You Have One Job

A little over 24 hours ago, I sat in the waiting room of the emergency room with a brace strapped around my neck. And in the two hours before that, I stared out my vehicle windshield and saw a crumpled pile of metal and felt the ache of a knee that was slowly developing its own pulse. In my hand was my phone, with a 9-1-1 dispatcher on the other end of the line, and me trying to control my voice enough to get the words out.

Life really does happen in the blink of a mascara-laden eye.

I was heading to work yesterday morning, taking my usual route. I came around a blind corner on a scenic little side street not far from my office, and I saw the incoming vehicle, already crowding over into my lane. I just remember thinking, "They'll move, they'll move, they'll move." They kept coming and I kept thinking they'll get over.

Only they didn't.

So there I sat on the road in my 4-month old, brand new vehicle, stunned, crying and sobbing all over the 9-1-1 dispatcher, waiting for the police to arrive. I tried to get out of the driver's side, but the door was jammed, and I didn't want to force it. I fumbled my way over the center console, and poured myself out of the passenger side. I walked over to the other van, equally crunched, and the driver opened up her door, tears streaming down her face as well.

"I'm so sorry, I was just fixing my mascara."

In the blink of an eye my whole world changed.

If only she had looked up and seen me coming.

Then I wouldn't be waiting in an emergency room.
Then I wouldn't be staring at the inside of an X-ray machine or CT scanner.
Then I wouldn't be wrapped in a hospital gown with an awesomely uncomfortable neck brace on.
Then I wouldn't be waiting on test results.
Then I wouldn't have this aching neck, stiff muscles and hurting back.
Then I wouldn't be laying flat on the floor with ice packs underneath me to keep the swelling at bay.

If only she had looked up and seen me coming.

So much would have been different.

But it's not.

And while I'm not entirely sure why God seems to be allowing a whole lot of ridiculousness to pass through his hands and into my life, I do know this:

I'm going to keep looking up.

What other choice is there?

We generally have two options in life: we can either worship God or we can curse him.  There really isn't room for the middle ground.  I've already been down the cursing road years ago, and I'm not too interested in going down it again.  It's a miserable one.  So that leaves me with the only other option.

I'll choose to worship him.

"Even when it hurts like hell, I'll praise you.  Even when it makes no sense to sing, louder then I'll sing." ("Even When It Hurts" by Hillsong United)

Even when it hurts like hell, I'll praise you.

Those are the choices laid before all of us.  We can either worship God or curse him, to look up and see our salvation or look up and see our enemy.

Abraham made a point to look up and see his salvation.  Just as he raised his knife to slay the long-awaited son promised to him, "[He] looked up and there in a thicket he saw a ram caught by its horns. He went over and took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering instead of his son" (Genesis 22:13).

Abraham looked up and saw the ram caught in the thicket, the ram that would be the substitute for his son, the ram that would be the salvation of his son, the ram that was the perfect provision.

But then here come the Israelites, trapped between the Red Sea and Egypt's massive army, and when they looked up, all they saw was their defeat and impending doom. "As Pharaoh approached, the Israelites looked up, and there were the Egyptians, marching after them. They were terrified and cried out to the Lord" (Exodus 14:10).

They both looked up, but they saw two very different visions.  One of deliverance, the other of destruction.

I could have looked up from that accident yesterday, made the other driver my enemy, and made God the biggest enemy of all.  I could have cursed him.  I could have said through gritted teeth, How.dare.you.  Did you not just hear my prayers this morning to heal my body?  Did you not just hear my prayers for joy and delight?  Why are you letting all of these things happen to me?  Why is it that you keep letting me get smashed upon the rocks?  Don't you care?    

Job's wife's words could easily have become my own, "Curse God and die" (Job 2:9).

But I would argue that's the easy way out, that's the lazy and unbelieving man's escape.

When life leaves us literally and figuratively shattered and overwhelmed by the blows, we have got to do the hard work of lifting up our eyes and fixing them on Jesus (Hebrews 12:1-2).  It will not be easy.  It will not come naturally.  It will take a tremendous amount of effort to exercise those spiritual muscles, to choose to place our gaze on something other than the end of our own nose.  

It's what the disciples found themselves doing in Matthew 17:

After six days Jesus took with him Peter, James and John the brother of James, and led them up a high mountain by themselves.  There he was transfigured before them. His face shone like the sun, and his clothes became as white as the light.  Just then there appeared before them Moses and Elijah, talking with Jesus.

