Three Old Testament passages completed a triangle in my heart as I studied the Bible this morning. When all three came together, I felt a significant peace. But not until I saw them side by side.
Something was there, but I didn't understand it until I saw the three passages next to each other. Let's see if you see it.
Genesis 39:2, "The Lord was with Joseph."
Psalm 46:1, "God is...a very present help in trouble."
Jeremiah 29:13, "And you will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart."
Do you see it? "The Lord WAS." "God IS." "You WILL."
Past. Present. Future.
That's MY story. That's YOUR story. That's OUR story. A story the way it should be and could be written, if only we would let go and believe.
PAST. "The Lord was with Joseph" becomes huge when you know Joe's story. He was loved by his father, but hated by his brothers. He had a lot of brothers, so there was plenty of hate to go around. Some of his brothers wanted to kill him. Others just wanted to dump him in a hole and leave him for dead. But Joseph had just enough brothers that one of them planned to come back later and get him out of the hole. Then again, Joseph had just enough brothers that one of them wanted to make a profit off of him. So, they agreed to sell their brother as a slave.
Joseph went from being a treasured son to a dust-eating slave dragged behind a caravan of foreigners and eventually sold at First Monday Trade Days in Egypt. That is when the Bible says, "The Lord was with Joseph."
In spite of your past, God is with you. In spite of your pain, God is with you. In spite of all wounds, self-inflicted or otherwise, God is with you. No matter who you are, what you've done, what's been done to you, or where you've been, you can rise above your beginnings. God can make a masterpiece out of the ashes of your past. God can help you build a new bridge to a new life and new relationships even when you have done your best to burn all bridges.
Have you been rejected? So was Joseph. Have you discovered that the people you thought loved you really didn't? So did Joseph. But "the Lord was with Joseph." Those words change everything! With God, yesterday doesn't have to poison tomorrow. Take your focus off of those who hurt or mistreated you. Put your focus on the God who never will.
PRESENT. "God is...a very present help in trouble." Don't buy the lie. Becoming a Christian doesn't turn you into a problem-free, unsinning saint who never has a bad day, a bad thought, bad breath, or never makes a bad decision. Becoming a Christian means Christ has forgiven you of your sins and moved into your life. He will never leave you nor forsake you.
You ARE going to mess up. You ARE going to find your way to an occasional pit of trouble. God IS a very present help when you do. Pit-dwelling doesn't have to be permanent when you know a guy with a rope. God has the rope, the strength, and the desire to pull you out if you will call out to Him.
When you do mess up, Satan is going to quickly write out your grade, and it will be an "F." The devil loves giving out "F's" to Christians:
"You Failed! That makes you a Failure!"
"How can you call yourself a Christian?"
"God is going to drop you like a hot potato now that you've done that!"
But God doesn't. He is a VERY PRESENT HELP! When your clock strikes "trouble" or "failure" or any other point on the darkest hours of your life, God is very present. When God says He will never leave you, believe it. You might FEEL abandoned because guilt says you deserve it. But the opposite is true. At that very moment, you are more than ever the object of His love, concern, and attention.
FUTURE. "And you will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart." There is no greater guarantee. There is no greater Guarantor. It is so simple, yet we so often miss it. Our future, yours and mine, is as great as our ability to pursue God honestly. Tell God all that is in your heart. Tell Him your troubles, your dreams, your weaknesses, your wounds, your prejudices, your shallow fears, and your deep thoughts. Open up and let it out.
He doesn't listen only to King James prayers filled with lofty oratory. In fact, He may not liketh those very much. He listens to the crying kid in us who needs Dad to protect him, love him, accept him, and guide him. Ohhhh, how He loves childlike prayers!
So there you have it. The triangle completed. God was with us. God is with us. God will be with us. I can face the day and sleep through the night with that in my heart. Can't you?
Triangled by God,
Perry Crisp
Showing posts with label God's presence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God's presence. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, August 3, 2009
Yabba-Dabba-lujah!
Every Flintstone cartoon ended the same. After a slab of prehistoric ribs was set on the Flintstone's car, causing it to tip over, the family would make their way to their boulder-home. Once they were inside their rocky residence, Fred would reappear on the front porch to set out an empty milk bottle.*
Fred would then go back inside the house, pick up the kitty (a saber tooth tiger), and toss it outside. As soon as Fred slammed the door shut, the kitty would go back inside the house by jumping through an open window. Then the door would open, the kitty would have Fred by the collar, and would toss him outside and shut the door.
The final scene was always the same. Fred was left outside his own house, banging on the door, yelling, "Wilmaaaaaaa!"
