storiesofvalue

Chapter 4 – The Insurgence of Doubt and Fear

The devil’s workshop is furnished with doubt and fear.  These are the twin terrors he uses to torture our souls and slow our progress.  Normally, we keep these threats at bay, but when life goes terribly wrong our defense weakens.

As I have shared, I estimate the presence of fear and doubt in my faith experience at approximately 20%.  Admittedly, this figure is highly subjective and open to daily fluctuations of doubt, fear and certainty.  But this is my best read of reality on a good day.

I must also qualify that doubt and fear are not components of my faith, but rather captives to it.  They are the quarantined thugs I tolerate since my attempts to completely eradicate them have been unsuccessful.  I think it in my best interests to admit they are there, though I may not know at any given time where they are hiding.  Like cockroaches they lurk in the recesses of my soul and emerge when the darkness of trouble overtakes me.  I have not grown comfortable living with them, but I acknowledge their presence and choose not to let the things I don’t understand keep me from anchoring my life in the things I do.

During my teen years I lived in a town on the Gulf of Mexico.  In those days, we didn’t buy sunscreen.  We bought suntan oil and baked our skin with a passion.  Every time I see myself in an old photo with dark skin and sun bleached hair I ask myself, “What was I thinking?”  Today, when I spend a little too much time in the sun and red bumps pop up on my arm, I am reminded those long summer days at the beach are still with me.

So it is with doubt and fear.  Like damaged cells they sleep dormant in our hearts and minds until an unplanned trial triggers them.  They rise to shake our faith and challenge the things we thought we understood.

The insurgence of fear and doubt in a time of crisis signals the beginning of Satan’s campaign of delusion.  Though we find confidence in the things we understand about God, our momentary troubles produce questions we are incapable of answering.  Worry rushes over us and the Deceiver’s lies, while baseless, start to sound shockingly relevant in our search for anything that promises a way of escape.

Thus, we see the two-edged dynamic of a crisis up close.  Our certainties become uncertain, rattling the foundations of our faith.  Then in true form, Satan exploits our circumstances by awakening our worst fears and our deepest doubts.

When the certainties of my faith are tested, I encounter new questions, or old questions asked in new ways.  If I apply the “Law of Possibilities” I am reminded God can be trusted as I learn to view His providential hand more creatively.  However, when the doubts and fears I have tolerated push against the certainties of my faith, even as I ponder the possible ways God might move in my life, the combined force of the test can overwhelm me.  This is exactly the effect Satan desires.  He wants to rob me of my peace and frighten me with speculations regarding things yet unresolved.

In this fragile state my #2 Pencil Faith begins to display signs of distress.  My framework of trust grows perilously close to snapping as the spiritual war inside me reaches a boiling point.  The gauge separating doubt and fear from my certainties starts to “wobble” and I find it increasingly difficult to assess the health of the faith I stand in (Figure 2).  While clever in design, my metaphor of faith prepares to disintegrate in a violent ball of fire and smoke.  I cry with Job “I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil” (Job 3:26).

Then, as if in a sudden breach of protocol, doubt and fear reboot their mission from torment to destruction.  They surge at my being with screams and clinched fists of fury, taunting my trust in the Holy One: “How can God allow these horrific events in your life if He cares for you?  You have served Him faithfully, yet He refuses to deliver you.  If He cares, why does He let you suffer?  If He knows all why doesn’t He do a better job preparing the way?  Can’t He at least orchestrate a more manageable economy of pain, spacing out your trials and giving you time to regroup before you are driven to your knees once more?  Maybe you’re not worth it.  Maybe He’s not worth it!”

As the persecution rages I question my decision to practice faith alongside fear and doubt.  It seemed reasonable at first to tolerate uncertainties so I could flourish in the greater portion of certainty.  But when those things I left unconquered rise to conquer me, I wonder what kind of faith exists in the presence of so many reservations.  Doesn’t the writer of the book of Hebrews proclaim, “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see” (Hebrews 11:1)?  Am I right to even call myself a believer?

