© 2002 by Tracie Peterson
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2011
Ebook corrections 10.11.2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-7076-4
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided as a resource. Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.
Unless otherwise identified, Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version ®. NIV ®. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.© Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. The “NIV” and “New International Version” trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society. www.zondervan.com
Scripture quotations identified KJV are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Scripture quotations identified RSV are from the Revised Standard Version of the Bible. Copyright 1946, 1952, 1971 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the USA. Used by permission.
Cover design by Andrea Boven
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Introduction
1. The Consequences of Our Actions
2. The Influence of Time
3. Contingency Plans
4. Charred Sticks and Stones That Roll
5. My Daddy Is Good
6. Fitting Into the Big Picture
7. The Waiting Is the Hardest Part
8. I See Dead People
9. Dead-Heading in the Garden of Life
10. Faith in the Light
11. Bare Bones
12. Is Your Christianity Showing?
13. Keeping Pace
14. Thank-You Notes
15. Not Responsible for Damage
16. Be Prepared
17. See What I’m Saying
18. The Fleshly Wrestling Association
19. Does God Reach Back?
20. The Faith of a Mother’s Prayer
21. Falling Through the Cracks
22. Disappointment
23. Our Duty
24. Causes and the Cross
25. As a Little Child
26. The Pain of Rejection
27. Great Expectations
28. Silhouette People
29. The Storm Around Us
30. Long-Distance Relationships
31. A Clearer Picture
About the Author
Other Books by Author
Notes
Back Cover
I pray also that the eyes of your
heart may be enlightened in order
that you may know the hope to
which he has called you, the riches
of his glorious inheritance in the
saints, and his incomparably great
power for us who believe.
Ephesians 1:18–19
Introduction
As a child I always thought people saw life the same way. I thought boys, girls, men, women, everyone had the same gifts and vision for the world around them. I was wrong. As I grew up, both spiritually and physically, I came to see the uniqueness of each individual. I don’t think this lesson was driven home any more clearly than when my sister, Karen, commented to me that she couldn’t string two words together and have them make sense.
How could this be? I thought. Didn’t everyone possess the desire to write—and the ability? I figured writing was one of those original three basics you learned in school; how could she stand there and tell me she didn’t have what it took to do this? Gradually I heard other people say the same thing. And silly as it sounds, that was when I came to better understand that God’s gifts and the talents He gives are uniquely designed for the person He desires us to be.
With this in mind, the concept for this book was born. I came to realize that some people find it easy to see God in everyday life, while others struggle with the burdens they carry, unable to see much of anything. Sometimes obstacles keep them from seeing the truth. And sometimes the truth is the very last thing they want to see.
Having been in both places, it has become my desire to share with you how God opened the eyes of my heart. I want to share this, because these lessons changed my life. And like a very special party where everyone is going to have a marvelous time, I didn’t want you to miss out.
So settle back and view the world through my eyes, if you will. Open your heart to the wonder of God’s picture lessons. Let the eyes of your heart be enlightened that you might have hope. Hope that comes not from a book, or from me, for we will both fade away to dust. No, let the hope come from the King of the Universe, who loves you now even as He loved you on the cross.
Oh, and by the way, my sister, Karen, has a marvelous ability with numbers. She can do algebraic expressions in her sleep—a talent God did not see fit to bless me with. Unique in the Lord? You bet. Ah, the wonder of God!
—Tracie
1
The Consequences of Our Actions
One August afternoon I happened to be at the airport waiting for a flight. I sat watching the people around me, one of my favorite hobbies, and noted a scene that has stayed with me in a haunting manner ever since.
To one side of the waiting area, a woman stood with two children. A boy, who looked to be around twelve, maybe thirteen, and a girl no older than ten stood laden with backpacks and sweaters, clearly caught up in conversation with the woman. Off to the left, nearly ten or twelve feet away, stood a man most intent on the situation, but clearly alienated. For whatever reason, he wasn’t being allowed to share in this farewell, although I could tell quite easily that he had some part in this strange little drama.
But what really held my attention, in fact, made me feel like the intruder I was, were the tears of the woman and the young girl. They weren’t merely crying, they were sobbing. It was a heart-wrenching sob, the kind that reaches the center of your soul and permeates your body. The boy was trying so hard to be stoic, but I could see his lip quivering as the woman spoke to him.
