God's at Work in the Ordinary

 

God’s at Work in the Ordinary

“Zillah also had a son, Tubal-Cain, who forged all kinds of tools out of bronze and iron. Tubal-Cain’s sister was Naamah.” (Genesis 4:22)

              Now, if you’re reading through Genesis, you might be tempted to say, “Okay… Tubal-Cain. Bronze and iron. Naamah. Got it. I’m moving on.” It’s not exactly the verse you would put on a coffee mug. You don’t usually hear someone say, “My life’s verse is Genesis 4:22.” He forged tools, worked with bronze and iron and his sister’s name is Naamah. That’s it. No great sermon. No Red Sea parting. No giant falling. No burning bush. Just a man doing his work. And yet God thought his life, including his sister’s, was worth mentioning. That’s because God sees the ordinary.

Sometimes we imagine that God is primarily interested in the big moments of our lives. We think God is interested when we get married, when we have a baby, when we get the promotion, when we retire, when we buy a house, when we sell a house, when we finally get the answer to the prayer we’ve been praying for ten years. But Genesis 4:22 reminds us that God is also interested in the ordinary.

Tubal-Cain was apparently good at making things. He worked with metal. He forged tools. He probably went to work, came home, ate dinner, went to bed, got up the next morning and did it all over again. Sound familiar? Most of us live much more like Tubal-Cain than Moses – we don’t wake up every morning expecting a burning bush in the backyard. We wake up and look for our glasses. And if you're like me, you may have to find your glasses before you can find your phone so you can see what you missed while you were asleep. We look at the calendar. We check he weather. We take care of the house. We pay the bills. We mow the lawn. We fix things. We make appointments. We take care of family. We go to the grocery store and wonder how four bags of groceries can cost $187.69. And somewhere in the middle of all that ordinary stuff, we sometimes wonder: “Does any of this really matter to God?” Genesis 4:22 says, “Yes,” because God sees the ordinary. In fact, you may be forging something you cannot see.

We live in a world where everything seems to move at incredible speed. We can order something on our phone in the morning and have it sitting on our doorstep that afternoon. We can send a message to somebody on the other side of the country and get an answer almost immediately. We can video-chat with somebody thousands of miles away. We can even ask artificial intelligence a question and get an answer before we've finished thinking about the question itself. But God still works at a different pace. We want instant answers, but God often works through long seasons. We want the microwave; God sometimes gives us the crockpot.

Tubal-Cain, for his part, forged tools. And there’s something intriguing about forging. You take something that looks rough and unfinished, and you put it into the fire. Then you hammer it. You shape it. You heat it again. You hammer it again. And eventually something useful begins to emerge. Now, if you were the piece of metal, you’d probably be thinking, “This is not going well.” You didn't ask for the fire. You didn't ask for the hammer. And you certainly didn't ask for somebody to keep pounding you with it. But the craftsman knows what the metal doesn’t  – he knows what he’s making. And that's exactly where we are with God. The metal doesn't understand the blacksmith's plan, but the blacksmith does.

The truth is that we live in a “microwave” world. We live in a culture that wants everything instantly. We want instant coffee. Instant messaging. Instant downloads. Instant photos. Instant answers. And now we have artificial intelligence that can draft a 2,000-word essay before you've even finished typing the topic. We've gotten incredibly good at making things happen quickly. But God has never seemed particularly impressed with our timetable.

And then, all of a sudden, you’re looking at your own life and thinking, “Why doesn't my life look like Sally’s?” But remember you're comparing your everyday life to somebody else's highlight reel. Most people don't post the picture of the broken water heater, the argument they had that morning, the unexpected bill or the three hours they spent waiting for customer service in India to answer the phone. We see everybody else's finished product while God may still be working on our foundation. And just because we cannot see what God is doing doesn’t mean God is doing nothing. In fact, the work you’re doing may be preparing you for something you cannot see.