Then again, it must be plausible to live with uncertainty, especially in an imperfect world where we are surrounded by the temporary.  In fact, the Hebrews writer continues with a list of faithful servants of God who longed for a promise but never received it in this life. “All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth” (Hebrews 11:13).  Who is in this list?  Moses: the man who argued with God and refused to believe He could lead the Israelites out of Egypt.  Moses: the patriarch who lost his right to enter Canaan because a moment of insecurity led him to take God’s matters into his own hands.

Surely a faith that is certain of things hoped for assumes the existence of fears and doubts. Even the greatest spiritual warriors have lived with them, and most have confessed them. Yet when our foundations are threatened we long for Egypt.  We would rather die in captivity than face the conflicts inherent in human faith.  Such are our thoughts when the things we permit out of necessity invade those things we cling to with all hope.

Chapter 3 – When Our Certainties Become Uncertain

The spiritual delusions that form as a result of our trials cause us to question the things we thought we understood.  This doesn’t mean these things are no longer true, or that our faith is fundamentally weak.  However, it does recognize we can be tested in news ways, or with greater force, and the collective impact of facing too many uncertainties in a short window of time leaves us breathless.

When our fears and doubts press against our certainties, anxiety reigns.  The position of faith we stand in feels compromised by circumstances over which we have no control.  As the crisis escalates we cling to the strength we draw from the words of the Hebrews writer, “Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful”  (Hebrews 10:23).  We do what is humanly possible and ask God, who holds us in the hollow of His hand, to provide the strength we cannot find in ourselves.  We collaborate as creature and Creator to defeat the schemes of the Evil One.

As we engage our minds in this battle we can choose from a variety of strategic options. We can abandon portions of our faith that no longer make sense in an effort to reduce the pressure.  This tactic, while lowering our stress level momentarily, will surely weaken our position and give Satan an unwanted foothold in our lives.  We can ignore our fears and doubts and pretend we are fine, but our human experience tells us denial only stunts our development and delays the inevitable.  Or we can embrace the “Law of Possibilities.” This axiom functions by providing the mental space we need to mature in our understanding of God’s person, purpose and methodology.   I compare this law to the difference between a sponge and an egg.  If we squeeze both in our hand, the sponge has tolerances that allow it to undergo tremendous pressure before returning to its original shape.  The egg has no such flexibility and will quickly disintegrate into a white and yellow glob.

The “Law of Possibilities is not a principle of faith that encourages us to conform our beliefs to avoid conflict.  This would disregard the Apostle Paul’s warning, “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world” (Romans 12:2a). Instead, this law encourages us to expand our horizons by increasing our awareness of the options or possibilities at God’s disposal.  We should stimulate our imaginations and fill the sponge-like recesses of our perspective with a deeper appreciation for the omnipotent and omniscient nature of God.  Perhaps this was on Paul’s mind when he wrote, “But be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is–his good, pleasing and perfect will.” (Rom 12:2)

Put another way, the “Law of Possibilities” gives our faith wiggle room to explore new, biblically sound scenarios that describe how God might move in our circumstances.  We will probably never arrive at a place of perfect comprehension, but the thought that an infinite number of solutions to our trials exists in the mind of God increases the possible pathways through which peace might eventually flow into our hearts.

Allow me to share a specific example of this principle from my own life.  At the age of sixty-seven my father was diagnosed with Parkinson disease, and after many years of steady decline went to be with the Lord.  Not long after his diagnosis he asked me to sit down and talk about his circumstances.  He said, “Larry, I want you to know I’m not bitter.  This is not the way I thought things would work out, but I’m alright with it.  There are things that happen in our lives we can’t explain, but we do the best we can and ask God to give us the strength to deal with our disappointments.”