Why I remember the vivid details of childhood cartoons but couldn't tell you the first thing that happened at the Battle of Bull Run is beyond me. But let's stay focused.
That final Flintstone clip is the picture I want us to see. Fred. Outside his own home. Banging on the door. Tossed out by the family pet.
Do you see the sad irony? It's Fred's house. He's the owner. He's the provider. He works in the rock quarry day in and day out to make a living and provide for his family. He's the man of the house. The slab of rock that has "Mortgage" chiseled at the top and "Signature" chiseled at the bottom has Fred's "X" inscribed into it.
If it weren't for Fred, that cat would be Teradactyl food. But the cat is cozy inside the house of Fred and Fred is left outside his own home.
Now turn to the Book of Revelation. The second and third chapters of Revelation are messages from God to seven churches. God, the Creator, Owner, Founder, and Provider of the church writes these words to the church of Laodicea: "Behold, I stand at the door and knock..."
What? God is standing outside His own house...knocking. God wants in. That disturbs me. The Church is God's own special people, redeemed by the blood of Jesus. Is it possible that we could go on with "church" in cozy kitten-like comfort without God?
Yes, it is. I've been in churches all my life. Before it was ever an occupational hazard, it was an occupational hazard by proxy. Not only am I a preacher, but I'm a son of a preacher. I've always been in church. I love the church. But I've seen enough churches to know that God isn't always inside. At least not in any discernible way.
If you sense the presence and power of God in the church you attend, then thank and praise God for it. I do...every day. In far too many churches, His absence is overwhelmingly noticeable. God often seems like a visitor, an occasional guest, or an inactive member.
God should be the most active member of the church.
What hinders God's activity? What keeps God knocking on the outside of the church? Disunity. Corporate sin. Pride. Unauthorized revisions of His authorized revelation. I'm sure the list is longer, but these are the main reasons.
The better question is: What encourages God's activity? It is so simple. Just add the word "genuine" to the front of each of the following answers: Prayer, worship, brokenness, honesty, acceptance, forgiveness, unity, ministry, fellowship, brotherly love, proclamation of His Word, and lifting up the name of Jesus.
God also shows up where He's expected and invited. That might be the simplest of solutions for some fellowships.
It should go without saying, but I will. Hasn't He bled enough for us already? Why should He have to bloody His knuckles on the doors of our churches?
Fred had a rock house. God has a house that rocks...if we will let Him in and let Him loose.
Perry Crisp
*For those born post-1970, it was once common practice for every home to be visited by the milk man in the wee hours of the morning. You could set your empty glass milk containers on the porch at night. In the morning, the milk man would pick up the empties and replace them with fresh, cold milk...so I've read.
Fred would then go back inside the house, pick up the kitty (a saber tooth tiger), and toss it outside. As soon as Fred slammed the door shut, the kitty would go back inside the house by jumping through an open window. Then the door would open, the kitty would have Fred by the collar, and would toss him outside and shut the door.
The final scene was always the same. Fred was left outside his own house, banging on the door, yelling, "Wilmaaaaaaa!"
Why I remember the vivid details of childhood cartoons but couldn't tell you the first thing that happened at the Battle of Bull Run is beyond me. But let's stay focused.
That final Flintstone clip is the picture I want us to see. Fred. Outside his own home. Banging on the door. Tossed out by the family pet.
Do you see the sad irony? It's Fred's house. He's the owner. He's the provider. He works in the rock quarry day in and day out to make a living and provide for his family. He's the man of the house. The slab of rock that has "Mortgage" chiseled at the top and "Signature" chiseled at the bottom has Fred's "X" inscribed into it.
If it weren't for Fred, that cat would be Teradactyl food. But the cat is cozy inside the house of Fred and Fred is left outside his own home.
Now turn to the Book of Revelation. The second and third chapters of Revelation are messages from God to seven churches. God, the Creator, Owner, Founder, and Provider of the church writes these words to the church of Laodicea: "Behold, I stand at the door and knock..."
What? God is standing outside His own house...knocking. God wants in. That disturbs me. The Church is God's own special people, redeemed by the blood of Jesus. Is it possible that we could go on with "church" in cozy kitten-like comfort without God?
Yes, it is. I've been in churches all my life. Before it was ever an occupational hazard, it was an occupational hazard by proxy. Not only am I a preacher, but I'm a son of a preacher. I've always been in church. I love the church. But I've seen enough churches to know that God isn't always inside. At least not in any discernible way.
If you sense the presence and power of God in the church you attend, then thank and praise God for it. I do...every day. In far too many churches, His absence is overwhelmingly noticeable. God often seems like a visitor, an occasional guest, or an inactive member.
