“This is my son, in whom I am well pleased,” said the heavenly voice of God.
The influence of time set Jesus upon His course. It gave Him purpose and showed Him the often hidden, intricate details that change lives.
He met a Samaritan woman by the well and told her about the living water. He healed the blind and restored lepers. He heard a father’s plea for a dying child and the mournful cry of two sisters for a brother who had died before Jesus got to their house. And on the way to Calvary, He took that influence, the paths He traveled, the lives He’d changed, and remembered each one as He was nailed to a cross He didn’t deserve.
BAM! The hammer drove the nails.
Jesus takes them to the Father. “Remember that woman at the well? This is for her, but not only her. There will be others, Father. Other women who have no hope, no future except humiliation and condemnation.”
BAM! The nail rips through the tender flesh.
“And there were all those sick people. Some sick by their own doing, sick with sin and decay by their own choice, others ill with physical conditions for which there seems no healing.”
BAM! The blood runs freely. Jesus willingly lays down His life for those who knew Him not and for those who were yet to be born—for all.
The influence of time on earth grew Jesus into a man of flesh and blood, emotion and memories. The influence of time on a cross sent Jesus back to heaven, back to the Father in loving intercession that will forever change our lives on earth.
How has time influenced your life?
3
Contingency Plans
Not long ago I was on an extensive driving trip and happened to be taking one of the bridges across Lake Pontchartrain. It wasn’t that really long one that has you out there over the water wondering if you’ll ever see dry land again, but it was several miles in length and made me anxious for shore nevertheless.
Now, on this day it was clear and bright and very beautiful. The water glistened and rippled gently in the breeze, and traffic was moving into the New Orleans area at a steady, unhurried pace. At least that was the case on our bridge. Our two lanes were just fine as we headed south, but the bridge beside us, carrying the northbound traffic, had come to a grinding halt.
You could see the traffic backed up for miles, while in the middle of this long-distance bridge, an accident was blocking both lanes. An ambulance was in attendance, as were law enforcement officers, and while they seemed to be completely focused on the accident at hand, hundreds of people behind them were suddenly at their mercy.
Most of the drivers had shut off their engines. Some were just sitting there looking tired, angry, and disgusted; some had gotten out of their vehicles and were engaged in conversation with other drivers. But one man in particular caught my attention. He was a handsome man, probably in his late twenties or early thirties. He wore dress pants and a long-sleeved white dress shirt with a tie. He had clearly just come from or was headed to his job or some other function that required his attire. He looked clearly out of place as he stood beside his car, a long pole in hand. He was fishing in Lake Pontchartrain from the railing of the bridge!
Because our traffic had slowed somewhat, I got a good look at this man. His face betrayed nothing but pure contentment. Here he was in rush-hour traffic, at a standstill because of someone else’s carelessness, and he had found contentment.
I thought of the verse in Philippians 4:11, when Paul said, “I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.” I thought too of how impatient I would have been in the same situation. Stuck on a bridge in the heat of the afternoon, no hope in sight for a quick solution, no means of escape.
But this man, the very epitome of contentment, had something that made the difference for him. What was it?
He had a contingency plan.
Now, it may seem silly, but I found more value in this lesson than in a month of Sunday sermons preached from a pulpit. I saw by example what I knew God had in mind for me to learn and take to heart. Situations would arise in life—disappointments, heartaches, roadblocks. But if I had a contingency plan, my contentment need not be breached. My happiness would not be threatened by a mere inconvenience.
Did the man really want to fish off the Lake Pontchartrain bridge? I doubt it. I mean, I doubt that he had set out to go fishing that day. Oh sure, the pole had been stored in the back of his car. I could see the trunk lid was open. But the man was obviously not dressed for fishing. I doubt he left work that afternoon, thinking, “I sure hope something stops traffic on the lake bridge so I can get out and do some fishing.”
Yet there he was.
Contingency plans are an important means to happiness in everyone’s lives, but especially Christians. Jesus had such plans. He didn’t impose himself on people, but rather dealt with things as they came along. People gathered for healing when He was on His way to rest; someone needed to be raised from the dead, and He stopped to heal someone else on the way; His mother told Him of the need for wine at the wedding feast, and even though it was not the time to reveal who He was, He told them to fill the pots with water, and they poured out wine. Rather than allow the unconventional to frustrate Him, Jesus allowed His plans to be altered without taking it as a personal affront or assault on His happiness.
How many times has something happened to alter your plans? It’s happened to me a lot, and many times I take it quite personally. I might have had something figured out to the last possible second. I knew just what I wanted to accomplish and when, and I had all my ducks in a row, behaving rather nicely. Then suddenly, both lanes get blocked and I find myself on a bridge in the middle of a lake with traffic backed up in front and behind me, and my plans go down the drain. Sound familiar?
Maybe it has happened to you when you planned to be at work for a big meeting, and you discover you have a flat tire and no spare in the trunk. Maybe you found yourself unexpectedly pregnant after having put away diapers and bottles in exchange for weekend getaways now that your kids were grown. Maybe the doctor said, “I’m sorry, but your disease is terminal.”
