Category: Faithwalk

Whom do I trust?

Every day, we make thousands of decisions.  Some are unimportant.  “Should I wear blue socks or black socks?”  Others may carry the power of life or death. Some decisions must be made quickly.  “Can I make it through that yellow light?”  Others may be pondered- for days, weeks, years.   Some decisions affect only me, for benefit or for detriment.  “I wonder if that leftover salmon is still good…”  Many have short-term- or lasting- consequences for others.  There are decisions that set the course of our lives.  “Is he the one for me?” Some may take decades to pay for.  “We’re making an offer on the house!” 

If it’s true that my choices not only define my character and determine my destiny, but often produce wide-spreading, sometimes generational effects, (although I may not realize it at the time), how do I choose wisely?  We come into the world knowing nothing- but starting right away,  we hear a lot of voices explaining what’s happening and telling us how to think and what to do. Those voices reveal what’s important, what’s acceptable, how to achieve success, how to interact with other people, what to put in our bodies, and what to put in our minds. There are many different voices (some much louder than others), and just as many conflicting opinions.  How do I determine who is telling the truth?

Which voice do I believe?

Good news: there is a right answer.  Allow me to tell a story that may seem unrelated…at first.

Last week, my son-in-law found a juvenile copperhead snake drowned in the filter basket of his pool.  In late summer, everybody knows that snakes are on the move in Georgia- but we were all set on edge by a venomous trespasser right there where everybody plays.  There’s something about a snake that both fascinates and repulses.  I wanted to see it.

Tyler took me out back and pointed with the long handle of the pool net. “I put it there, in the mulch.”

I looked.  “Where?”

He brought the tip of the pole a few steps closer and pointed more specifically. “Here.”

I examined the ground.  “Where?”

He squatted and poked a finger a couple of inches from the lifeless snake. “Here.”

“I don’t see it.”  My eyes followed the pointing finger.  “Oh!”  The snake was so well-camouflaged, it was all but invisible- but there it was- triangular head, distinctive pattern, yellow tail.  I shuddered, wondering how many of the late copperhead’s friends and relations I had casually passed on my way through the woods.

Enthralling, yet dangerous, the copperhead reminded me of another sneaky and disguised snake that surprised a young, innocent woman in a garden. With smooth, deceptive words, that snake tricked Eve into doubting the truth, the power, and the goodness of the one voice she could trust.  The Genesis account of the fall of humankind is a tragic tale of deception and rebellion- and is replayed daily in the voices we heed as we make our decisions.

Why do we still doubt (or defy) our all-wise Maker who loves us- and listen to the snake?

I believe we listen to the snake because he tells us what we want to hear.  “You can have that”… “You can do that”… “You can say that”… “You can believe that”… “You can hang on to that”… “and then you will be satisfied.”  The same reality exists now that was true in the Garden of Eden- when the voices (of people, culture, media, or our own desires) conflict with the word of God, we shouldn’t parley with the snake- we must trust the One who is truth- and life.

Where is my faith?

Very simply, my faith is found in the voice I follow- in attitudes, words, actions.

He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.  I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.            

Psalm 91:1-2

I have made many poor decisions.  Thank God for his grace and forgiveness. When I hear the smooth, appealing whisper, “You can do that, you can have that, you can say that, you can hold on to that…” it really does help to tell myself:

“Follow the Lamb; don’t pet the snake!”

 

We, the kids of my generation, heard it a lot- the conversation-ending, final and authoritative, entirely unsatisfactory answer- “Because I said so.”

“Why can’t I paint my room orange?”

“Because I said so.”

“Why can’t Fido sleep in my bed?”

“Because I said so.”

“Why can’t I ride my bike to Jan and Terry’s house?”

Jan and Terry were (and still are) my cousins.  It was fun to go to their house. They had horses, a creek, and a Boston Terrier named Mitzi who could do tricks. Not only that, Terry had a motorbike and a need for speed. Riding on the back of his Honda 50 was several thrilling notches up from my safe usual existence. They lived less than a mile up the road.  Why couldn’t I hop on my banana seat bike and pedal there?