God should be the most active member of the church.
What hinders God's activity? What keeps God knocking on the outside of the church? Disunity. Corporate sin. Pride. Unauthorized revisions of His authorized revelation. I'm sure the list is longer, but these are the main reasons.
The better question is: What encourages God's activity? It is so simple. Just add the word "genuine" to the front of each of the following answers: Prayer, worship, brokenness, honesty, acceptance, forgiveness, unity, ministry, fellowship, brotherly love, proclamation of His Word, and lifting up the name of Jesus.
God also shows up where He's expected and invited. That might be the simplest of solutions for some fellowships.
It should go without saying, but I will. Hasn't He bled enough for us already? Why should He have to bloody His knuckles on the doors of our churches?
Fred had a rock house. God has a house that rocks...if we will let Him in and let Him loose.
Perry Crisp
*For those born post-1970, it was once common practice for every home to be visited by the milk man in the wee hours of the morning. You could set your empty glass milk containers on the porch at night. In the morning, the milk man would pick up the empties and replace them with fresh, cold milk...so I've read.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Dashing Dad
My first "hawg" looked more like a baby pig. It was a mini-bike and I was the only mini-bike kid in my neighborhood. If you're not sure what a mini-bike is, just think of it as the Mini-Me of Motorcycles. It's a Sit 'n Spin with an engine and wheels.
My mini-bike was an eclectic gathering of various parts from deceased mini-bikes in my neighborhood. There were two parts missing on my mini-bike: a kill switch and a throttle cable.
The kill switch wasn't a problem since there was a piece of metal hovering over the spark plug wire. You simply pushed down on the piece of metal and it killed the engine.
The missing throttle cable made riding the mini-bike an adventure because it gave you only one free hand for steering. Your other hand was busy holding the throttle wide open with your fingers on the swivel cable stop (which was located on the side of the engine). This was a great hand warmer for your left hand since the cable stop was close to the muffler.
A few of my friends had bigger bikes. Dirt bikes. "Real" motorcycles bought in "real" stores. Their bikes were three and four times the size of my mini-bike. Their bikes had "real" kickstands. My kickstand was a parking curb. I would pick up my mini-bike and balance it on the parking curb. It was so short, the frame sat on the concrete and the wheels didn't touch the pavement.
We rode our bikes in the church parking lot because the asphalt drive made a circular track around the buildings. I'm sure it was quite a sight to see five motorcycles speed around the church followed by a putt-putting mini-bike. Those guys could make three laps to my one. Imagine seeing five people riding thoroughbred horses through a pasture followed by a guy on a miniature pony. That's about what it looked like.
It worked out great for me, though. For some reason, there was always a biker buddy who wanted to trade rides. So I spent most of the time on a "real" dirt bike while a friend slummed on my motorized Sit 'n Spin.
One mini-bike memory stands out high above the rest. I was riding Bruce's dirt bike and he was riding my mini-bike. Bruce was the cool kid. He had the longest hair and the newest and biggest dirt bike. I came up behind him at one end of the parking lot, ready to zip by him. He was hunched over with one hand on the handlebar of my mini-bike and one under the seat holding that tecumseh engine's cable stop wide open.
I zoomed past him and glanced back at him. He was all smiles. Seconds after I had turned my head away from Bruce to see where I was going, I heard a loud boom and a louder scream behind me. I jerked my head back around just in time to see Bruce let go of the mini-bike and jump off. The engine was covered in flames.
Bruce was holding his left hand and blowing on it. The flaming mini-bike kept it's balance and continued rolling through the parking lot. I spun back around to check on Bruce.
My dad was at our house working in the garage and heard the boom. The house was 200 yards away. By the time my buddies and I got to Bruce, Dad was already running toward us. Bruce wasn't hurt. A minor burn on his hand. With his good hand, he pointed at my sprinting father.
I remember how stunned we all were at that moment. Dad was the preacher. Preacher's don't run. Dude, was my dad running! We were amazed by three things: 1) How far a flaming, riderless mini-bike can roll, 2) how fast the old guy could run, and 3) how perfect Dad's hair looked at 100 miles per hour. It didn't move. It was like watching Flash Gordon without his costume.
The mini-bike was doing the wiggle motion as it started losing momentum. It passed the asphalt and bounced through the open field between the church and our house.
Dad ran straight to the church, stepped inside, grabbed a fire extinguisher, ran back to the flaming mini-bike that had finally fallen over, and put the fire out before it could spread across the field.
To this day, I don't know how Dad covered that much ground that quickly. If I were to call my buddies to the witness stand, they would corroborate my testimony.
