Living on the Backside of the Needlepoint

 

Living on the Backside of the Needlepoint

Living on the Backside of the Needlepoint - Audio/Visual 

So, the Lord gave to Israel all the land of which he had sworn to give to their fathers, and they took possession of it and dwelt in it. The Lord gave them rest all around, according to all that he had sworn to their fathers. And not a man of all their enemies stood against them; the Lord delivered all their enemies into their hand. Not a word failed of any good thing which the Lord had spoken to the house of Israel. All came to pass. (Josh. 21:43-45)

Faith is a choice, and believers risk the choice. When forced to stand at the crossroads of belief and unbelief, they choose belief. They place one determined step after the other on the pathway of faith, but seldom with a skip; it’s usually with a limp. They make a conscious decision to step toward God, to lean into hope, and to heed the call of heaven. They press into the promises of God. Joshua's story urges us to do the same. In fact, one could argue that the central message of the book is this headline: "God keeps his promises. Trust him."

“All came to pass.” (Josh. 21:45) These four words in three verses are the theological heart of the book of Joshua. They rise up like trumpets at the end of the narrative. "Don't miss this! Attention everyone. God keeps his word!" The writer pounds the point in triplicate. Three times in three verses he declares: God did what he said he would do. (1) "The Lord gave . . . all . . . he had sworn to give." (v. 43) (2) "The Lord gave . . . rest . . . according to all that he had sworn to their fathers." (v. 44) (3) "Not a word failed of any good thing which the Lord had spoken . . . All came to pass." (v. 45) Author, Dale Ralph Davies, was so taken by that last statement that he entitled his Joshua study No Falling Words.

We live in a world of falling words. A world of broken promises and empty vows. Pledges made only to be retracted. They were spoken with great fanfare like, "I'll always love you," or "Count on us to recognize your good work," or "’Till death do us part." But words tend to tumble. They’re like autumn leaves in a November's wind. You've heard your share, I’m sure, but you'll never hear them from God. In a world of falling words, his remain. In a life of broken promises, he keeps his. "The Lord's promise is sure. He speaks no careless word; all he says is purest truth, like silver seven times refined." (Ps. 12:6)

God is a covenant-keeping God. Want proof? The narrator tells us to simply look at history. "The Lord gave to Israel all the land of which he had sworn to give to their fathers." (Josh. 21:43) Specifically, God gave Abraham a promise. "Then the Lord appeared to Abram and said, 'To your descendants I will give this land.'" (Gen. 12:7) That was six hundred years earlier. Who would have believed that it would ever happen? When Abraham died, the only land he owned was Sarah's cemetery plot. His descendants were sharecroppers at best and slaves at worst, living in Egyptian servitude and bondage for 400 years. Moses led them near, but never into Canaan. How many sons of Abraham looked to the stars and prayed, “God, will you keep your promise?” The answer from the pages of Joshua is, “Yes.” God promised to bless Abraham, and through Abraham's seed all the nations of the earth. "I will bless you and make your name great; and you shall be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and I will curse him who curses you; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed." (Gen. 12:2-3)

This was the promise partially fulfilled in Joshua. And this is the promise completely fulfilled in Jesus. In him all nations are blessed. In Jesus, every person has hope and the possibility of redemption. No wonder the apostle Paul wrote, "All the promises of God find their “Yes” in [Jesus]." (2 Cor. 1:20) Our God is a promise-keeping God. Others may make a promise and forget, but if God makes a promise, he keeps it. "He who promised is faithful." (Heb. 10:23)

Does that matter? Does God's integrity make a difference? Does his faithfulness come into play? When your child is on life support, it does. When you're pacing the ER floor, it does. When you are wondering what to do with every parent's worst nightmare, you have to choose. Faith or fear. God's purpose or random history. A God who knows and cares, or a God who isn't there? We all choose. Believers choose to trust God's promises. That’s what believers do. They  believe. They choose to believe that God is up to something good even though all we see looks bad. They echo the verse of the hymn, My Hope is Built on Nothing Less: “His oath, his covenant, his blood, support me in the whelming flood.”