Tubal-Cain didn't know what his tools would eventually accomplish. He didn't have the benefit of looking backward through history. He just knew what was in front of him. He had metal. He had fire. He had a hammer and he had work to do. And sometimes that's all God gives us. So, what’s in front of you today? Maybe you're raising children. Maybe you're caring for an aging parent. Maybe you're working at a job that isn't your dream job. Maybe you're rebuilding after a disappointment. Maybe you're learning something new. Maybe you're trying to become the person God wants you to become. Maybe you're praying for something that hasn't happened yet. Maybe you're simply trying to remain faithful when life isn't turning out the way you expected. But don't despise the season. God often does some of His greatest work in the seasons that look the least impressive.

David spent years watching sheep before he ever wore a crown. Joseph spent years in places he never expected to be before God opened the door for which he had been waiting. Moses spent forty years in the wilderness before God called him to confront Pharaoh. And Tubal-Cain? He forged tools. Sometimes preparation looks remarkably ordinary.

And then there’s the other detail in Genesis 4:22. It says: “Tubal-Cain’s sister was Naamah.” Why tell us her name? We don't know anything about Naamah, plus that’s the name we use for our grandma. Scripture doesn't give us her biography. We don't know what she accomplished. We don't know what her résumé looked like. We don't know whether she ever stood in front of a crowd or accomplished something that history would call great. But God recorded her name. Naamah. God remembers people we would forget. Think about that. Thousands of years later, we're talking about her because God decided that her name belonged in the story. And that ought to encourage somebody who feels forgotten. Because you may not be famous. Your name may not appear in a newspaper. You may not have thousands of followers. You may not have a book written about you. You may not have a statue somewhere. And frankly, some of us are perfectly happy with that. But God knows your name. God doesn’t measure your life by how many people notice you. He measures it by your faithfulness to Him.

Don’t confuse hidden with forgotten because there’s a big difference. A seed is hidden before it grows. A foundation is hidden beneath a building. Roots are hidden beneath the ground. The most important part of a tree may be the part that nobody ever sees. It’s not forgotten; it’s just hidden.

And sometimes God has us in a hidden season because He's developing something beneath the surface. You can't see the roots growing. You can't see the character being formed. You can't see the wisdom developing. You can't see how today's experience will connect with tomorrow's assignment. But that doesn't mean nothing is happening. In fact, something may very well be happening precisely because you can’t see it yet. It’s like a building under construction. When you drive past it during its early stages, sometimes all you see is a big hole in the ground with dirt everywhere. Trucks are coming and going. It doesn't look like much. But underneath all that dirt, they're building the foundation. Nobody drives by and says, “Look at that beautiful foundation!” But without the foundation, there wouldn’t be much of a building. You may be in a foundation season right now, and foundation work is often underground. It's hidden. It's slow. And it's not very exciting. But it’s absolutely necessary and certainly not forgotten.

So, what do we do while we're waiting? We do what Tubal-Cain did. We work with what God has placed in our hands. We use the gifts He has given us. We remain faithful in the responsibilities He's entrusted to us. We don't have to know the whole plan. We don't have to control the timeline. We don't have to understand every circumstance. We simply have to trust the Craftsman. Maybe today you're holding a hammer and wondering why God hasn't given you a crown. Maybe you're holding a set of tools and wondering why God hasn't opened the door. Maybe you're in the workshop wondering when the masterpiece is going to appear. Keep working. Keep trusting. Keep praying. Keep obeying. Keep becoming the person God is calling you to become. Because waiting doesn’t mean that God’s doing nothing. Sometimes waiting is where God is doing His deepest work. That’s because God is in the details.

Genesis 4:22 is easy to skip and, perhaps, that's part of the lesson. God is telling us that He’s present not only in the spectacular moments, but also in the details. In the workshop. In the kitchen. At the office. In the classroom. In the hospital room. At the kitchen table. In the retirement years. In the season of uncertainty. In the unanswered prayer. In the ordinary Tuesday afternoon. God is there.

So, if you're in a season today where you can't see what God is doing, don't assume He's absent. If the answer hasn't come, don't assume God’s forgotten you. If the door hasn't opened, don't assume God isn't preparing you. And if your life feels ordinary, don't assume it’s insignificant. Tubal-Cain forged tools. Naamah was remembered by name. And God was at work in the details. You may not be able to see what God is building. You may not understand why the process is taking so long. You may not know how today's faithfulness connects to tomorrow's purpose. But you can trust the Craftsman. Because the One who holds the future also holds you while you wait for it. And sometimes the most faithful thing you can say is simply: “Lord, I may not understand what you’re doing, but I trust You. You’re at work in the ordinary — even in the ordinary moments of people just like me.