But the best part comes in Matthew 17:8, after the visions of Elijah and Moses disappear:

"When they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus."

My God, let us look up and see only you.

While we're busy looking up, God will be busy looking down from heaven, the place where he sits enthroned in his rightful place.

Let this be written for a future generation, that a people not yet created may praise the Lord: 'The Lord looked down from his sanctuary on high, from heaven he viewed the earth, to hear the groans of the prisoners and release those condemned to death.'  (Psalm 102:18-20)   

You let God be in the business of looking down, and you be in the business of looking up.  And when your gazes meet in the space between, it's there that the greatest collision occurs. 

It's there that your salvation and deliverance happens.

Worship him, do not curse him, if for no other reason than that.

You have one job, friends: Keep looking up.
___________

For the record, I am okay mostly.  I did spend most of the day in the ER getting CT scans and X-rays done, especially given my spinal history and because my neck was killing me.  I banged my knee into the dashboard, so it's a bit bruised and my neck and shoulders are pretty tight given the whiplash.  My car got hammered on one corner so it will be in the care of the autobody shop for awhile.  But all things considered, it could have been a lot worse.    

He Met Me in a Stable

A couple of weeks ago, I slipped into my old, worn out Carhartt, stained with who knows what, and probably hasn't seen the inside of a washer since who knows when.  I piled on layers of leggings, jeans and ski pants that were doubling as overalls, keeping the cold night air at bay.  I jammed on my winter hat and set foot inside a stable, something I hadn't done in what felt like an eternity.  

If you've known me for any length of time, then you'll be well-acquainted with my longstanding love affair with all things equine.  For those that don't know me, though, you can get the crash course on my horse saga here, here, here, here and here.  Horses (animals in general, really) were my safe haven as a child and as a teenager, my place to run and hide, to retreat from the world and from people.  I found great comfort in their presence, in the routine of caring for them, tending to their needs, working with my hands.  Somewhere in the depths of an old journal is an entry I wrote about my dog Bubbles (yes, I named my half-Rottweiler Bubbles), and how I considered her my best friend.  I still miss that dog to this day and she's been gone for over a decade now.  There was power in the companionship of creatures that viewed life from a fairly uncomplicated lens - you feed me, brush me, pet me, and I will love you forever and shower you with kisses in return.  It's a simple exchange.  

     

I've unexpectedly longed for that companionship again in recent days.  In the craziness and turmoil of this anxiety that has wrecked my world, I found myself wishing for a dog by my side or to bury my face in the mane of a horse. I have found myself wanting to return to the places and interests I once found solace in, place and interests that brought a measure of peace and quiet, predictability and routine.  

Having been out of the horse world for so long now, the outlets I once had no longer exist.  My childhood trainers have since sold their farm and all their horses, so I can't go back there.  My own pony died several years ago, so I can't wander out to my parents' backyard to tinker around.  I haven't had a dog in ages, so I can't even reach out for a wagging tail either.  The closest thing I've had for a pet these days is the Bob Ross Chia Pet my brother and sister-in-law got me for my birthday.    

But thank God.  He knows just what we need precisely when we need it.  The mother of a friend of mine from church has a stable and a barn full of ponies.  Janet and I connected earlier this year when she asked me to judge her pony club show in the spring.  She kept saying I could come out to the barn any time I wanted, just let her know.  I never took her up on the offer until two weeks ago.  I was craving the safe haven of a stables again, so I texted her, asking if I could finally take her up on her offer to visit the stables and her ponies.  Of course, she said.  

That's when I found myself slipping into my Carhartt coat and setting foot inside a stable.  Instant memories.  The smells brought back a flood of images to my mind, the dim lights reminding me of my own grandfather's barn.  Janet showed me where all of the brushes were and where I could cross-tie the little pony I was going to groom, Coco.  She said she had some stuff to get done up to the house, and would leave me alone to the task at hand - brushing a very wet, very shaggy and very woolly Shetland pony.  Just before she slipped out, she called over her shoulder, something that brought me to tears once she disappeared:

"God will meet you here tonight.  I already made a reservation."

She said nothing more as she slipped into the dark of the night, while I was left holding a grooming brush, listening to the quiet munching of the horses eating their hay.

God will meet you here tonight.  

I'm grateful that God meets us in our hours of deepest need, in the places that are neither churches nor temples, but rather the places that are often common, familiar, dusty and smelly.  The places that aren't always tidy, aren't always fit for the presence of a King.  Places like stables and barns and stalls.