Every time I think of how quickly God comes to the emergency needs of His children, I visualize that mini-bike moment. I love my earthly father and I'm so grateful to have had a Dad who cared for me and provided safety and security for me. I'm thankful for all of life's emergencies that he has rushed toward, ready and eager to help his children and grandchildren.
I'm also gratefully, sometimes to the point of tears, for the times my heavenly Father has been on the scene so instantly in my life. Whether in times of loneliness, injury, crisis, confusion, or depression, our Father is a good Father. He rushes toward us and never leaves us.
"Turn your ear to me, come quickly to my rescue" (Psalm 31:2, NIV).
Slightly used mini-bike for sale...charcoal color.
Perry Crisp
My mini-bike was an eclectic gathering of various parts from deceased mini-bikes in my neighborhood. There were two parts missing on my mini-bike: a kill switch and a throttle cable.
The kill switch wasn't a problem since there was a piece of metal hovering over the spark plug wire. You simply pushed down on the piece of metal and it killed the engine.
The missing throttle cable made riding the mini-bike an adventure because it gave you only one free hand for steering. Your other hand was busy holding the throttle wide open with your fingers on the swivel cable stop (which was located on the side of the engine). This was a great hand warmer for your left hand since the cable stop was close to the muffler.
A few of my friends had bigger bikes. Dirt bikes. "Real" motorcycles bought in "real" stores. Their bikes were three and four times the size of my mini-bike. Their bikes had "real" kickstands. My kickstand was a parking curb. I would pick up my mini-bike and balance it on the parking curb. It was so short, the frame sat on the concrete and the wheels didn't touch the pavement.
We rode our bikes in the church parking lot because the asphalt drive made a circular track around the buildings. I'm sure it was quite a sight to see five motorcycles speed around the church followed by a putt-putting mini-bike. Those guys could make three laps to my one. Imagine seeing five people riding thoroughbred horses through a pasture followed by a guy on a miniature pony. That's about what it looked like.
It worked out great for me, though. For some reason, there was always a biker buddy who wanted to trade rides. So I spent most of the time on a "real" dirt bike while a friend slummed on my motorized Sit 'n Spin.
One mini-bike memory stands out high above the rest. I was riding Bruce's dirt bike and he was riding my mini-bike. Bruce was the cool kid. He had the longest hair and the newest and biggest dirt bike. I came up behind him at one end of the parking lot, ready to zip by him. He was hunched over with one hand on the handlebar of my mini-bike and one under the seat holding that tecumseh engine's cable stop wide open.
I zoomed past him and glanced back at him. He was all smiles. Seconds after I had turned my head away from Bruce to see where I was going, I heard a loud boom and a louder scream behind me. I jerked my head back around just in time to see Bruce let go of the mini-bike and jump off. The engine was covered in flames.
Bruce was holding his left hand and blowing on it. The flaming mini-bike kept it's balance and continued rolling through the parking lot. I spun back around to check on Bruce.
My dad was at our house working in the garage and heard the boom. The house was 200 yards away. By the time my buddies and I got to Bruce, Dad was already running toward us. Bruce wasn't hurt. A minor burn on his hand. With his good hand, he pointed at my sprinting father.
I remember how stunned we all were at that moment. Dad was the preacher. Preacher's don't run. Dude, was my dad running! We were amazed by three things: 1) How far a flaming, riderless mini-bike can roll, 2) how fast the old guy could run, and 3) how perfect Dad's hair looked at 100 miles per hour. It didn't move. It was like watching Flash Gordon without his costume.
The mini-bike was doing the wiggle motion as it started losing momentum. It passed the asphalt and bounced through the open field between the church and our house.
Dad ran straight to the church, stepped inside, grabbed a fire extinguisher, ran back to the flaming mini-bike that had finally fallen over, and put the fire out before it could spread across the field.
To this day, I don't know how Dad covered that much ground that quickly. If I were to call my buddies to the witness stand, they would corroborate my testimony.
Every time I think of how quickly God comes to the emergency needs of His children, I visualize that mini-bike moment. I love my earthly father and I'm so grateful to have had a Dad who cared for me and provided safety and security for me. I'm thankful for all of life's emergencies that he has rushed toward, ready and eager to help his children and grandchildren.
I'm also gratefully, sometimes to the point of tears, for the times my heavenly Father has been on the scene so instantly in my life. Whether in times of loneliness, injury, crisis, confusion, or depression, our Father is a good Father. He rushes toward us and never leaves us.
"Turn your ear to me, come quickly to my rescue" (Psalm 31:2, NIV).
Slightly used mini-bike for sale...charcoal color.
Perry Crisp
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