All your plans—good plans, productive plans—went suddenly by the wayside. Along with hope and joy and peace. A contingency plan would have been a breath of fresh air in the midst of your crisis, but you were fixed on your course, certain of your prearrangements. Nothing would interfere. Nothing could go wrong.
Maybe you did organize everything perfectly. Usually a roadblock has nothing to do with anything for which you have been responsible. It’s out of your hands—out of your control. And if you’re like me, that only makes it worse.
Contingency is defined by the American Heritage Dictionary as “a fortuitous or possible event.” Things happen. Things we don’t plan on; things that take place quite by accident. They don’t come along asking our permission, but neither do they always seek our personal injury. The man fishing on the bridge proved that to me. He could have taken the whole matter very personally. He could have ranted and raved and shaken his fists, as others were doing. He could have pounded on the steering wheel or sounded his horn, as if either one would have made the cars suddenly start moving again. But instead, he had a plan. Obviously he had done this kind of thing before. At least it appeared that way. He seemed quite at ease with the situation.
The trunk of his car was open, and he didn’t seem at all uptight about filling his time with an activity that didn’t involve watching and waiting for his chance to get off the bridge and back to his original schedule. His contingency plan was perfect for the moment. He was content to let others deal with their problems—problems that had forestalled his original plans. While they worked out the situation, he had a course of action that allowed him to be at peace. After all, their problems were temporary, nothing permanent, and certainly nothing personal.
But contingency plans require something of us. First, we need to make ample provision for the unexpected.
The first provision is a change of attitude. Can we yield our right to having
our ducks cemented in a row and accept that life happens, and that it isn’t always a personal matter? That sometimes we come across someone else’s roadblocks? Can we also see that even though someone else may interfere with our plans, even intentionally, we don’t have to allow it to ruin our day? Can we also accept the fact that sometimes God brings about a change in our plans for our own good or the good of others? Jeremiah 29:11 says, “ ‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord . . .” He has a plan for us, and sometimes our plan is very different from God’s. Can we have an attitude of heart that says when our plans fall apart, just perhaps, God has interceded on our behalf to save us from something or guide us to something better?
Next, a contingency plan requires an optional viewpoint. When something causes our plans to change or come to a sudden halt, can we take up our “fishing pole” and wait it out until the interruption is cleared? Can we refuse to take it personally, and instead, choose another method of action until the way is made open for our original plan? Better yet, can we accept that our original plan might not have been the right plan?
It’s hard sometimes to believe that God really knows what’s going on. Harder still to imagine that He cares about whether we get to work on time, or that we get the perfect house we’ve been searching to buy, or that we find Mr. or Ms. Right to marry. But God does care, and when our plans go awry, we can bank on the fact that God has a contingency plan for us. It may not come in the shape of a fishing pole, but it’s out there if you bother to search for it.
Think about the things that have happened to you today. Did you have any roadblocks? Did something stand in the way of what appeared to be the best path for you? Did life somehow give you lemons, but refuse to help you make lemonade? Next time, have a contingency plan. When things fall apart, try not to take it so seriously. Realize that the little old woman driving the huge sedan in front of you is not going five miles an hour to cause you grief. Recognize that the utility company’s data entry clerk really hadn’t considered your feelings when she accidentally keyed in the wrong account number that resulted in your electricity being turned off. Try not to feel that it’s a personal attack when the ATM machine doesn’t work or the grocery store has run out of your favorite brand.
Have a back-up plan. Have a hope—a change of heart—a peace about the things to come. Find the source of contentment that seems to elude folks now and again, and cling to it for all you’re worth, for that source is Jesus, and the peace He offers is very real.
And to the man who chose to fish that day on Lake Pontchartrain: Thank you! Thank you for being a part of God’s plan for me. Without realizing it, your peace in the midst of conflict helped me—taught me—influenced me. I don’t know who you are or where you are now, but one thing I feel confident of: There’s a fishing pole in the trunk of your car and the peace of contentment in your heart.
4
Charred Sticks and Stones That Roll
On a trip to Yellowstone National Park, I was amazed and overwhelmed at the beautiful landscape. The geysers were fascinating, the wild life amusing and a little frightening, and the people wonderfully animated.
But just when I thought I had the big picture in mind, God took me in a totally different direction, and the lesson He taught me there was most valuable. Amid the beauty of this national park were thousands of acres of fire-scarred land. The area was stark: a mournful reminder of tragedy.
Tall, blackened sticks rose out of the earth. Nothing grew on them. They were lifeless. The scene went on for miles and miles and left me feeling sad. Then to my surprise, I noticed other things: little flowers growing in between the blackened columns. Smaller, green trees, lush with life, struggling to rise from the ashes. The forest wasn’t dead, but the overwhelming evidence of the tragedy that had struck so many years earlier was shadowing the truth. The worst that could happen to a forest had happened, and the scars were still there. But beyond that, growth and renewal were also evident, and it was here that I saw my life lesson.
