Faith grows when it is fed. It gets fat and sassy when it is shared. Faith and prayer walk hand in hand, believing, when the darkest hour is upon us. Prayer delivers us to the throne room of God. Faith tells us our Father is there—ready and willing to listen. Ready and willing to act.
Maybe faith comes hard to you. A hope in God’s promises is far from your ability to reach. Do you long for faith? Do you look at others around you and feel that somehow you’re missing the key ingredient? Does prayer seem to be a waste of time? Are you afraid God won’t answer—or worse yet, He isn’t listening?
Oswald Chambers states in his book If Ye Shall Ask, “Our Lord in His teaching regarding prayer never once referred to unanswered prayer; He said God always answers prayer. If our prayers are in the name of Jesus, i.e., in accordance with His nature, the answer will not be in accordance with our nature, but with His. We are apt to forget this, and to say without thinking that God does not always answer prayer.”[1]
God always answers our prayers. We must have faith to believe that. Faith is knowing that God can see—that He already has seen—our need and provided for it.
James 2:14–17 says, “What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save him? Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, ‘Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.”
Maybe your faith just needs a little CPR. Maybe the first action that’s missing is turning your eyes to heaven and opening your mouth in prayer. Maybe the second action is opening your eyes to the needs around you rather than focusing on your own. A church in Dallas, Texas, rallied to answer the prayers of a godly mother. They didn’t know her need, but God did. And because of their action and my mother’s prayers, the spiritual life of an eight-year-old girl was forever, profoundly changed.
Loaves and fishes are often the only faith we need to start us on our feast. Loaves of prayer and fishes of hope. They’re the only ingredients needed to produce a God-sized feast that’s guaranteed to fatten your faith and change your life.
21
Falling Through the Cracks
Once we were staying at a rustic cabin in the mountains of Colorado. The cabin left a little bit to be desired, especially for my thoroughly modern children. My son, however, having the foresight to pack his trusty Legos, made the best of a bad situation. Without television, he was forced to focus on using his imagination—which, if not one of the established spiritual gifts, is surely a gift of the Lord, nevertheless.
Playing with his toys, he suddenly grew agitated, then frantic. “What’s wrong?” I questioned, completely in the dark as to why he should be so out of sorts.
“My Lego man fell through the crack in the floor.” He struggled and worked to get that little man back, but it was a seemingly impossible task. The crack was just big enough to lose a toy, but not big enough for a boy’s hand to reach through. There were very few choices. We could forget the little man, tear up the floor, or utilize some sort of tool for retrieval.
Life in the church body can sometimes be the same way. People fall through the cracks all the time. Good people. Honest people. Tired people. Poor people. They come from all walks of life and have all kinds of stories to tell. They are of every race, culture, color, and gender. They are God’s children, and yet they are often forgotten and overlooked by the body of Christ.
Let me give you an example or two. There was a woman I’ll call Anna. She was married and had two beautiful children. She was very poor—poverty-stricken—but Anna loved God. Every Sunday she faithfully came to church and brought her two children. Anna’s husband wasn’t interested in spiritual matters or issues of faith. He chose Sunday for sleeping in and watching football. Anna tried to convince him to join her, but it only turned ugly when she stressed his need for God. Sunday mornings at home soon became a battleground for Anna and her children.
Sunday at church wasn’t much better. Anna showed up in clothes that suggested a tour of the secondhand store. Anna couldn’t afford to tithe big bucks, but she gave what she could—what she was allowed to give by her husband. Spiritually starving, emotionally spent, and in desperate need of love and friendship, Anna had very little to offer anyone in the church. She was needy, and it was very evident.
Needy people have a way of frightening others. Anna’s needs were so great that it probably seemed overwhelming to most people. Week after week she came to church, sat in her Sunday school class, and later in the sanctuary, listening to the sermon, and week after week she went home with scarcely a word spoken to her. She didn’t fit in with the married women, and she didn’t fit in with the singles. She didn’t feel she could attend the couples’ Sunday school class, but the only other classes offered for adults were for college age or seniors—neither of which she fit.
Slowly but surely Anna realized she felt worse at church fellowshipping, or more accurately, watching others fellowship, than she felt by staying home. Little by little, Anna fell through the cracks, and no one even noticed.
Then there was a lovely teenage girl. I’ll call her Sarah. Sarah was extremely bright. She was a straight-A student and very mature for her age. When her friends were reading youth books, Sarah was already reading classics, and by the time she was old enough to attend the youth group in her church, Sarah had some tough questions to ask.
The problem? No one wanted to answer her. And in all truth, maybe it was because no one had an answer. So week after week, Sarah came seeking, questioning, pleading for answers, and week after week she was sent home without any help.
“I just want to know the truth,” she told her youth leader. “I just want to understand why God’s Word can be trusted.”
But instead of the leader offering to talk to her in private about her concerns, Sarah was told to just listen to the prescribed program and not ask so many questions.
