s men start looking for rocks. “The people in their bitterness said he should be stoned.” (30:6) We have to wonder at this point whether David is regretting his decision? Longing for simpler days in the wilderness, perhaps? The good ol’ cave days, maybe? No Philistine rejection or Amalekite attacks there. His men loved him. His wives were with him. Now, in the ruins of Ziklag with men picking stones to throw at him, does he regret his prayerless choice to get out and sell out? You be the judge.

Slumps. They’re the Petri dish for bad decisions, the incubator for wrong turns, the assembly line of regretful moves. How we handle our tough times stays with us for a long time. So, how do you handle yours? When hope takes the last train and joy is nothing but the name of the little girl who used to live next door . . . when you’re tired of trying, tired of forgiving, tired of hard weeks or hard-headed people . . . how do you manage your dark days? With a bottle of pills or scotch? With an hour at the bar, a day at the spa, or a week at the coast? Many opt for these alternatives. So many, in fact, that we assume that they re-energize a sad life. But do they? No one denies that they help for a while, but over the long haul? They numb the pain, but do they remove it? Or, are we like the sheep on the Turkish cliff? Who knows why the first one jumped over the edge. Even more bizarre are the fifteen hundred others who followed, each leaping off the same overhang. The first 450 animals died. The thousand that followed survived only because the pile of corpses cushioned their fall.

We, like sheep, follow each other over the edge, falling headlong into bars and binges and beds. Like David, we crash into Gath, only to find that Gath has no solution. Is there a solution? Yes, there is. Doing right what David did wrong. He failed to pray. So do the opposite: be quick to pray. Stop talking to yourself, and talk to Christ, instead. He’s the one who invites: “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest.” (Matt. 11:28) God, who is never downcast, never tires of your down days. David neglected good advice. So, learn from his mistake. Next time you lack the will to go on, seek healthy counsel. You won’t want to, of course. Slumping people love slumping people. Hurting people hang with hurting people. We love those with whom we can commiserate, and avoid those who correct. Yet correction and direction are what we need. “Refuse good advice and watch your plans fail; take good counsel and watch them succeed.” (Prov. 15:22) Be quick to pray, seek healthy counsel, and don’t give up.

Don’t make the mistake of Florence Chadwick. In 1952 she attempted to swim the chilly ocean waters between Catalina Island and the California shore; a distance of some 32 miles. She swam through foggy weather and choppy seas for fifteen hours. Her muscles began to cramp, and her resolve had weakened. She begged to be taken out of the water. But her mother, riding in a boat alongside, urged her not to give up. Florence kept trying but grew exhausted and eventually stopped swimming. Aids lifted her out of the water and into the boat. They paddled a few more minutes, the mist broke, and Florence discovered that the shore was less than a half mile away. “All I could see was the fog,” she explained at a news conference. “I think if I could have seen the shore, I would have made it.”

Take a long look at the shore that awaits you. Don’t be fooled by the fog of the slump. The finish may be only strokes away. God may be, at this very moment, lifting his hand to signal Gabriel to grab the trumpet. Angels may be assembling, saints gathering, demons trembling. Stay at it. Stay in the water. Stay in the race. Stay in the fight. Give grace – one more time. Be generous – one more time. Teach one more class, encourage one more soul, swim one more stroke.

David did. Right there in the smoldering ruins of Ziklag, he found strength. After sixteen months in Gath. After the Philistine rejection, the Amalekite attack, and the insurrection by his men, he remembered what to do. “David found strength in the Lord his God.” (1 Sam. 30:6) Have you?

Grace,

Randy