This simple statement revealed many things about my father’s faith.  First, it was an honest appraisal of the outcome of a life poured out for God.  He had invested nearly fifty years in full-time church ministry, and in the end been stricken with a hideous disease.  Secondly, it demonstrated a level of trust in the wisdom of God I have yet to experience.  Finally, it was obvious my father was using his journey to mentor me in my personal walk with God.  He was concerned for my soul and any bitterness I might face in the days to come.  Although my father didn’t coin a phrase to describe his approach to suffering, by creating tolerances in his view of God’s will, past, present and future, he freed me from the dark prison of rigid interpretation.

Another way of expressing the “Law of Possibilities” is that true certainty presumes the element of surprise. Since resurrection Sunday, Jesus’ followers have known the God they serve moves in unexpected ways.  We often speak of faith that is too small and exhort one another not to limit God.  We must remember faith is rooted in objective truth as well as subjective trust.  This means a growing faith is one that continues to grasp the nature of a God whose divine options are limitless.  God oversees infinite combinations of circumstances and participants which can be aligned to accomplish His eternal purposes while still meeting our personal needs.

I realize our problem with the unsettling of our certainties is often not so much that we have to rethink how God works, but rather that we are waiting on a heavenly Father who seemingly is not working at all. Or at least He is not working as we assumed He would.  This brings us to our second faith frustration.

Chapter 2 – A Metaphor for Faith

Painful events and ongoing trials can threaten the foundations of our faith.  We are only human, and the pathway to peace can include episodes of confusion and prolonged seasons of grief.

When our hearts are breaking there are few instant cures, yet the ability to organize our thoughts and feelings into a tangible form can help.  This is where our #2 pencil enters the stage.

I am not sure why I first chose to use pencils to illustrate a framework of faith.  As I recall, one day I was struggling to explain to a friend how Satan distorts our thinking in times of trouble.  I opened my desk drawer and pull out three pencils.  Yes, they just happened to be #2 pencils.  I placed two pencils parallel to each other about two feet apart on my desk.  Then I positioned a third pencil halfway between the two (Figure 1).

I proposed the distance between the two pencils on each end represented the sum total of the faith we stand in as we seek to follow God.  The middle pencil represented a sliding gauge between those things we understand about God, and those things we don’t.  (I have since defined these respective regions as “certainties” and “fears and doubts.”)  I estimated the things I understood about God made up approximately 80% of my faith.  The things I didn’t understand accounted for about 20%.  As I spoke, I moved the middle pencil in my illustration to a position that represented this ratio.  I also explained everyone has a personal baseline with distinct percentages, but that believers typically view their faith with more certainties than fears and doubts.

I explained when difficult trials enter into our lives the pencil gauge in the middle begins to shift.  As painful questions fill our minds we are less certain of the things we thought we understood about God and more troubled by the things we don’t understand.  I moved the pencil to reflect this reality.

Later, I reflected on my spontaneous metaphor and noted some additional ways in which it helped me frame my own spiritual experiences.  My 80/20 ratio represents a core value, but Satan warps my perception by unsettling my soul with chaos.  He pushes against my certainties and uses the fierce spiritual battle at the moment to delude me.  In time, my confidence wanes and my spiritual doubts are compounded by self-doubt.

The good news is, I have discovered as personal trials subside, the delusion loses its power.  This doesn’t mean our lives will return to normal.  On the contrary, we will never be the same.  Our certainties will reflect a more mature awareness of God’s grace and providence, and the things we don’t know will remind us of the complexity of our human experience.

In my first #2 Pencil conversation, when I adjusted the middle pencil to demonstrate Satan’s delusion, my friend exclaimed “That’s me!”  His struggle didn’t immediately disappear and God didn’t instantly answer the myriad of questions weighing on his heart.  But my illustration provided a tool to better understand the test.  It reminded him his circumstances and God’s hand in them were a part of a process, and the timeline moving forward was yet to be determined.  Things were not always as they seemed, and while worshippers of God experience many battles, the future is always filled with hope.