My mother had her reasons, and she had explained them before, the first dozen times I asked.  For one, our country road was narrow, hilly, and curvy, and most drivers “flew low,” except for Jennie Jo Ezzard, who wore glasses three inches thick and never went faster than twelve miles an hour- but she lived north of us and never ventured down our way. (She did pull out in front of us fairly often, when we were “flying low,” topping Cavender Hill, late for school.  Daddy would slam on the brakes and throw out his arm to keep my brother and me from flying around the cab of the truck.  Then he let everybody know what he thought about Jennie Jo’s driving and whoever issued her a license. Come to think of it, she was probably saying the same things about him, if she even saw the blur as he passed her). Somebody was always running off in the ditch and many were the possums and other unfortunate critters who met sudden, messy ends on Dug Gap Road.  My mother did not want me to end up like one of them, I guess.

My mother also feared danger from “roughnecks,” an unreasonable phobia I dismissed, despite a hair-raising tale from my dad’s youth about some drunk roughnecks he and his cousin encountered when they were walking home from town one night. The story involved a lot of running and hiding in the bushes (by my dad and his cousin), and a lot of shooting, hollering, and cussing (by the roughnecks), and some bird-calls, and a miraculous escape, but that is a tale for another time.

My Aunt Joanne worked most days, and if Jan and Terry were home, they didn’t need me- they could get in enough trouble on their own.  If I went, my brother would beg to go, and Fido would follow and fight every dog he met along the way, and none of us had been invited, a fact which was extremely important to my mother.

So I always asked to go, and Mother always said, “No,” and I always demanded to know why not, and one day my mother said, “Because I said so.”   In those days, with these words, the judge’s gavel banged.  The argument was over, the verdict rendered, and the only recourse was to answer, “Yes, Ma’am,” and slink away.  There was no hope for an appeal.  When Daddy came home from work, he would merely ask, “What did your mother say?”

My mother had superior knowledge and wisdom, along with authority to make the rules.  She also was a good and kind parent who loved me beyond my ability to imagine, and was fully committed to my health and prosperity.  For a time, it was hard for me to see any attribute other than her authority to make the rules.

I complained to Fido about her oppressive dictatorship, and explained how happy I would be if I could do whatever I wanted. Fido understood, first because he made it his mission in life to agree with me and offer support; and second, because he lived under oppressive rule, too.  He was not allowed to drag  garbage all over the yard or bark all night or eat any of our cats, things he thought were fun, worthwhile, and important.

Thankfully, I was never courageous or impulsive or rebellious enough to scorn the judge, hop on my bike, and pedal to Jan and Terry’s anyway.  As soon as I left the driveway and entered the road (on the other side of a blind hill), I would exit the pleasant realm under my parents’ protection and care- a world, I might add, with a trampoline and swings, woods to explore and apple trees to climb, books and toys, and every good thing a kid could wish for- even a pony, (but she was mean).  When I passed the mailbox I would enter the perilous world of defiance and consequences.  I might end up like the squashed possum- or I might suffer nothing more than the exchange of my mother’s trust for her displeasure.  I might play all afternoon (or at least until I was apprehended) and have tremendous fun- but afterwards would follow an inevitable Day of Reckoning. The reward wasn’t worth the repercussions.

In time I came to understand that I was not allowed to ride my bike to Jan and Terry’s because my mother’s character and motives were trustworthy and she knew much more than I did.  I finally figured out that she loved me too much to let me pedal off into a situation I did not understand and was not equipped to handle. By parenting with love and backbone, she taught me a simple but profound truth: “Because I said so” is a perfectly satisfactory answer for Someone who is entirely trustworthy, Someone who has perfect knowledge, perfect wisdom, perfect love, perfect goodness, and authority to make the rules.

The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom, And the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.                                       Proverbs 9:10

Blessed is everyone who fears the LORD, who walks in all His ways.   Psalm 128:1

 

I hope “Faithwalk” will be a category where readers can find spiritual inspiration and encouragement.  But where do I start?  There has to be a first post…

Why not introduce “Faithwalk” with a brief account of my walk with Jesus?

Only God knows how many prayers were lifted up for me before I was born, because I come from praying people.  One multi-great grandfather was a Methodist circuit rider on the Tennessee frontier.  A couple more forebearers were hellfire and brimstone Baptist preachers, sweatin’ and shoutin’ and calling sinners to repent.  Mixed in with these colorful men of God in the family lines were many humble, faith-filled saints who clung to Jesus through good and terrible times, knew their Bibles, loved their neighbors, and diligently taught their children and grandchildren to love and to fear the Lord.  There were a few others too fond of moonshine whiskey or too hardened by the world to think much of religion.  The influence of each of them- for good or harm- played a part in my grandparents’ and parents’ upbringings, which played a part in mine.