The floor opened up, and Sarah quietly slipped through.
The bad thing is, no one noticed. Sarah stopped going to youth group and then church, and no one so much as called her to ask her why. It was as if they were all relieved to not be hearing her difficult questions anymore. Sarah turned to alcohol and drugs for her answers, finding friends who were more than happy to listen to her. Instead of hope in Jesus, Sarah quietly walked away from her Christian faith. After all, if the church couldn’t give her answers, maybe the world could.
In both cases, needy, desperate people were lost to the church. They could have been productive. They could have grown spiritually. They could have influenced and helped others, but they fell through the cracks, and rather than tear up the floor or utilize a tool to get them back, the body of Christ decided they weren’t worth the effort.
I heard the youth pastor proudly declare no more than a few weeks after Sarah’s departure that their youth group was larger than ever, that the kids were growing in the Lord, and that several new arrivals had given their lives to Christ. Guess the hole in the floor got covered over with a rug.
A similar thing was true of Anna’s situation. The church continued to grow, and two new Sunday school classes were formed: for divorcees and for young parents. Attendance numbers were up and giving was up. Anna wasn’t missed. She was a sheep who had wandered off, and no shepherd cared enough to go after her.
Jesus told his disciples the parable of the lost sheep this way: “If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? And if he finds it, I tell you the truth, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should be lost” (Matthew 18:12–14).
My son worked for over an hour to retrieve his little man. He was finally successful when his dad helped him come up with a useful to
ol: a coat hanger and a piece of chewed gum. Super sleuths and international spies, eat your hearts out.
Could the body of Christ not spend as much time and attention on retrieving those souls who have fallen through the cracks of the church? Is the effort required so great that no one is able to heed the call?
What kind of tool would it take to reach through the cracks and pull these people back in?
In Anna’s case, it might have taken nothing more than a telephone call, a visit, or a note. Some evidence that someone cared.
And what of the Sarahs? Those teenagers who are asking difficult questions. Questions that strain the routine and tax the brains of leaders. Questions like “How do you know God really cares?” “If God loves me so much, then why does He allow bad things to happen to me?” “Does predestination mean that God planned for me to be this lonely?” “If I can’t lose my salvation, then why should I worry about how I conduct myself?” or “If I can lose my salvation, how do I know when I’ve done something to lose it?”
The Sarahs of the world ask hard questions. They stare you straight in the face and rock the boat for answers. They pay little attention to proper church protocol, such as “Don’t make the pastor/teacher/youth leader look stupid.”
I know at least one Sarah very well. She’s my older daughter, and she’s still asking questions. She’s come away from trying to answer those questions with the world’s answers, but she still demands a lot out of her church body and spiritual leaders. She expects answers, and she wants those cracks in the floor fixed.
I want them fixed too. I want to be so concerned with the painful, desperate people that no one ever falls away unnoticed. I want to be an ambassador of Jesus Christ, who said that when the one is lost and the ninety-nine are sitting fat and sassy, I go after the one and find out where she slipped off to. I want to be a faithful example of His love and concern so that when those in the body ask hard questions, I can offer a listening ear and an answer. And if I don’t have the answer, I want to care enough to seek out the answer.
I want to be a tool for Jesus. I want to be a coat hanger with chewed gum on the end so that I can reach down through the cracks and rescue the people who’ve fallen through. I want to be the person Jesus has called me to be. Real. Loving. Observant.
So clear the floor of the rugs and cover-ups. Look down those cracks—check those dark, lonely corners and hidden passageways. Send out search teams; rescue the fallen. The ninety-nine will still be there eating on the fat of the land when you bring back the one. The important thing is, bring back the one.
22
Disappointment
There’s this guy I know, this editor fellow. He’s neat and funny. Tells a good story, likes to hear a good story. He’s zany and fun. He really did make a difference in my life, and it wouldn’t be fair to write this book without mentioning him and what God taught me through him.
Steve is the kind of fellow you’d be pleased to know. He’s just common folk—an everyday kind of Joe who wears an editor’s cap for one of the nicest publishing establishments I know. He’s also the very first editor I ever talked to face-to-face. Steve told me he wasn’t looking for good books—he was looking for great books. And guess what? I had a good book—but not a great one. He quickly softened the blow by telling me that I was almost there, that I had talent, and I shouldn’t give up.
Complimentary disappointment rained down like a summer shower.
I didn’t want to hear that I was almost there. I wanted to hear that I was there. I wanted to so impress Steve that he would reach into his briefcase and pull out the “Author’s Rich and Famous Contract” right there on the spot. I didn’t want to have to go home and start over. I didn’t want to try again.
Complimentary disappointment isn’t any easier than regular disappointment. Face it. Disappointment is disappointment. It’s that point in our lives where something we’ve strived for or sought after has been denied us. It’s showing up an hour too late or being a dollar too short. It’s being told no when your heart not only longs for yes but has actually counted on it.