Tenderly she reached out and touched their faces, and I knew then that she had to be their mother. No one touches a child in quite the same way as a mother does, especially one with deep emotional ties. She cried, touched them again, hugged them close, and then pulled away to try to speak again. They clung to her and she to them. And all the while the man only watched. As did I.
The flight was called, and I saw her face—the sheer look of anguish and something akin to panic. She pulled the children close, and I heard her sob even louder as she told them she loved them. The little girl was clearly devastated. So wa
s the boy. I saw the open wounds of his heart written on his face.
An airline representative came forward. She smiled sympathetically, assuring the woman that she would see to the children. She led them away after the woman was allowed one final kiss, one final embrace. The two looked over their shoulders as the uniformed woman escorted them to the plane. The woman reached out her hand to wave good-bye—to fill the space that now separated them.
And then they were gone.
The man came forward, and the distraught woman collapsed in his arms. Everyone was watching by now. The scene mesmerized us all. What had just happened here? Why was this woman being separated from the children she so obviously loved?
I watched her walk to the long wall of windows. She pressed her hand to the glass as if she could somehow touch them again. The man stood behind her, stroking her shoulder. Her heart was on that plane, and he seemed to understand quite well.
I struggled with the timing of the situation. It was already late August. Time for school. These children were obviously headed out, away from their mother, for a good long while. After all, who would put school-aged children on a plane for a vacation at that time of the year? Besides, from the pained expressions and sobbing, these children weren’t on a simple trip to Grandma’s house. They were leaving home.
Of course, I have no idea who they were or where they were headed. I don’t know why the little family was being torn apart. Perhaps the children lived with their father. Obviously the man who comforted the woman had a very small role in their lives. He hadn’t come forward before they left. Hadn’t even so much as waved good-bye.
It’s impossible for me to know with certainty exactly what their situation was, but I do know that their pain came as a result of previous actions.
Sometimes it’s easy to make a choice or a decision. We give it a halfhearted going over, certain that we have seen all the possible consequences or side effects.
Anger may drive us to reject someone who loves us. Rebellion sends us down a path we know better than to go. Anticipation of pleasure or temporary reward beckons us forward without regard to the cost.
We often make choices based on emotions and half-thought-out commentary. We think ourselves rather clever for having “given it over to God.” When, in fact, we haven’t given it honest consideration or a reasonable time to be worked through. And have we really given it to God?
Think about the last time you had a truly hard choice to make—about the moment you first became uncomfortable with the matter. Did you start rationalizing to be rid of that feeling? Did you quickly sweep the problem under the rug, even at the expense of hurting someone?
Did you tell everyone how you were deliberating over all the possible solutions, when, in fact, you’d made up your mind in the first five minutes as to how you were going to solve the problem? Was any consideration given to the consequences of your actions?
Consequences come along after the fact. Sometimes they’re good, like when you apply for a job and get the call that you got it. New employment is a consequence of your action. Maybe you’ve performed a genuine act of kindness or generosity. The consequence could be anything from a warm fuzzy feeling inside to public recognition. Maybe the act was done in total anonymity, and the consequence is another jewel in your crown.
Consequences can also be bad, quite often tragic. A carload of teenagers decides to go drinking . . . and driving. An accident occurs, and several are killed. A young mother leaves her child alone at the pool—just long enough to answer the telephone, but also long enough for the child to drown. Or maybe it’s nothing so dramatic as that. Maybe it’s as simple as growing tired of a marriage that is laden with problems. A divorce seems like an amicable solution. But there are kids in the middle, and airport good-byes will come later.
I wonder if our choices would be different if we could see a video of the consequences prior to making our choice. Maybe angry words would go unsaid if we could see past our choice to the painful effect of our words. Maybe one less door would be slammed shut, one less selfish choice imposed, if we knew the outcome.
Maybe more positive choices would be made if we could see the consequences ahead of time. Maybe we’d be more aware of those around us if we could see ahead to the joy a Christmas basket would give an old man who lives alone. If we knew our kind words and patient listening gave a grieving neighbor hope, we might try more often to be a bearer of comfort. If we could watch that video and see the choice we had to speak in harshness or say nothing at all, we might recognize that silence is sometimes golden.
It seems a simple task to stop long enough to think ahead, to see down the road to the consequences of our choice. Picture yourself in an airport, saying good-bye to a child who doesn’t understand the pain she is suffering.