My introduction to the God of the Bible was gentle and natural, as much a rhythm of life as eating and sleeping.  We went to church.  If the lights were on, we were at the meeting.  It’s what we did.  Week after week, I saw truth, trust, and leadership lived out in the lives of my parents, grandparents, and extended family.  I knew the great hymns and gospel songs.  I listened to the earnest prayers of humble people.  I heard the wonderful stories of the Bible- of Adam and Abraham…how Moses led the children of Israel out of Egypt, and Samuel heard God calling in the night.  I imagined David the shepherd, slingshot in hand, striding toward the Philistine giant, and I asked to hear again about the time God delivered Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego from the fiery furnace.

I loved best the stories of Jesus…how angels filled the sky to announce the promised Savior was born..how He healed the sick, raised the dead, fed thousands of hungry people with a boy’s lunch, walked on water…how He gathered children into His arms, turned over the moneychangers’ tables, rode triumphant into Jerusalem on a donkey.

As a small child, I was confused and disturbed by the cruel death Jesus suffered.  Why would anyone kill someone so good and kind?  Why would He let them?  One day – I guess I was about five- I sat in church listening to someone sing “He could have called ten thousand angels to destroy the world and set Him free…He could have called ten thousand angels, but He chose to die for you and me.”  I didn’t fully grasp the concept, but during the song, the idea dawned on me that Jesus wasn’t a hapless victim- He was a commander of angels and a hero.  I still remember the experience and the glimmer of spiritual insight awakening.  We can’t live on borrowed faith- it has to become my own- and in time, it did.

One February night when I was nine, I had been thinking.  I knew I believed Jesus was telling the truth- that He is “the way, the truth, and the life.”  I believed that He loved me and died for me- the blameless Holy One for the guilty offender.  I believed He had risen from the dead and was coming back one day.  I wanted to belong to Him.  I asked my parents some questions- and with a child’s simple faith, prayed- in confession and turning- toward Jesus.  I committed myself to Him.  My own faith-walk began- simply, humbly, miraculously- with more trust than understanding.

As I matured, my faith did, too.  I came to understand more about the kingdom of God and who Jesus is and what He did.  In college, I drifted a little, but looking back, I recognize many times God’s hand of protection, guidance, or correction delivered me from my own foolishness and circumstances that could have ended in disaster.  He placed people in my circles who encouraged me to think rightly and remain connected to the fellowship of believers and the teachings of the Bible.  I emerged from these years of independence and academic inquiry with my faith intact, if a little dented, though somewhat smug and much too big for my britches.  Jesus could fix that.

Ray and I got married.  I was Southern Baptist to the core.  Ray was raised Congregationalist in Connecticut- robes, liturgy, Bach on the pipe organ, and real wine at Communion!  Culture clash!  Our next door neighbors invited us to their  Bible church, and we agreed to visit as a compromise.

A three word description of that fellowship: deep, vibrant, real.  Our fifteen years as part of that “body” changed, matured, deepened, broadened my understanding of the written word and my relationship with the living Word of God.  Then we moved to a different town, where we found a new fellowship and new ways to serve others and our God.

If I wrote about all the times I know God protected me from danger or a bad mistake- all the times God answered desperate prayer- all the times God guided me to the right place or the right people or the right decision- all the times God’s Spirit comforted, encouraged,  or convicted  me- I could fill page after page.  Has life always been easy?  Not by a long shot.  Have I always done the right thing?  Absolutely not.  Has everything turned out like I expected?  No.  Has God always been faithful?  Yes.  Has He blessed me far more than I could ask or deserve?  Yes.  Has He made Himself known to me?  Yes.  I have felt His unmistakable presence and listened to His voice.  I have experienced supernatural peace.  I have reveled in unexplainable joy.  I rest in the assurance that God is control – and He is good.

I have done nothing to deserve God’s mercy.  On my own, I am hot-tempered, prideful, critical, and selfish.  God, eternal and all-wise, perfect in love, goodness, and faithfulness, gave me life and knows me.  Despite my faults and broken nature, He rescued me.  He granted that I might draw near to Him, enjoy spiritual life through faith in Jesus Messiah- and be transformed.

There are two requests that I make of God for me: First, I want to “get it.”  I want to understand more and more about the “God life” that He created, rescues, and invites us to enjoy.  I want to live on His terms.  Second, whatever happens, I pray that I will be faithful to my Savior- and live in trust, obedience, and hope until I see His face.

Until then, by His grace, in His love, I walk on.