He did that once before, you know.

He met all of humanity in a manger, among the straw and the hay, the dust and the dirt, among the very animals he created.  He met us in the common, familiar, dusty and smelly nook of a place, a town called Bethlehem, in the hour of humanity's deepest need.  

So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David.  He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child.  While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night.  An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.  But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people.  Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”  (Luke 2:4-12)

This will be a sign for you - a baby lying in a manger. 

Among the animals.

He met me in a stable as a child - then as a teenager - and now as an adult.

But really he met me over 2,000 years ago when he came as a baby wrapped in cloths, lying in a manger.

Our God is a God who meets us in the places of our lives that are not always tidy, not always fit for a King.  In our less-than-Pinterest-worthy homes, at the bedside of loved ones fighting to live another day, behind prison bars where men and women crumble under the weight of their guilt and shame, in the darkened alleys of the city streets where women sell their bodies, in our offices with desks piled high with paperwork and stress, in our yards where the weeds and the worms grow, in the orphanages filled with children who have no one claiming them.  He meets us in all of those places and countless others.  

There's not a place on Planet Earth where Jesus cannot or will not meet his children.  The psalmist declares in Psalm 139:7-10: "Where can I go from your Spirit?  Where can I flee from your presence?  If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.  If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast."

There's nowhere I can go where I can flee his presence.  There's nowhere I can go where his hand will not guide, where it will not hold me fast.

Including a stable.  

Because he knows what it's like to listen to the quiet munching of horses eating their hay, and he knows what it's like to meet with his Father.

God will meet you here tonight, on this night, and he will do so every moment of every day for now and all eternity.  Just like he did all those years ago.

I'm so very grateful the God of the universe met me in a stable - both now and over 2,000 years ago on a starry, starry night.

Though You Slay Me

Many times in recent weeks I have returned to a song performed by Shane & Shane called "Though You Slay Me," based on Job 13:15, which says, "Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him."  The version of the song I really love, though, is one that features pastor John Piper.  It includes an excerpt from his sermon titled "The Glory of God in the Sight of Eternity."  Gets me every.single.time. It makes me want to groan deep in my spirit.  He says it with such power, such conviction.  You can listen to the song and John's words below, but I also included the transcript from his particular part.

“Not only is all your affliction momentary. Not only is all your affliction light in comparison to eternity, and the glory there, but all of it is totally meaningful. Every millisecond of your pain from the fallen nature or fallen man, every millisecond of your misery in the path of obedience is producing a peculiar glory you will get because of that. I don't care if it was cancer or criticism. I don't care if it was slander or sickness. It wasn't meaningless! It's doing something! It's not meaningless! Of course you can't see what it's doing! Don't look to what is seen. When your mom dies, when your kid dies, when you've got cancer at 40, when a car careens into the sidewalk, takes her out, don't say it’s meaningless. It's not. It's working for you an eternal weight of glory. Therefore – therefore - do not lose heart but take these truths ,and day-by-day, focus on them. Preach them to yourself every morning. Get alone with God and preach his word into your mind until your heart sings with confidence that you are new and cared for.” 

Jesus, even amidst anxiety and a perplexed spirit, I will still sing a song to the One I need.  Still I will worship.  My heart and flesh may fail, and the earth below me may give way, but with my eyes I'll see you.  You're still all that I need.  You are enough for me.  I believe that what I am going through in this season of life is totally meaningful.  I will not lose heart.  My heart will sing with confidence because you have made me new and you care for me.  Though you slay me, yet I will hope in you.  

I come, God, I come
I return to the Lord
The one who's broken
The one who's torn me apart
You struck down to bind me up
You say You do it all in love
That I might know You in Your suffering

Though You slay me
Yet I will praise You
Though You take from me
I will bless Your name
Though You ruin me
Still I will worship
Sing a song to the one who's all I need

My heart and flesh may fail
The earth below give way
But with my eyes, with my eyes I'll see the Lord
Lifted high on that day
Behold, the Lamb that was slain
And I'll know every tear was worth it all

Though You slay me
Yet I will praise You
Though You take from me
I will bless Your name
Though You ruin me
Still I will worship
Sing a song to the one who's all I need

Though tonight…
Though tonight I'm crying out
Let this cup pass from me now
You're still all that I need
You're enough for me
You're enough for me

Though You slay me
Yet I will praise You
Though You take from me
I will bless Your name
Though You ruin me
Still I will worship

Sing a song to the one who's all I need
Sing a song to the one who's all I need