God is Working in You

 

God is Working in You

“I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.” (Ps. 32:8) “Seek his will in all you do, and he will direct your paths.” (Prov. 3:6) “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” (Isa. 30:21)

I can get lost anywhere. Seriously. Anywhere. Sometimes, the simplest map confuses me, and the clearest trail bewilders me. I couldn’t track an elephant through four feet of snow. I can misread instructions to the bathroom down the hall. I’ve since learned to ask for directions. My list of mishaps reads like a comedy skit for the Pink Panther. I once got lost in my hotel. I told the receptionist my key wasn’t working, only to realize that I’d been on the wrong floor trying to open the wrong door. Several years ago, I was convinced my car had been stolen from a parking garage. It hadn’t. I was in the wrong garage. One time, while driving from San Diego to Los Angeles, I exited the freeway to get some gas. After gassing up, I re-entered the freeway and drove for almost twenty minutes before I realized I was heading back to San Diego. I can relate to Columbus, who, as they say, didn’t know where he was going when he left, didn’t know where he was when he got there, and didn’t know where he’d been when he got back.

Can you relate? We’ve all scratched our heads a time or two. And if not at highway intersections then, perhaps, at the crossroads of life. The best of navigators among us have wondered, “Do I take the job or leave it?” “Accept the marriage proposal or pass?” “Leave home or remain home?” “Build or buy?” One of life’s giant-sized questions for me is, How can I know what God wants me to do? Fortunately, David asked the same question. He’d just learned of the deaths of Saul and Jonathan. Suddenly the throne is empty, and David’s options are wide open. But before he steps out, he looks up: “It happened after this that David inquired of the Lord, saying, ‘Shall I go up to any of the cities of Judah?’ And the Lord said to him, ‘Go up.’ David said, ‘Where shall I go up?’ And He said, ‘To Hebron.’” (2 Sam. 2:1)

David makes a habit of running his options past God, and he does so with a fascinating tool. The ephod. You can trace its appearance to David’s initial escape from Saul. David had sought comfort from the priests of Nob, but Saul accused the priests of harboring the fugitive and, consistent with Saul’s paranoia, murdered them. One priest by the name of Abiathar, however, fled and escaped with more than just his life; he escaped with the ephod. After Abiathar took refuge with David, he joined David in the raid on Keilah, bringing the Ephod with him. David had gotten wind of Saul’s strategy to destroy him and said to Abiathar, “’Get the Ephod.’ Then David prayed to God: ‘God of Israel, I’ve just heard that Saul plans to come to Keilah and destroy the city because of me. Will the city fathers of Keilah turn me over to him? Will Saul come down and do what I’ve heard? O God, God of Israel, tell me!’ God replied, ‘He’s coming down.’ ‘And will the head men of Keilah turn me and my men over to Saul?’ And God said, ‘They’ll turn you over.’ So, David and his men got out of there.” (1 Sam. 23:6, 9–13) David donned the ephod, spoke to God and received an answer. Wow.

Something similar occurred after the destruction of Ziklag. With his village in ruins and his men ready to stone him, he ordered Abiathar, “‘Bring me the Ephod so I can consult God.’ Abiathar brought it to David. Then David prayed to God, ‘Shall I go after these raiders? Can I catch them?’ The answer came, ‘Go after them! Yes, you’ll catch them! Yes, you’ll make the rescue!’” (1 Sam. 30:7–8) So, what’s with this ephod thing? Can I order one on Amazon?

The ephod originated in the era of the wilderness wanderings. Moses presented the first one to Aaron, the priest. It was an ornate vest, woven with white linen, laced with threads of blue, purple, scarlet and gold. A breastplate bearing twelve precious stones adorned the vest. The breastplate contained one or two, maybe three, resplendent diamonds or diamond-like stones. These stones had the names Urim and Thummim. Rocks with names, and no one knows the exact meaning of those terms, but “light” and “perfection” lead the scholars’ lists. God revealed his will to the priests through these stones. But how? Well, ancient writers have suggested several methods. One theory is that the stones illuminated when God said “Yes.” Another is that the stones contained moving letters that gathered to form a response. Yet another theory is that the stones were sacred lots that, when cast, would reveal an answer. No one knows for sure, and there’s a few who’ve even suggested that it was something like a present-day Ouija board.