Since this initial pencil talk I have used the same metaphor with others who needed a structure to help them process their feelings. Sometimes the people I share with aren’t ready to move forward, but just knowing there is a tool they can use when they are ready seems to give them a sense of control.

Like all metaphors, mine has its flaws.  Not everyone is comfortable viewing something as complex as faith on a sliding scale.  Others believe all questions are ultimately answered by the power of the cross and we should not even speak of fears and doubts.  I too am confident in the cross, but am also comfortable living with uncertainties, as long as they are held in check by my certainties.

A metaphor can also oversimplify the dire circumstance of human suffering, and trivialize our grief and pain.  I recognize this danger and am careful to point out my characterization of trouble is merely a conduit for one’s thoughts and not a thesis leading to an instant cure.

I characterize my #2 pencil metaphor in this way:  it is a picture of faith that helps us work through our disappointments in search of spiritual peace and clarity.  I take my cue from Jesus who used parabolic examples such as sparrows and grass to describe the providence of God.  Sometimes Jesus even used a sliding scale to convey degree, as in the parables of the talents and the sower.  There is no intent on my part to raise my #2 pencil tool to the level of Jesus’ parables, but I am thankful for the lessons I learn from His methodology.  It is true the subject of testing is not a simple one.  Therefore, our discussion must begin with an admission of two of the life’s most common faith frustrations.

Dear Morning Devotion Group – Yesterday’s entry completed our Pencil Faith series.  I am in the process of editing my blog entries into an 18 chapter book to be self-bound and given to those I meet with questions about trials.  For the next 18 days I am going to post an edited chapter for our morning devotion.  If you are able to read each day’s chapter, I would appreciate any feedback you might have that could help me in my final copy.  In 18 days we will begin a special blog series on the church.  Thank you.  Larry Jones

Chapter 1 – Test Directions

Tests have always made me anxious.  Some of my friends in school lived for exams as opportunities to showcase their brilliance.  But I saw them as hideous inventions created to expose my flaws and hang them in the public square for the whole world to see.

There was also the test before the test, since it was possible to fail by not following directions.  Fatal mistakes included, 1) being absent without an excuse, 2) forgetting to write one’s name on the upper right-hand corner of the test sheet, and 3) having the audacity to show up with anything but two #2 pencils.

This last requirement, the #2 pencil rule, puzzled me for many years.  I understood why we were asked to bring two pencils, as it was easy to break a pencil lead in a moment of frustration.  But what was special about the #2?

One day I decided it was time to unmask this great mystery, so I launched an Internet query.  I discovered pencil lead, which is now made of graphite, is rated by density.  Low and high numbers signify soft and hard lead, respectively.  When the first computer test sheets appeared, #1 pencil lead was found to smear, and #3 or #4 pencils leads left marks that were too light for the computer to read.  The #2 lead, however, hit the sweet spot, and became the required tool for students everywhere.

I remember sitting at my desk on test day with my #2 pencils, and my name in the upper right-hand corner of my answer sheet.  As the teacher passed out question booklets I felt empowered by the fresh opportunity to distinguish myself.  In fact, I was already ahead of one or two students who had failed to follow instructions.  Unfortunately, that was as good as I was going to feel that day.

Obviously, the best way to reduce anxiety over tests is to prepare well in advance through disciplined study.  What I lacked in this area as a youth I have far exceeded in my obsessive-compulsive patterns as an adult.

Soon after my fiftieth birthday I underwent shoulder surgery to repair a torn rotator cuff.  I spent some time in emergency rooms as a child, but this was the first time I had voluntarily allowed an anesthesiologist to put me to sleep so a surgeon could cut into my body.

My surgeon assured me it was “a piece of cake.”  He showed me a model of a shoulder to illustrate the simplicity of the procedure and said there was nothing to worry about.  But the day of the operation his medical team painted a very different picture.

