by Max Lucado
Adapting to this new home takes time. First few nights in a new home you can wake up and walk into a wall. I did. Not in a new home, but in a motel. Climbed out of bed to get a glass of water, turned left, and flattened my nose. The dimensions to the room were different.
The dimensions of God’s love are different too. You’ve lived a life in a house of imperfect love. You think God is going to cut you as the coach did, or abandon you as your father did, or judge you as false religion did, or curse you as your friend did. He won’t, but it takes time to be convinced.
For that reason abide in him. Hang on to Christ the same way a branch clutches the vine. According to Jesus the branch models his definition of abiding. “As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you unless you abide in Me” (John 15:4 NASB).
Does a branch ever release the vine? Only at the risk of death. Does the branch ever stop eating? Nope. It receives nutrients twenty-four hours a day. Would you say the branch is vine dependent? I would. If branches had seminars, the topic would be “Get a Grip: Secrets of Vine Grabbing.” But branches don’t have seminars because attendance requires releasing the vine, something they refuse to do.
How well do you pass the vine test? Do you ever release yourself from Christ’s love? Go unnourished? Do you ever stop drinking from his reservoir? Do so at the certain risk of a parched heart. Do so and expect a roundworm existence.
By sealing itself off against the world, the roundworm can endure extended seasons of drought. It essentially shuts down all systems. Releasing water until it’s as dry as a cotton ball, the roundworm enters a state known as anhydrobiosis, meaning “life without water.” A quarter of its body weight is converted to a material that encircles and protects its inner organs. It then shrinks to about 7 percent of its normal size and waits out the dry spell.3
Scientists assure us that humans can’t do this. I’m not so sure.
My friend’s wife left him. “Now that the kids are grown,” she announced, “it’s my time to have fun.”
Recent headlines told of a man who murdered his estranged wife and kids. His justification? If he can’t have them, no one will.
Yesterday’s e-mail came from a good man with a persistent porn problem. He’s not convinced that God can forgive him.
Anhydrobiosis of the heart. Withdrawn emotions. Callous souls. Coiled and recoiled against the love drought of life. Hard-shelled to survive the harsh desert. We were not made to live this way. What can we do?
From the file entitled “It Ain’t Gonna Happen,” I pull and pose this suggestion. Let’s make Christ’s command a federal law. Everyone has to make God’s love his or her home. Let it herewith be stated and hereby declared:
No person may walk out into the world to begin the day until he or she has stood beneath the cross to receive God’s love.
Cabbies. Presidents. Preachers. Tooth pullers and truck drivers. All required to linger at the fountain of his favor until all thirst is gone. I mean a can’t-drink-another-drop satisfaction. All hearts hydrous. Then, and only then, are they permitted to enter the interstates, biology labs, classrooms, and boardrooms of the world.
Don’t you ache for the change we’d see? Less honking and locking horns, more hugging and helping kids. We’d pass fewer judgments and more compliments. Forgiveness would skyrocket. How could you refuse to give someone a second chance when God has made your life one big new beginning? Doctors would replace sedative prescriptions with Scripture meditation: “Six times an hour reflect on God’s promise: ‘I have loved you with an everlasting love’” (Jer. 31:3 NASB; emphasis mine). And can’t you hear the newscast? “Since the implementation of the love law, divorce rates have dropped, cases of runaway children have plummeted, and Republicans and Democrats have disbanded their parties and decided to work together.”
Wild idea? I agree. God’s love can’t be legislated, but it can be chosen. Choose it, won’t you? For the sake of your fresh start. For the sake of your journey. For Christ’s sake, and yours, choose it. The prayer is as powerful as it is simple: “Lord, I receive your love. Nothing can separate me from your love.”
My friend Keith took his wife, Sarah, to Cozumel, Mexico, to celebrate their anniversary. Sarah loves to snorkel. Give her fins, a mask, and a breathing tube, and watch her go deep. Down she swims, searching for the mysteries below.
Keith’s idea of snorkeling includes fins, a mask, and a breathing tube, but it also includes a bellyboard. The surface satisfies him.
Sarah, however, convinced him to take the plunge. Forty feet offshore, she shouted for him to paddle out. He did. The two plunged into the water where she showed him a twenty-foot-tall submerged cross. “If I’d had another breath,” he confessed, “the sight would have taken it away.”