Grace,

Randy

Trusting God When Life Says "But"

 

Trusting God When Life Says "But"

Trusting God When Life Says "But" 

Then King David rose to his feet and said, “Listen to me, my brethren and my people; I had intended to build a permanent home for the ark of the covenant of the Lord and for the footstool of our God. So, I had made preparations to build it. But God said to me, ‘You shall not build a house for my name because you are a man of war and have shed blood.’ Yet, the Lord, the God of Israel, chose me from all the house of my father to be king over Israel forever. For he has chosen Judah to be a leader; and in the house of Judah, my father’s house, and among the sons of my father he took pleasure in me to make me king over all Israel. (1 Chron. 28:2-4)

“I had intended . . . .” The David who speaks those words is now quite old. The hands that once swung a sling now hang quietly. The feet that had danced before the ark now shuffle. Though his eyes are still sharp, his hair is gray and his skin sags beneath his beard. “I had intended . . . .” A huge crowd had come to listen – courtiers, counselors, chamberlains and caretakers. They had assembled at David’s command. But the king is tired, and the time for his departure is near. So, they listen intently as he speaks. “I had intended to . . . .” That’s kind of an odd way to start a farewell speech. David doesn’t mention what he did, but what he wanted to do, yet couldn’t. “I had intended to build a permanent home for the ark of the covenant of the Lord and for the footstool of our God.” (1 Chron. 28:2)

A temple. David had wanted to build a temple. What he had done for Israel, he wanted to do for the ark — protect it. What he’d done with Jerusalem, he wanted to do with the temple — establish it. And who better than David to do that? Hadn’t he, literally, authored the book on worship? Didn’t he rescue the ark of the covenant? The temple would have been his swan song, his signature act. David had expected to dedicate his final years to building a shrine to God. At least, that was his intention; his plan.

So, he’d prepared – architects chosen; builders selected; blueprints and plans, drawings and numbers; temple columns sketched; steps designed. “I had intended.” “I had made preparations,” David said. Intentions. Preparations. But no temple. Why? Did David get discouraged? No, he stood ready, willing and able for the task. Were the people resistant? Hardly; they gave generously. Were resources scarce? Far from it. David “supplied more bronze than could be weighed, and . . . more cedar logs than could be counted.” (1 Chron. 22:3–4) So what happened? A conjunction – that’s what happened.

Conjunctions operate as the signal lights at the cross-roads of sentences. Some, like the word “and” are green lights – they mean, “Go!” Others, like the word “however,” are yellow – “Caution.” But a few conjunctions are red. Like fire engine red. They stop you. And David got a red light. “I had made preparations to build it. But God said to me, ‘You shall not build a house for my name because you are a man of war and have shed blood. . . . Your son Solomon is the one who shall build my house and my courts.’” (1 Chron. 28:2–3, 6) David’s bloodthirsty temperament had cost him the temple-building privilege, and all he could say was: I intended; I prepared; but God.

 Do you know anyone who’s uttered similar words? That God had different plans than they did? One man, for instance, waited until his mid-thirties to marry. Resolved to select the right spouse, he prayerfully took his time. When he found her, they moved west, bought a ranch and began their life together. After three short years, she was killed in a tragic accident. He had intended. He’d made preparations. But God. A young couple turned a room into a nursery. They papered the walls, refinished a baby crib, selected the name, but then the wife miscarried. They’d intended. They’d prepared. But God. Or take Willem for example.