Although we may speculate on the technique, we don’t need to guess at its value. Wouldn’t you cherish an ephod? When faced with a puzzling choice, David could, with reverent heart, make a request and God would answer. Will Saul come after me? He will. Will the men capture me? They will. Should I pursue the enemy? You should. Will I overtake them? You will. Sometimes I wish that God would do the same for us, don’t you? That we could ask and he would answer. That we could cry out and he would reply. Wouldn’t you love to have an ephod? Well, maybe you do. God hasn’t changed. He still promises to guide us. “I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.” (Ps. 32:8) “Seek his will in all you do, and he will direct your paths.” (Prov.3:6) “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” (Isa.30:21)

The God who guided David guides us today. We simply need to consult our Maker. Maybe you have no Urim or Thummim, but you do have a Bible. So, read it. Has any other book ever been described like this? “For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” (Heb. 4:12) “Living and active.” The words of the Bible have life. Nouns with pulse rates. Adjectives with muscles. God works though these words. The Bible is to God what a surgical glove is to the surgeon. He reaches through them to touch deep within you.

Have you ever felt his touch? For instance, in a late, lonely hour you read the words, “I will never fail you. I will never forsake you.” (Heb. 13:5) The sentences comfort like a hand on your shoulder. And then when anxiety termites away at your peace, someone shares this passage: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” (Phil. 4:6) Those words stir a sigh from your soul. Or maybe laziness is knocking on your door. You’re considering a half-hearted effort when Colossians 3:23 comes to mind: “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men.” (Col. 3:23). Ouch. Words can cut, too.

 Words that comfort; words that let you breathe out; words that cut. Words. God’s words. So, put them to use. “Let the words of Christ, in all their richness, live in your hearts and make you wise. Use his words to teach and counsel each other.” (Col. 3:16) Don’t make a decision, whether big or small, without sitting before God with an open Bible, open heart and open ears, imitating the prayer of Samuel: “Your servant is listening.” (1 Sam. 3:10)

The truth is that others have asked your questions. You aren’t the first to face your problems. Others have stood where you stand and wondered exactly what you wonder. So, seek their advice. “Consider the outcome of their way of life and imitate their faith.” (Heb. 13:7) Is your marriage weak? Find a strong one. Battling midlife decisions? Well, before you abandon your family and cash in your retirement, take some time to get good counsel. “The way of a fool seems right to him, but a wise man listens to advice.” (Prov. 12:15) You don’t need an ephod to wear, or stones to consult; you have God’s family. He will speak to you through them. And he will speak to you through your own conscience because Christ nudges the Christ-possessed heart. “God is working in you to help you want to do and be able to do what pleases him.” (Phil. 2:13)

Sometimes a choice just “feels” right. For instance, when Luke justified the writing of his gospel to Theophilus, he said, “Since I myself have carefully investigated everything from the beginning, it seemed good also to me to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus.” (Luke 1:3) Did you catch that phrase, “it seemed good also to me”? Words of a saint standing at a crossroads. Luke pondered his options and selected the path that “seemed good.” Jude did, too. He intended to dedicate his letter to the topic of salvation but, apparently, felt a little uneasy about that choice. Look at the third verse of his letter. “Dear friends, I wanted very much to write you about the salvation we all share. But I felt the need to write you about something else: I want to encourage you to fight hard for the faith that was given the holy people of God once and for all time. (Jude 3) Again, did you read his words? “I wanted . . . But I felt . . . .” So, where’d those feelings come from? From the same God who “is working in you to help you want to do . . . what pleases him.” (Phil. 2:13)

God creates the “want to” within each of us. Be careful with this, however. People have been known to justify stupidity based upon a “feeling.” For instance, “I felt God leading me to cheat on my wife . . . ignore my bills . . . lie to my boss.” Wrong. God didn’t lead you to that conclusion. God will not lead you to violate his Word. He will not contradict his teaching. So, be careful with the phrase, “God led me ….” Don’t disguise your sin as a leading of God. He will not lead you to lie, cheat or hurt. He will faithfully lead you through the words of his Scripture, and the advice of his faithful.

In retrospect, I guess we really don’t need an ephod or precious stones after all; we have a heart in which God’s Spirit dwells. Do you have a heart for God? Then heed it. A family of faith? Consult them. A Bible? Read it. You have all you need to face the giant-sized questions of your life. Most of all you have a God who loves you too much to let you get lost. Trust him. God is working in you.

Grace,

Randy

Tender Words for the Tired Heart

 

Tender Words for the Tired Heart

Tender Words for the Tired Heart - 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 long ago, I saw a woman walking a dog on a leash. Strike that. I saw a woman pulling a dog with a leash. The day was brutally hot, kind of like this past week, 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 your boss, perhaps – “We need you to take on one more case.” Or maybe your spouse – “I’ll be out late one more night this week.” Possibly your parents – “I have just one more thing for you to do.” Could even be 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 tired, so you plop down. 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 the dog, you don’t plop down in the grass. If you are 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 their leader, David. After all, hadn’t he led them into battle? Hadn’t he left the women and children unprotected? Isn’t he 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 psychopath 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 get out of touch. When no one can help, we have to do what David did – he turned to 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!” (30:8)

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. Further, it’s not as if they’ve got 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. In fact, two hundred do.