Nothing deserves your attention more than God's covenants. No words written on paper will ever sustain you like the promises of God. Do you know them? To the bereaved: "Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning." (Ps. 30:5) To the besieged: "The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all." (Ps. 34:19) To the sick: "The Lord sustains them on their sickbed and restores them from their bed of illness." (Ps. 41:3) To the lonely: "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you." (Isa. 43:2) To the dying: "In my Father's house are many rooms . . . I go to prepare a place for you." (John 14:2) To the sinner: "My grace is sufficient for you." (2 Cor. 12:9) These promises are for your good. "And because of his glory and excellence, he has given us great and precious promises. These are the promises that enable you to share his divine nature and escape the world's corruption caused by human desires." (2 Peter 1:4)

Lean into God's promises. When fears surface, respond with this thought: But God said …. When doubts arise, But God said …. When guilt overwhelms you, But God said …. Declare these words: "You have rescued me, O God who keeps his promises." (Ps. 31:5) Turn again and again to God's spoken covenants. Search the Scriptures like a miner digging for gold. Once you find a nugget, grab it. Trust it. Take it to the bank. Do what I did with the promise of a pilot.

On a flight many years ago, bad weather had come our way. The flight into Los Angeles was delayed by storms. We landed at the exact time the final flight into San Diego was scheduled to depart. As we taxied toward the gate, I was checking my watch, thinking about hotels and grumbling at the bad break. Then over the loud speaker a promise. "This is the pilot. I know many of you have connections. Relax. You'll make them. We are holding your planes. We have a place for you." Well, I thought, he wouldn't say that if he didn't mean it. So, I decided to trust his promise. I stopped thinking about hotels. I quit checking my watch. I relaxed. I waited my turn to get off the plane and set my sights on my next gate. I marched through the concourse with confidence. Hadn't the pilot given me a promise? Other people in the airport that evening weren't so fortunate. They, also victims of inclement weather, were in a panic. Travelers were scrambling, confused and worried. Their expressions betrayed their fear. Too bad their pilot hadn't spoken to them. Or maybe he had, and they just didn’t listen. Your Pilot has spoken to you, as well. Will you listen? I mean really listen.

One of my favorite images of God’s working in our lives, especially during hard times, is a picture of God doing needlepoint. Have you ever seen a finished needlepoint? It’s beautiful; some even have the piece framed as art. But have you ever looked at the back of that same needlepoint? It’s a mess of multi-colored threads and knots. On this side of heaven, we stand behind the needlepoint and usually see only the knotted ends and frayed edges of what God is doing. But if we could see the other side of the needlepoint, we would see God doing something beautiful. Instead, we live on the backside of the needlepoint with painful circumstances and God’s purposes unclear. When have you struggled to see what God was doing? How have you struggled to believe that he was weaving anything beautiful? Can you think of a time when God gave you a glimpse of the “beautiful side” of the needlepoint after a season of staring at the backside? We spend a lot of time staring at the “ugly side” of the needlepoint.

And if you haven’t struggled, maybe you know someone who is, and the temptation is to see the knotted underside of the needlepoint in your friend, or spouse, or family and give them encouragement by speculating as to what the beautiful thing is that God is doing. We like to suggest possible hopeful outcomes, to write our own endings to God’s story. That’s not particularly helpful, however, because we don’t actually know for sure what God is doing – even if we sometimes think we do. But it’s also not helpful because it implies that what is needed for us to trust God in these hard times is an understanding of what he’s doing, where that particular part of the story fits into the bigger picture. Biblically, that’s not what God tells us is needed. Ask Job. Ask Joseph. Ask the author of Ecclesiastes.

Our seeing the tapestry from God’s viewpoint and understanding the whole story is not the answer. God says the answer is to know and trust the Weaver, to know and trust that he is indeed making something beautiful, that he is in fact a God who redeems and restores even the most broken and hopeless situation even when we don’t understand why or how. He actually calls us to live almost exclusively looking at the backside of the needlepoint. Our hope from that side is a trust that there is a beautiful side being created by a Master Weaver who keeps his promises.