Willem wanted to preach. By the age of twenty-five, he’d experienced enough life to know he was a perfect fit for the ministry. He sold art, taught language and traded in books. He’d made a living, but it wasn’t a life. His life was in the church. His passion was with the people. So, his passion took him to the coalfields of southern Belgium. There, in the spring of 1879, this Dutchman began to minister to the simple, hardworking miners of Borinage. But within weeks his passion was tested. A mining disaster had injured dozens in the village. So, Willem nursed the wounded and fed the hungry. He even scraped the slag heaps to give his people fuel. And after the rubble was cleared and the dead were buried, the young preacher had earned a place in their hearts – the tiny church overflowed with people hungry for his simple messages of love. Young Willem was doing what he’d always dreamed of doing. But . . . .

One day his superior came to visit. Willem’s lifestyle shocked his boss. The young preacher wore an old soldier’s coat. His pants were cut from sackcloth, and he lived in a simple hut. Willem giving his salary to the people explained his poverty. The church official was wholly unimpressed. “You look more pitiful than the people you came to teach,” he said. Willem asked him if Jesus wouldn’t have done the same, but his boss would have none of it. This was not the proper appearance for a minister, and he dismissed Willem from the ministry. The young man was devastated. He only wanted to build a church. He only wanted to honor God. Why wouldn’t God let him do this work? He’d intended. He’d made preparations. But God.

What do you do with the “but God” moments in your life? When God interrupts your good plans and careful preparation, how do you respond? The man who lost his wife didn’t respond well; he lives in a fog of anger and bitterness. The young couple is coping better. They stay active in church and prayerful about a child. And Willem? Now that’s another story altogether. But before we get back to Willem, what about David? When God changed David’s plans, how did he respond?

He followed the “but God” with a “yet God.” Yet, the Lord, the God of Israel, chose me from all the house of my father to be king over Israel forever. For he has chosen Judah to be a leader; and in the house of Judah, my father’s house, and among the sons of my father he took pleasure in me to make me king over all Israel. (1 Chron. 28:4) Reduce that paragraph to a phrase and it reads something like, “Who am I to complain?” David had gone from runt to royalty; from herding sheep to leading armies; from sleeping in the pasture to living in a palace. When you’re given an ice cream sundae, you don't complain about a missing cherry. David faced the giant of disappointment with, “yet God.” David trusted God. And so did Willem.

 Initially, Willem was hurt and angry. He lingered in the small village of Borinage, not knowing exactly where to turn. But one afternoon he noticed an old miner bending beneath an enormous weight of coal. Caught by the poignancy of the moment, Willem began to sketch the weary figure. His first attempt was pretty crude, but then he tried again. And although he didn’t know it at the time, that’s when Willem discovered his true calling. Not the robe of a clergy, but the frock of an artist. Not the pulpit of a pastor, but the palette of a painter. Not the ministry of words, but of images. The young man the leader would not accept became an artist the world could not resist: Vincent Willem van Gogh. You see, his “but God” became a “yet God.” And who’s to say yours can’t be the same?

“’For I know the plans I have for you,’ says the Lord. ‘They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.’” (Jer. 29:11) Many times, unfortunately, we don’t even know our own minds and fear that God’s plans are against us. But there’s no uncertainty with God, and even the things that may appear evil are for our good. God doesn’t give us the expectations of our fears, as many times we suppose, but rewards us in keeping with the expectations of our faith.

So, if you ever have one of those “but God” moments, be like David – try trusting God when life says, “but” and then marvel at how far he’s brought you back to the future. In other words, when life says “but” let your faith say “yet.”

Grace,

Randy

Altitude Sickness

 

Altitude Sickness

Altitude Sickness - Audio/Visual 

As your spiritual teacher I give this piece of advice to each one of you. Don’t cherish exaggerated ideas of yourself or your importance but try to have a sane estimate of your capabilities by the light of the faith that God has given to you all. (Romans 12:3)

Sometimes you can climb too high for your own good. It’s entirely possible to ascend too far, stand too tall and elevate too much. Linger too long at high altitudes and at least two of your senses will likely suffer from hypoxemia, i.e., altitude sickness. First, your hearing dulls. It’s hard to hear people when you’re higher than they are. Voices grow distant and sentences seem muffled. And second, when you’re up there, your eyesight dims, too. It’s hard to focus on people when you’re so far above them. They appear so small, like little figures with no faces. You can hardly distinguish one from the other since they all look alike to you. In other words, you don’t hear them, and you don’t see them because you’re above them. Which was exactly David’s altitude at the zenith of his reign.