Not so long ago I experienced a tragedy too. And like that mighty forest fire, the destruction swept through and destroyed the lush green growth that had been my life. When the fire died out, I felt there was little left but black stubs and vast, charred wastelands. I felt ugly and useless. Nothing seemed right, and though I refused to give up hope in God, I felt perhaps He might have been a tad overworked on the day that brought my blackest hour. Maybe He’d been a bit too busy to notice what had happened to one of His children.
It was easy to see the charred remainders. It’s easy to see them now. What’s not so easy to recognize is the growth that has come from the fire. The little things. The love of good friends and family. The unexpected help that nurtured me.
There are flowers growing, and saplings are striving to push up past the ashes. There is life amid death. Hope in the midst of adversity. But it’s so much easier to see the dead trees.
I think of Mary and Martha and all the friends who’d gathered at the tomb when Lazarus died. Their grief was more than they could bear. Their hope had been that the tragedy would be averted. They had, after all, sent for Jesus. They knew He could keep this horrible thing from happening.
But He hadn’t come. At least not in time. Death had marked their family—robbed them of their loved one and betrayed their hope. Now there was nothing but cold stone and black stubs. Desolation and death were all they could see. And even when Jesus showed up, all they could say was “If you’d only been here . . .”
They could see nothing but death and its finality. They didn’t recognize the fact that Jesus causes life to sprout anew. They knew that they would all be together again someday. But right now that big stone across the tomb was more than they could contend with. It cancelled all other possibilities. It overwhelmed their hope.
I’ve always been impressed with the story of Lazarus. Not only for the obvious show of Jesus’ ability to raise the dead; not even for the fact that Jesus wept. There was another aspect of this story that caught my attention. Before Jesus commands the dead, before He brings Lazarus back to life, He tells the people to take away the stone.
He could have supernaturally moved the rock himself. He could have raised His hands and blasted it into a million pieces. He could have caused Lazarus to walk right through it. But He didn’t. Have you ever wondered why?
I think I know. At least I want to venture a guess.
I think many times in our lives we need resurrecting. We need to come out of the tomb and back from the dead. Sometimes we need it for ourselves, and sometimes we need it for someone we love. Either way, I believe we have to be willing to remove the stone. Sometimes we have to be willing to take out the black stubby pieces and cast them aside. To see beyond the burn. Sometimes we have to let go of the past and be willing to look to the new life of the future. Easy task? No way!
I think Jesus knew the people well enough to know that they would argue with Him. And, of course, they did. “He’s gonna stink, Lord. He’s been in there four days now.”
Then Jesus asks them, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” (John 11:40).
Do you know what they did next? They acted on faith they could only hope was valid. They took away the stone, and Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. But as important as it is that Lazarus was resurrected, I think it is crucial that the people removed the stone first.
Maybe something bad has happened to you. The horror of it has left you defeated and overcome with grief. Maybe you’re even saying to God, “If you’d only been here . . .”
The blackened fields stretch out around you; the charred stubs stand as lifeless reminders of what was once beautiful and fertile ground. Maybe your husband has announced he wants a divorce. He’s found someone else. Could be that job you loved suddenly went up in flames. You find yourself laid off, let go in the wake of downsizing. Maybe your child has experimented one too many times with drugs, and now the police want you to identify her body at t
he morgue.
You stare out at the devastated land—the cold tomb. “If you’d only been here, God,” you say. “If you’d only seen and cared enough to stop this before it got this far.”
But He was there. And He is here, and He does care.
It’s easy to see the negative, the horrible bits left behind. The scars are ugly and the eradication complete. But what He showed me in my own life is that I’m not alone, and that I have only to believe and to act on that belief. To take away the stone so that I might see the glory of God.
God is still in the business of resurrecting lives. It’s not something we have to wait for until the end of time. He does it on a daily basis. He does it in ways that bring life out of the ashes of death.
That woman you know who lost her child and husband in a car accident. The man who can’t seem to quit gambling. Those sad, lost souls who are only going through the motions of life but have no direction, no hope. He can bring them back to life. He can bring them out of the tomb.
But we have a responsibility. We must be willing to take away the stone. We must act on what we profess to believe. If we leave the stone in place, we won’t see God at work. If we wrap ourselves up in the charred reminders of what might have been, of what once was, we might fail to see the new growth that springs up right beneath our feet.
What stones are you refusing to let go of? What stones are you refusing to move?
Think about the sorrow you’ve experienced, the hopelessness you’ve known. Do you need to be resurrected? I know just the one who can help.
Gather up your courage, put a little spit on your hands, and give a mighty shove. Move that stone. See beyond the fire and the charred remains of what might have been.
God’s glory is just around the corner, and He wants to share it with you. He’s in the business of bringing life out of death. Let us be in the business of moving stones.
Eyes of the Heart, The: Seeing God's Hand in the Everyday Moments of Life Page 2