There were risks: I was asked to sign a stack of release forms acknowledging I was aware the operation might not go as planned.  There were warnings: I was advised not to make any major decisions or enter into any legal agreements while I was recovering from the anesthesia. And there were anticipations:  I would experience some pain, but it could be managed if I took my medication on time.  Fortunately my anesthesiologist, a family friendly, ordered a Novocain dispenser for the days following the surgery. I highly recommend it!

I listened carefully and signed my life away, but one word in particular troubled me.  Evidently, while shoulder patients are knocked out, surgeons “manipulate” their arms in a sadistic manner to free up frozen joints.

I protested, “Who watches the doctor to make sure he doesn’t get carried away?”

“Oh Mr. Jones,” the nurse replied.  “He does it all the time.  You don’t need to worry.”

There was a flaw in the logic something was safe just because it was commonplace.  Just because someone is in a habit of riding a motorcycle without a crash helmet doesn’t make it a good idea.  I did trust my surgeon, but the more I heard, the more nervous I became.  Which raises the question: Is it better to know the full nature of a test, or continue in ignorance?

I have thought about the answer to this question as it relates to God’s providential care in my life.  Is it better to know the outcome of my circumstances, and why I have been allowed to go through them?  Or it is best to suffer in silence, trusting that God will be faithful?  Is there an ideal balance between the two?  Not only are these questions important in my own life, but they describe the quest for truth by others who seek out my spiritual counsel.

During the season when our church family was recovering from the loss of its facility, we sojourned for three years without a permanent home.  This created immeasurable stress on our church staff since we often had to scramble at the last-minute when our temporary arrangements fell through.  As well, we began to reveal architectural plans for our new facility with mixed reviews.  The facility placed function over form and was non-traditional in design, leading to many questions and a manageable level of controversy.  Any one of these pressure points was enough to make life difficult, but together they pushed me to the edge of sanity.  In time my anxiety turned to discouragement and finally to depression.

One day I was traveling home after a long day of nightmarish logistical planning, and I decided to drive down to a marina near our home to settle my spirit.  I parked the car by an old oyster boat and stared at the water for a few moments.  A torrent of worries rushed through my head and I tried to make note of the issues that really mattered while pushing the ones that seemed unimportant into the recesses of my mind.  Then, for reasons I still cannot explain, I felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and abandonment.  Looking back, I can see the symptoms of depression.  My stress level had simply been too high for too long and I was reaching my human capacity to cope.  I wept.  My tears were mingled with fear, grief and confusion, but mostly confusion.  And since I was a leader the mere thought I was at my wit’s end filled me with a sense of inadequacy.  I was at a loss to face the questions before me, let alone answer them.

When my tears subsided I started the car, turned on the radio and put the car in gear.  At that very moment the DJ on a local classic rock station made a most unusual song choice.  It began, “Oh happy day, oh happy day” followed by the remainder of the famous pop gospel song I remembered from my youth.  I put the car back in park, leaned my head on the headrest, closed my eyes and listened.  As I listened I was reminded of the grace God poured into my life through His Son.  Although I was facing a lot of earthly challenges, my greatest victory had already been won by my Heavenly Father.  I really did have all I needed.  Buildings are useful.  Other people’s perspectives were important and needed to be considered.  But in the final analysis, if I had the promises of forgiveness and eternal life, and had entered into a new and lasting covenant with my Creator, nothing else mattered.

The song ended and I slipped my car back into gear for a slow, but relaxed drive home.  I still had fears and doubts, but I think at that point I began the process of restoring some balance to my faith.  I had been holding fiercely to the things I knew for certain, and that had served me well in a time of crisis, but the time had come to let go so God could remind me His options have no limits.  In fact, this may very well have been the moment my faith stretched by leaps and bounds as I sacrificed a major portion of self before the throne.

All I know is my faith was stronger.  The foundational truths that comprised my certainties hadn’t changed, but my willingness to be open to the ways God might work within them had.  To the casual observer the pencils of my #2 Pencil Faith had been restored to their normal position, but I was anything but normal.  In the years that have passed I have grown increasingly abnormal and aware of the peace of which Paul wrote, “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:7 NIV).