The writing industry is full of disappointment. So is the rest of the world.
When I was in high school, we had tryouts for the spring musical. On a lark, my two girlfriends and I decided to give it a shot. We didn’t want any solo parts; we only wanted to be in the chorus. One of us made it, and the other two didn’t. It doesn’t matter who was who, what mattered was the termination of our plans to experience this project together. All our dreams of attending rehearsals and eventually participating in the performance itself were over. The comment given to one of our trio was “Nice try. You’ve got a good voice, but it just isn’t what we need for this musical.”
Disappointment saturated us.
Sometimes this kind of disappointment is devastating. But other times it can be the best thing in the world.
Romans 5:3–5 says, “We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us.”
Sometimes we suffer disappointment for things that, while important to us, are not earth shattering. We face the rejection of a manuscript or a singing part. We don’t get that job we’ve gone out after, or we lose the bid on a house we like. We’re disappointed. But our suffering is minimal.
Other times the disappointment we face is monumental. We hear the words “I’m sorry, there’s nothing more we can do.” Or someone we care about says, “No, I won’t forgive you.”
Maybe you’re facing one of those monumental types of disappointment. Maybe you’ve given your heart to God after years of poor judgments and sinful choices. Now you want the forgiveness of those you’ve wronged, but the answer is no. Maybe you’ve longed for a child of your own, and together you and your spouse have gone through all kinds of infertility treatments, only to be told that you’ll never be able to have a baby.
The pain is very real whether it comes in monumental sizes or in complimentary disappointments. Our hearts hurt for the rejection or the loss.
God’s Word says that these sufferings should give us cause to rejoice. Excuse me? I’m supposed to be happy that there’s no cure for the cancer that is killing my loved one? I’m supposed to smile and give a great big “Thank you!” when someone refuses to let me participate in my heart’s dreams and desires?
Oh, this is a hard one. Rejoicing in suffering, no matter the degree to which we suffer, is not something that comes naturally. Neither is it exactly what I think we’ve often been led to believe. Does God really expect us to dance a jig of joy when we get bad news? I don’t think so.
Isaiah 66:13 says, “As a mother comforts her child, so will I [the Lord] comfort you.”
If God is offering comfort, it can’t be a sin for us to seek comfort. When our hearts are broken or even disappointed, God allows us to crawl up onto His lap and have a good cry. He’s there to comfort and encourage us back to the place where we can go on.
I think the verse in Romans speaks to our seeing the opportunity for a closer walk with Jesus—for a chance to improve, and for God to take us in a different direction. So often the direction and plans we have for ourselves fall so far short of what God has in mind for us that He has to put a roadblock up in order to keep us from going down the wrong road. Sometimes the path He sends us on is a labor for us to endure, but it’s a labor well worth the outcome.
Romans says, “Suffering produces perseverance.”
My mother used to say that perseverance was another word for “stick-to-itiveness.” It’s that “If at first you don’t succeed . . .” saying. The sorrow over my complimentary disappointment with my editor caused me to go back to the drawing board. I attended additional writing workshops. I honed my skills and went to work to find my voice.
“Perseverance [produces] character.”
In working to develop my writing, God also went to work to develop my character. My immaturity began to fade a bit
as my spirit grew in a closer walk with Him. My stubbornness, intolerance, and complete lack of patience underwent a work-over. A more positive character emerged. Oh, there’s still a lot of work to be done, believe me, but character development moved me to the next phase. Hope.
“Character [produces] hope, and hope does not disappoint us.”
Hope. What a beautiful word. The anticipation of something positive. The expectation that good is coming just over the next hill.
My character developed, and as perseverance and God continued to work me through the suffering, hope jumped in from out of nowhere (it seemed) and joined me on the journey. Where suffering had robbed me of energy, hope bolstered me. Where perseverance had wearied me, hope gave me strength. Where character came about only through growing pains, hope lovingly tended the wounds and supported me on my way.
Hope is a marvelous thing to have. Hope does not disappoint us. Not in a complimentary way or in a heartless way. Hope promises that the best is yet to come. It says not only are you on the right path but you’ve nearly finished the race!
Maybe you’re sitting here reading this right now and hope is the one thing that you know is missing in your life. It’s been gone so long you aren’t even sure what it looks like anymore. Suffering has buckled your knees and stripped you of every resource. Not only is the light at the end of the tunnel missing but you aren’t even sure where the tunnel is.
Rejoice. Not in yourself. Not in your own strength. But since your knees are buckled anyway, why not try a bit of prayer? Open your heart, even if it’s broken and bleeding. Start with something simple.
“God, you are the only one who cares.”
God is steadfast. Rejoice.
“God, I don’t know where to go from here, but you do.”
God is all-knowing. Rejoice.
“God, I can’t do this alone.”
God is faithful. Rejoice.
“God, I hurt so bad.”
Eyes of the Heart, The: Seeing God's Hand in the Everyday Moments of Life Page 9