In other words, we don’t need to tell Jack and Jill how their marital struggles are part of God’s grander purposes or tell Sally how her heartbreak will be redeemed. Instead, when those “ugly sides” of the tapestry are shared, we can love others well by reminding them of who God is, what he is like as a God who can be trusted to keep his promises, and how much he understands their pain and has experienced it himself on the cross. That’s a God we can trust. That’s a Weaver who gives us hope from the backside of the needlepoint. The faith that turns to God in the darkest hour, and praises God with the weakest body. The kind of faith that trusts in God's promises. The kind of faith that proclaims, "Faith is a choice, and I choose faith” – even while living on the backside of the needlepoint.

Grace,

Randy

Who's In Charge of Your Journey?

 

Who’s In Charge of Your Journey?

Who's In Charge of Your Journey - Audio/Visual 

Therefore, we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So, we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. (2 Corinthians 4:16–18)

For many years, I drove the family to Grandma and Grandpa’s in northern California for a summer’s vacation. And on one particular occasion, three hours into the eleven-hour trip, I realized that I was in a theology lab. A day with a car full of kids will teach you a lot about God. Transporting a family from one city to another is like God transporting us from our home to his, and some of life’s stormiest hours occur when the passenger and the driver disagree on the route.

A journey is a journey, whether the destination is to a family reunion or the heavenly one. Both demand patience, a good sense of direction and a driver who knows that the fun at the end of the trip is worth the hassles in the middle of it. The fact that my pilgrims were all under the age of ten only enriched my learning experience. As minutes rolled into hours and our car rolled through the San Joaquin valley, I began to realize that what I was saying to my kids had a familiar ring. I’d heard it before – but from God. All of a sudden, the car became a classroom. I realized that I was doing for a few hours what God has done for centuries – encouraging travelers who’d rather rest than ride.

For instance, in order to reach the destination, you have to say “No” to some of the requests. Otherwise, can you imagine the outcome if a parent honored every request of each child during the journey? We’d inch our stomachs from one ice-cream store to the next. Our priority would be popcorn, and our itinerary would read like a fast-food menu. “Go to the Chocolate Malt and make a right. Then, head north until you find the Chili Cheeseburger. Stay north for 1,300 calories and then bear left at the Giant Pizza. When you see the two-for-one chili dog special, take the Pepto-Bismol Turnpike east for five convenience stores. And at the sixth rest stop …. ” Can you imagine the chaos if a parent indulged every child’s request? Can you imagine the chaos if God indulged every one of ours?

“No” is a necessary word to take on a trip. Destination has to reign over Dairy Queen. “For God has not destined us to the terrors of judgment, but to the full attainment of salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ.” (1 Thess. 5:9) Note God’s destiny for your life. Salvation. God’s overarching desire is that you reach that destination. His itinerary includes stops that encourage your journey. He frowns on stops that deter you. When his sovereign plan and your earthly plan collide, a decision has to be made. So, the question becomes, “Who’s in charge of this journey?” And if God’s in charge and must choose between your earthly satisfaction and your heavenly salvation, which do you hope he chooses? Right. Me, too.

When I’m in the driver’s seat as the Dad, I remember that I’m in charge. But when I’m in the passenger’s seat as a child of my heavenly Father, I sometimes forget that he’s in charge. I forget that God is more concerned with my destiny than my stomach, and I complain when he says “No.”

Now, don’t get me wrong. The requests that my children made while on the road to Grandma and Grandpa’s weren’t evil. They weren’t unfair. They weren’t even rebellious. In fact, we had a couple of ice cream cones and probably more than a few Cokes along the way. But most of the requests were unnecessary. Now, my then five-year-old daughter would have argued that fact because from her perspective another soft drink was indispensable to her happiness. But I know otherwise, so I say, “No.”

And a forty-year-old adult would argue that fact, too. From his standpoint, a new boss is indispensable to his happiness. God knows otherwise and says “No.” Or a thirty-year-old woman would argue that fact. From her standpoint, that man with that job and that name and that bank balance is exactly who she needs to be happy. Her Father, who is more concerned that she arrives at his City than at the altar, says, “Wait a few miles. There’s a better option down the road.” “Wait?!” she protests. “How long do I have to wait?” Which takes me to the next point.