He’s never been higher. The wave of his success crests at age fifty. Israel’s expanding, and the country’s prospering. In two decades on the throne, he’s distinguished himself as a warrior, musician, statesman and a king. His cabinet is strong, and his boundaries stretch for 60,000 square miles, or about the size of the state of Georgia. No defeats on the battlefield, and no blemishes on his administration. Loved by the people, served by the soldiers and followed by the crowds, David’s at an all-time high. Quite a contrast to how we first found him in the Valley of Elah – kneeling at the brook in search of five smooth stones. Then, everybody else stood. The soldiers stood. Goliath stood. His brothers stood. The others were high; David was low. Never lower, in fact. But then again, never stronger.

Three decades later his situation is reversed. Never higher, yet never weaker. David stands at the highest point of his life, in the highest position in the kingdom and at the highest place in the city — on the balcony of his castle overlooking Jerusalem. He should be with his men in battle, but he isn’t. He’s home. “In the spring, when the kings normally went out to war, David sent out his general, Joab, his servants, and all the Israelites. They destroyed the Ammonites and attacked the city of Rabbah. But David stayed in Jerusalem.” (2 Sam. 11:1)

It’s springtime in Israel. The nights are warm, and the air is sweet. David has time on his hands, love on his mind and people at his disposal. His eyes fall upon a woman as she bathes. Maybe Bathsheba was bathing in a place where she shouldn’t bathe, hoping David would look where he shouldn’t be looking. Then again, maybe she wasn’t. The truth is we’ll never know. But we know that he looks and likes what he sees. So, he inquires about her. A servant returns with the following information: “That woman is Bathsheba daughter of Eliam. She is the wife of Uriah the Hittite.” (2 Sam. 11:3) The servant tactfully laces his information with a warning. He gives not only the woman’s name, but her marital status and the name of her husband. Why tell David she’s married if it wasn’t to caution him? And why give the husband’s name unless David wasn’t familiar with it? Odds are, David knew Uriah.

But even if he didn’t know Uriah, David knew Eliam’s dad, Ahithophel, because Ahithophel was David’s closet cabinet advisor – which, of course, would make Bathsheba his counselor’s granddaughter. See? The servant hopes to respectfully dissuade the king. But David misses the hint because he can’t hear, and the next verse describes his first step down a very slippery slope. “So, David sent messengers to bring Bathsheba to him. When she came to him, he had sex with her.” (2 Sam. 11:4)

Notice that David “sends” a lot in this story. He sends Joab to battle. (2 Sam. 11:1) He sends the servant to inquire about Bathsheba. (v. 3) He sends for Bathsheba to have her come to him. (v. 4) When David learns of her pregnancy, he sends word to Joab (v. 6) to send Uriah back to Jerusalem. David sends him to Bathsheba to “get busy,” so to speak, but Uriah is too noble; he’s on the clock. So, David opts to send Uriah back to a place in the battle where he is sure to be killed. Thinking his cover-up is complete, David sends for Bathsheba and he marries her. (v. 27) That’s a lot of sending.

We don’t like this sending, demanding David. We prefer the pastoring David, caring for his father’s sheep. Or the clever and resourceful David, hiding from Saul. Maybe even the worshiping David, penning psalms. We aren’t prepared for the David who’s lost control of his self-control, and who sins as he sends. What happened? Simple. Altitude sickness. Call it a superiority complex. He’s been too high for too long. The thin air has messed with his senses. He can’t hear like he used to. He can’t hear the warnings of the servant, or the voice of his conscience, or even his Lord. The pinnacle has dulled his ears and blinded his eyes. Did David see Bathsheba? No. He saw Bathsheba bathing. He saw Bathsheba’s body and Bathsheba’s curves. He saw Bathsheba, the conquest. But did he see Bathsheba, the human being? The wife of Uriah? The daughter of Eliam? The creation of God? No. David had lost his vision.