It is this peace I think we all desire, but it cannot be found on our own, nor can we discover it in comfort.  We must be tested and tried.  Such is the nature of growing in Christ, and the way of the #2 Pencil Faith.

Do you think peace is possible without suffering?  What happens if we suffer without peace?

Dear God, fill me with the peace that passes all understanding.  In Jesus’ name, Amen. 

We are made stronger as we admit our weaknesses and assume the role of clay jars, allowing God’s glory to be seen.  This presents another ironic twist in Satan’s strategy.  Not only do his attempts to defeat us drive us deeper into the arms of God, but they also amplify divine preeminence.  Our frustrations and limitations make us more perfect vessels for God’s purposes.

This is why we find joy in our trials.  They draw us closer to the Father, bring Him glory and give our lives greater meaning.  This helps explain why we are allowed to suffer.  Why would a loving and good God permit us to be afraid?  Why would He allow Satan to sift us with doubt?  Truly, He knows these things will make us stronger, but not in the ways we might think.  They make us stronger because they have the potential of putting Him in the driver’s seat and showing us the One who is in us is greater than the one who is in the world.

Do you feel like a vessel God uses?  How can you increase what He is able to do through you?

Dear God, use me.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Once a friend of mine said, “Doesn’t the Bible say, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger?”  I’ll confess I had to look, and the answer is “no.”  Not only is the answer no, but the statement is attributed to philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche.  Nietzsche died at the age of 56 after a debilitating mental breakdown, followed by a host of medical issues.  In the end, his illness rendered his famous motto void, at least as it played out in his own life.

The truth that we are made stronger by our trials is, however, supported by scripture.  In his letter to the Romans Paul wrote, “Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance” (Romans 5:3 NIV).  Yet there is a difference between the rationale for Nietzsche’s and Paul’s convictions.  Nietzsche felt if we could find a way to endure human suffering, it would equip us to win future personal battles.  Paul, on the other hand, believed God was working through his trials to increase his spiritual perseverance and bring the hope of Jesus into greater focus.  Briefly stated, one path puts its ultimate hope in humanity and the other in God.

This means the answer to the question “what makes us stronger?” is answered in the context of a relationship.  It is true Paul says our suffering “produces” perseverance, but we can’t understand the meaning of this truth apart from his other statement:  “And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us” (Rom 5:5 NIV).

This distinction is extremely important because it reveals the foundational effect trials have on the certainties of our faith.  If faith grows as we learn to respect the amazingly complex options at God’s disposal, then the purpose of suffering becomes clear.  Suffering teaches us to depend less on our own strength and more on God.  While it is true victory over our circumstances can and should make us more confident, we would be arrogant to assume we are fully responsible.  Indeed, the resources we use to overcome have their origin in God, and we would likely be surprised if we knew the full extent of His intervention.

How would you describe your confidence in your ability to overcome trials?  How much faith do you put in your own abilities?  How much faith do you put in God’s abilities?

Dear God, I need You more than ever.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.  

If Satan thinks we are abnormal, he is right.  This is the nature of people with a growing faith.  They grow less normal with time.  Some might call it the “new normal”, but I think it is just our foolish side showing.  It is better to be a fool for Christ, than to let the Deceiver trick us out of eternity.

There is also less anxiety associated with the abnormal life.  Once we admit our understanding of God’s providence isn’t as finely tuned as we thought, we can begin to look behind our trials for new glimpses of His glory.  When we discover it is alright to contend with God over perceived miscarriages of justice, we don’t have to hide anymore.  And when we can discuss our fears and doubts openly, trusting in God even when we have no idea how our circumstances are going to turn out, Satan and his demonic force are neutralized.  This is why, sometimes, we have to be at the end of our resources before we are willing to give God the place in our lives He deserves.  The illusion of a normal faith doesn’t stand up well against the delusions of the evil one.  But the truth of the matter, bathed with grace, leads us home.