While in pursuit of the Amalekites, the army reaches a stream, or a brook called Besor, and they all dismount. Soldiers wade in the creek and splash water on their faces, sink tired toes in cool mud and stretch out on the grass. Hearing the command to move on, two hundred don’t. “You go on without us,” they say. Frankly, how tired does a person have to be to abandon the search for his own 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. Whatever the reason, churches have their share of people who just sit and rest. And these assemblies then 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, because David let them stay.

As a result of the defections, 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 was probably a disabled servant who weighed more than he was worth. So, the Amalekites left 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. Needless to say, he’s more than happy to cooperate. Thus, armed with this new intelligence David and his men pounce on the Amalekites like government money on a bad idea. Every Israelite woman and child is rescued, and every Amalekite either bites the dust or hits the trail, leaving their plunder behind. David goes from scapegoat to hero in the blink of an eye. The punch line, however, is still yet to come. And to feel the full force of it, imagine first 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 clung to your kids. Then, one day, the good guys show up, raid the camp and rescue the hostages. 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 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 then. “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; while you went to battle, they went to matinees and massage therapists. They shot eighteen holes of golf and then stayed up late smoking cigars and playing poker. 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)

Angry wives and resentful rescuers. And then what about the 200 men who’d rested? Worms have higher self-esteem. They feel about as manly as a pink tutu. The result? A Molotov cocktail of emotions is stirred, 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.” (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 ones, too. But perhaps the 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 because didn’t he say, “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 the Egyptian 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. If you’re weary, then catch your breath. And if you worship with a group of these 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 then let the breather at Brook Besor remind you of its tender words for the tired heart.

Grace,

Randy

Talk to God - Not to Yourself

 

Talk to God – Not to Yourself

Talk to God - Not to Yourself - 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 – The Message)

Your Goliath owns a weapon, but 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 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 – definitely 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 as well. 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.” (1 Sam. 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 the prophet, Samuel. As the attacks continued, David asked his friend Jonathan for advice. When weaponless and breadless, he took refuge among the priests at Nob. In this case, however, David consults David. Poor choice. Look at the advice he gives himself: “Sooner or later, Saul’s going to get me.” (1 Sam. 27:1)

No, he won’t, David. Don’t you remember the golden oil of Samuel pouring over your head and hair? God 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) What further guarantees do you need?

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, predictably, 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 but 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 just that. 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 almost year and a half season of David’s life. His harp hangs silent. The slump mutes the minstrel. And things get worse before they get better.

The Philistines decide to attack King Saul. David and his men opt to switch sides and join the opposition. Envision U.S. armed forces joining Hezbollah. They journey three days to the battlefield, get rejected, and then 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 had been burned to the ground. The Amalekites had destroyed it while David and his men were away, and had kidnapped all of their wives, sons and daughters. When David and his men see the devastation, they weep until they’re “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, unfortunately, 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, David? The good ol’ cave days, David? 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 up stones to throw at him, does he regret his prayerless choice to get out and sell out? You be the judge.

Slumps. The petri dish for bad decisions, the incubator for wrong turns, the assembly line of regrettable 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, or 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 a fifth of scotch? With an hour at the bar, a day at the spa, or a week at the coast?

Many opt for those diversions. So many, in fact, that we assume that they reenergize 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 below cushioned their fall. And we, like sheep, follow each other over the edge, falling headlong into bars, binges and beds. Like David, we crash into Gath, only to find that Gath isn’t the solution. But is there a solution? Yes, there is. It’s doing right what David did wrong. He failed to pray. You 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 because slumping people love slumping people, and hurting people like to hang out with hurting people. We love those with whom we can commiserate and avoid those who correct us. Yet correction and direction are the very things we need. “Refuse good advice and watch your plans fail; take good counsel and watch them succeed.” (Prov. 15:22) Or “as iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” (27:17) Be quick to pray, seek healthy counsel and don’t give up.

Don’t make the mistake that Florence Chadwick did. In 1952 she attempted to swim the chilly ocean waters between Catalina Island and the Palos Verdes peninsula; a distance of some 26 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 her, urged Florence not to give up. She kept trying but grew exhausted and eventually stopped swimming. When aids lifted her out of the water and into the boat, they paddled a few more minutes and as the mist broke 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 his strength. After sixteen months in Gath, 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) He quit talking to himself and started talking to God. With whom are you consulting?

Grace,

Randy