Too long at the top will do that to you. Too many hours in the bright sun and thin air can leave you breathless and dizzy. Of course, who among us could ever ascend as high as David? Who among us is a finger snap away from a rendezvous with anyone we choose? Presidents and kings might send people to do their bidding, but we’re lucky just to send out for pizza. We don’t have that kind of influence. We can understand David’s other struggles like his fear of Saul, and his long stretches of hiding in the wilderness because we’ve been there. But David the high and mighty? David’s balcony is one place we’ve never been. Or, then again, have we?

I wasn’t on a balcony, but I was in a restaurant. And I didn’t watch a woman bathe, but I did watch a waitress fumble. She couldn’t seem to do anything right. Order soda, and she’d bring juice. Ask for an appetizer, and she’d bring the entre – if she remembered to bring anything at all. And I started to grumble. Not aloud, mind you, but in my thoughts. “What’s the matter with her?” Unfortunately, I was feeling a little smug at the time – I’d just won a big trial, and to celebrate the victory my client had invited me to lunch and then proceeded to tell me what a great lawyer I was. I don’t know which was crazier, i.e., the fact that he’d said it, or the fact that I believed it.

So, I entered the restaurant that day feeling just a little cocky. I probably even had to tilt my head just to enter the doorway. Then I asked for the soda, the appetizer, etc., and she blew every assignment. So, I growled. Do you see what I was doing? I was placing myself higher than the waitress because, in the pecking order of a restaurant, she was below me. Her job was to serve, and my job was, of course, to be served.

Have you ever felt that way? Superior to someone? A parking lot attendant. The clerk at the grocery store. The peanut-vendor at the baseball game. The sanitation engineer, maybe? You’ve probably done what I did, and the truth is that we’ve all done what David did. We’ve lost our sight and our hearing. When I looked at the waitress, I didn’t see a human being; I saw a server. Which begs the question: How’s your hearing these days? Do you hear the servants whom God sends? Do you hear the conscience that God stirs? And secondly, what about your vision? Do you still see people? Or do you only see their functions? Do you see people who need you, or do you see people beneath you? To me, the story of David and Bathsheba is less a story of lust, and more a story about power. A story of a man who rose too high for his own good. A man who needed to hear, “Come down from there David before you fall.” David’s son, Solomon, whose mother was Bathsheba by the way, would later pen these words: “First pride, then the crash — the bigger the ego, the harder the fall.” (Prov. 16:18) Makes you wonder if he was writing about his dad.

That must be why God hates arrogance. He hates to see his children fall. He hates to see his David’s seduce, and his Bathsheba’s be victimized. God hates what pride does to his children. God doesn’t merely dislike arrogance, he hates it. Could he state it any more clearly than in Proverbs 8:13: “I hate pride and arrogance”? And then a few chapters later, in case you missed it the first time, “God can’t stomach arrogance or pretense; believe me, he’ll put those upstarts in their place.” (Prov. 16:5)

You don’t want God to do that, i.e., put you in your place. Just ask David. He never quite recovered from his bout with this particular giant. So don’t make his mistake. It’s better to descend the mountain than to fall from it. Pursue humility, instead. C.S. Lewis once said, “Humility doesn’t mean you think less of yourself, but that you think of yourself less.” (Mere Christianity) The apostle Paul said two thousand years earlier, “Don’t cherish exaggerated ideas of yourself or your importance, but try to have a sane estimate of your capabilities by the light of the faith that God has given to you.” (Rom. 12:3) Emphasis, perhaps, on the word sane since its antonym, insane, is defined as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. (attrib. Albert Einstein)

Learn to embrace your poverty. We’re all equally broken and blessed. “People come into this world with nothing, and when they die they leave with nothing.” (Eccles. 5:15) Resist the place of celebrity. “Go sit in a seat that is not important. When the host comes to you, he may say, ‘Friend, move up here to a more important place.’ Then all the other guests will respect you.” (Luke 14:10) Wouldn’t you rather be invited up than put down? God has a cure for the high and mighty: come down from the mountain, or he’ll help you get over your superiority complex. And when you get off your high horse, you’ll be amazed at what you can hear, and who you will see. Plus, you'll breathe much easier, which is key since altitude sickness is serious business.

Grace,

Randy