There were consequences on the way to the cross. There were consequences on the cross. These gave us hope in the same hour that they struck others with despair. Jesus knew the consequences of being the Son of God. He knew the choices to be made; He knew by looking past the initial problems what would be the outcome of those choices.
Sometimes we need to look at the bigger picture. We need to look past the cross to understand that we wield a tremendous amount of power in our everyday choices and decisions. Jesus looked past the cross. He played out the video and saw the beatings, the humiliation, and the desertion. He knew what He faced, but He saw something else—He saw you and me.
He saw your loneliness and your sorrow. He saw you being falsely accused and unjustly condemned. He saw you at the airport, sobbing as you said good-bye to your children.
And when the video was done, He knew the horror of the cross would be worth it. He knew you would need Him to be there in your place. The consequence of His act was love—eternal and secure, evident and real. Aren’t you glad He looked beyond the choices?
2
The Influence of Time
I’m always amazed when I look at the stages of growth in the lives of my children. It seems just yesterday they were small and helpless. I held them and nurtured them, talked to them and played with them. I dreamed of what they would grow up to be. I wondered if they would make good choices or bad ones. Would they listen to my advice or set it aside for something more popular?
I look at my children now and see the influence of time. When they were very small they were easily entertained with a book. When they reached preschool age, they were fascinated by television—particularly cartoons. Soon possessions became something of increasing concern. We worked to teach them that people were more deserving of their attention. We made gallant strides to entertain and to teach from methods other than television and the latest action figure.
By the time they were eight or nine, cartoons were losing interest, and teenage crisis shows and sitcoms were the star attractions. There were shows where kids had special powers, special friends, and special problems. We listened to comical one-liners, where kids were always smarter than their parents, and watched conflict and poor choices work themselves out in thirty minutes. Everywhere you went, the influence was there. Slick designer clothes with the images of characters from movies and television shows. Toys with clear, concise themes that directed you back to the characters of the most popular TV series, so that even when you managed to limit the hours of viewing, you found the same themes in a variety of forms: anything from food in the grocery store to shoes on your child’s feet. Imagine my surprise when I went to buy a simple pair of tennis shoes for my nine year old and couldn’t find anything without a current theme.
My teenagers were given over to the latest craze among their own age group. Who has not yet memorized the zip code of that very important posh suburb of Los Angeles? Whether you allowed the show to be seen or not, you certainly were inundated with the essence of its characters. Then came the strong appeal to being frightened. Horror movies and gut-wrenching (or is that retching) thrillers with body parts flying and more blood spilled than during both World Wars. The influence of time
was not kind. It was scary.
I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve heard folks say, “This is just a rite of passage.” A sort of modern-day coming of age.
But time has a way of moving on, and of leaving us behind in its wake. We see ourselves in the middle of life much like a two-bit player in a bad theatrical production. Never quite knowing our lines. Never quite sure how we’re doing.
The other day I came across the verse in Luke 2:52: “And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men.”
During His time on earth, Jesus grew in wisdom. Wisdom that told Him what it was to be human—to feel joy and sorrow, to know pain and comfort. Wisdom gave Him a heart for intercession. When He sits at the right hand of God, speaking to the Father on our behalf, He knows what we are going through.
“Father, there’s this special woman down there. She’s lonely and she needs a mate. She’s asking for just the right man—she’s seen what the wrong partner can mean to a marriage. She’s faithful and hopeful, as you know, but Father, I know what it is to feel lonely. To feel that no one cares if you come or go. To realize that there’s no one waiting up for you, that there’s no one to talk to.”
He grew in stature too: height, weight, body mass. All that changed as Jesus the boy grew into Jesus the man. Maybe He felt gangly and awkward in His adolescent years. Maybe puberty was just as confusing and frustrating for Jesus as it is for every other teenager.
Or maybe stature meant a level of achievement. He learned His Torah. He memorized the Scriptures and laws given by His Father long before the fulfillment of the Messiah—Scriptures and laws Jesus the Creator was well aware of, but Jesus the man was expected to study and develop an understanding for. How strange the influence of time must have been for him.
He grew in favor with God and man. Both of His fathers—His heavenly one to whom He was so intricately bound, His earthly one to whom He was ever compared. “That’s a good job, son,” Joseph no doubt said, eyeing his son’s carpentry work. “Joseph’s boy has done some real fine work,” the people of the village would have murmured.
Eyes of the Heart, The: Seeing God's Hand in the Everyday Moments of Life Page 1