Children have no concept of minutes or miles. “We’ll be there in three hours,” I said. “How long is three hours?” How do you explain time to a child who can’t tell time? “Well, it’s about as long as three Sesame Streets,” I suggested. The children groan in unison. “Three Sesame Streets?! That’s forever!” And to them, it is. And to us, it seems that way, too. But “he who lives forever” (Isaiah 57:15) has placed himself at the head of a band of pilgrims who mutter, “How long, O Lord? How long?” (Psalm 74:10; 89:46) “How long must I endure this sickness?” “How long must I endure this paycheck?” But do you really want God to answer those questions? He could, you know. He could answer them in terms of the here and now with time increments we understand. “Two more years on that illness, and ten more years for those bills.” But he seldom does that. He usually opts to measure the here and now against the there and then. And when you compare this life to that life, this life isn’t very long.

“Our days on earth are like a shadow,” (1 Chronicles 29:15) and “each man’s life is but a breath.” (Psalm 39:5) “You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:14) “As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more.” (Psalm 103:15, 16) “It’s a short journey,” I offer to the kids. “We’re almost there.” I can say that because I know these things. I’ve been there before. I’ve driven this road. I’ve covered this territory. For me, it’s no challenge. Ah, but for the children? It’s eternal. So, I try another approach.

“Just think how fun it will be when we get there,” I say. “House boating, waterskiing, swimming … I promise you, when you get there, the trip will have been worth it.” But they still complain. Why? Because children can’t envision the reward. For me, eleven hours on the road is a small price to pay for a week’s vacation. I don’t mind the drive because I know the reward. As I drive, I can see Lake Shasta. I can hear the dinner table laughter and smell the smoke from the barbeque. I can endure the journey because I know the destiny. But my children have forgotten their destiny. After all, they’re young. Children easily forget. Besides, the road is strange, and now the night has come. They can’t see where we’re going. It’s my job as their Dad to guide them. I try to help them see what they can’t. I tell them how we’ll play on the inner tubes and fish the lake; how they’ll spend the night under the stars in their sleeping bags. And it seems to work. Their grumbling decreases as their vision clears and their destiny unfolds.

Perhaps that’s how the apostle Paul stayed motivated. He had a clear vision of the reward. “Therefore, we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So, we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” (2 Corinthians 4:16–18) It’s not easy to get three kids under the age of ten to see a city they can’t see. But it’s necessary. It’s not easy for us to see a City we’ve never seen, either, especially when the road is bumpy, the hour is late, and companions want to cancel the trip and stay at a motel. It’s not easy to fix our eyes on what’s unseen, but it’s necessary.

And one line in that 2 Corinthians passage really makes me wonder: “our light and momentary troubles.” I wouldn’t have exactly called them that if I were Paul. Read what he called “light and momentary” and maybe you’ll agree: imprisoned; beaten with a whip five times; faced death; beaten with rods three times; stoned once; shipwrecked three times; stranded in the open sea; left homeless; in constant danger; hungry and thirsty. (2 Corinthians 11:23–27) Long and trying ordeals, perhaps. Arduous and deadly afflictions, maybe. But “light and momentary troubles”? How could Paul describe his endless calamites with that phrase? Well, he tells us. He could see “an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” And for some of you, the journey has been long and stormy. And in no way do I wish to minimize the difficulties that maybe you’ve had to face along your way. Some of you have shouldered burdens that few of us could ever bear.

Maybe you’ve been robbed of life-long dreams. You’ve been given a body that can’t sustain your spirit. You have bills that outnumber your paychecks, challenges that outweigh your strength and you’re exhausted. It’s hard for you to see the City in the midst of your storms. The desire to pull over to the side of the road and get out entices you. Maybe you don’t want to go on because some days – frankly – the road just seems so long. But it’s worth it, and here’s why.

Looking back over those early family vacations, once we had arrived at our destination, no one talked about the long trip to get there. No one mentioned the requests I didn’t honor. No one grumbled about my foot being on the accelerator when their hearts were focused on banana splits. No one complained about the late hour of arrival. Yesterday’s challenges were lost in today’s joy. And I think that’s what Paul was saying. God never said that the journey would be easy, but he did say that the arrival would be worthwhile. God may not do what you want, but he will do what is right … and best. He’s the Father of forward motion. Trust him. He will get you home. And the trials of the trip will be lost in the joys of an endless summer.

Oh, one last thought. The following year I drove during the night – while the kids slept.

Happy Father’s Day,

Randy