None of us like turmoil, or the unsettled feelings in our hearts that seem to accompany our trials.  We would rather find a patch to cover our pain, and a powerful scripture or two to chase Satan away.  This might work in the small things, but if we use the same method for more complex events in our lives, we are going to either collapse within or succumb to the delusion.

The Lord challenges us to take on our circumstances with courage and truth.  He proposes crazy axioms such as “the last will be first and the first will be last” and “love your enemies.”  When we are discouraged and feeling somewhat abandoned, it is hard to believe Jesus knows what He is talking about.  But in the valley He teaches us.  In the pit He transforms us.  When we emerge we realize we will never be normal again.

Can you think of any other “crazy” statements Jesus made during His ministry?  What do you believe we can expect when we follow these “foolish” truths?

Dear God, help me trust You to know what You are talking about.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.

How frustrated Satan must be when we circumvent normalcy.  He pushes against our certainties with fear and doubt, but the very forces he uses to break us are employed by God to make us stronger.  Without fear we would not cling tighter. Without doubt we would not dig deeper.  Satan must think, “It isn’t normal, I’ll tell you!  These people are nuts!”  Are we fools to remain faithful?  No!  We would be fools to deny the One who is faithful in everything and able to keep us close by His side to the very end.

A few years ago our daughter told us she was going to be moving out of her college dorm to live with some friends in an apartment.  The apartment wasn’t in the best part of town.  In truth, it was in a refurbished drug house in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods around.  The house had a downstairs living room where our daughter and her friends nurtured relationships with neighborhood children.  They played games, baked cookies and sometimes cried together when life fell apart.  There were murders, shootings, dog attacks and other frightening experiences I was thankful I didn’t know about at the moment they were occurring.  But there was also grace and love.  God showed our daughter how His power is seen best in human weakness.

A few people told my wife and me we were crazy for letting our daughter live in such a risky situation.  We usually answered, “She’s over eighteen.  She can do what she wants.”  But inside we were proud and envious.  We were proud because she was doing something important for Jesus and envious because there is no better place to know God than on the front lines of spiritual warfare.

How is God’s power seen in your weakness?  Does anything you do for God make other people think you are crazy?

Dear God, put me in a place where your grace and love are evident.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Consider Daniel.  He established a friendship with King Darius and could have lived out his Babylonian captivity in relative ease.  When some of Darius’ royal leaders convinced the king to issue an edict effectively outlawing prayer to the Living God, Daniel prayed anyway.  This put him on the wrong side of the law and landed him in a den of hungry lions.  We know from scripture God shut the mouths of the lions and protected Daniel.  But Daniel didn’t know this would happen at the time.  He prayed knowing it might cost him his life.  Is that normal?

The Apostle Paul left the prestige of a Pharisee’s life to follow Jesus.  Instead of moving along the streets of Jerusalem in a holy robe, he was hounded by his own countrymen, beaten, stoned, imprisoned and, according to tradition eventually beheaded.  Paul could have kept his belief in Jesus private and possibly held on to the high life.  Instead, he spent his life reaching out to the Gentile world.  Is that normal?

I have decided the longer we walk with the Lord the more abnormal our faith becomes.  I am beginning to understand what Paul meant when he said, “We are fools for Christ!” (1 Corinthians 4:10).  It is foolish to think the more we empty ourselves out for the Lord, the stronger we become, yet this is exactly how He works.  Paul told the Corinthians he and his companions were like “the scum of the earth” and “the refuse of the world” (1 Corinthians 4:13).  Why would anyone voluntarily assume these personas?  The only explanation is that one decides the greater knowledge of God is better than clinging to the empty sophistication of human wisdom.

Would you consider yourself normal or abnormal?  Do you think our world, in general, understands the difference?

Dear God, am I really that crazy?  In Jesus’ name, Amen.