Jesus beckons you to descend and see the same. Forget surface glances. No more sunburned back. Go deep. Take a breath and descend so deeply into his love that you see nothing else.
Join the psalmist in saying:
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever. . . .
My heart has heard you say, “Come and talk with me, O my people.”
And my heart responds “Lord, I am coming.” (Ps. 73:25–26 NIV; 27:8 TLB)
part three
Ground Yourself in His Promises
No one told me the night they changed the gas pumps. Maybe I slept through the news. Perhaps I didn’t read the paper. Who knows what happened. All I know is this: I didn’t know how to gas up my car. I entered the convenience store and asked the clerk for twenty dollars’ worth of fuel on pump number three. But she wouldn’t take my money.
“You don’t have to give me money anymore.”
“Are you serious?”
“Use your credit card to pay at the pump.”
“Pay at the pump?”
“Pay at the pump.”
Some of you are too young to know this, but we used to pay for gasoline inside the store. Yes! Ask your grandparents. Life hasn’t always been this easy. When we were young, we braved the freezing cold weather or blazing heat and made the walk from pump to store. I think it was a five-mile hike. Uphill. Into the wind.
It was a great day when credit card readers were installed at the pump.
My first experience with one was confusing, however. Returning to the vehicle, I tried to figure out what to do. Hours passed. Standing between gas pump and gasless car, credit card in one hand, hose in the other, staring at the dotted letters charioting their way across the tiny screen, not believing what they were telling me to do.
“Swipe card.”
Swipe card? Why swipe a card? I already have one, thank you. Besides, theft is illegal. I’m a minister. I can’t go around swiping people’s credit cards. But, then again, what choice did I have? I noticed a rough-looking, refrigerator-sized fellow gassing up a truck next to me. He might know something about swiping. “Hey, where do you go to swipe a credit card?”
“There,” he pointed to the pump. “Right in front of your nose.”
That’s when I realized swipe meant slide. Not only did they change the system, they changed the language. So I complied. Even though my dad had pledged to punish me if I ever swiped anything, I did. I swiped my card through the slot. Didn’t work. According to the gremlin who lives inside the pump, I swiped my card in the wrong direction. The letters said, “Swipe again.”
I did but failed. Never was a good swiper.
“Look at the picture,” Mr. Big Guy shouted. “You’ve got to swipe the stripe.” Sure enough, the picture portrayed the proper stripe placement. I complied. But a good swipe wasn’t enough. “Enter pin number.” Pin number? Fortunately I had a pen in my pocket. Unfortunately it had no number. By now the man was gone, and all I could do was sigh.
What a position in which to be. My tan
k out of gas. The pump full of gas. But the connection between the pump and the car? It wasn’t happening.
Do you know the feeling? I know you do. Not with your car and gas but with your heart and God’s strength. You need fuel. Doesn’t take long to burn up a tank. Boss demands more hours, doctor requires more tests, spouse wants more attention, church needs more volunteers—everyone wants more. Before long you are out of gas. Heaven has an ample supply of energy. But how do you make the connection? How do you put God’s gas in your tank?
Here is my suggestion. Fill your tank with the promises of God. One student of Scripture spent a year and a half attempting to tally the number of promises God has made to humanity. He came up with 7,487 promises!1 God’s promises are pine trees in the Rocky Mountains of Scripture: abundant, unbending, and perennial. In the next few pages let’s explore some wonderful God-guarantees. You’ll go further on a full tank of his love.
You’ll be glad to know I finally gassed up the car. And I didn’t have to swipe anything to do it.
chapter ten
Hold On to Your Soul Anchor
We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.
—HEBREWS 6:19
Long after the kids are bathed and put to bed, the single mom stares at the bills and checkbook balance. Too many of the first, not much in the second. She’s called on all her friends. She’s cashed in all her favors. There aren’t enough hours in the day to earn more money. She stares out the window of the small apartment and wonders where to turn.
Then there is the weary man in the ICU standing at the bedside of his only love. He can scarcely remember a day without her. They married so young. He has never known anything as pure as this woman’s heart. He leans over her face and strokes her white hair. No response. The doctor has told him to say goodbye. The husband is all out of hope.
And what about the executive who sits behind the big desk in the corner office? His handshake is firm; his voice sounds confident. But don’t let his demeanor fool you. If solvency were a jet, his is in a tailspin. His banker wants to meet. His accountant wants to quit. And hope? Hope boarded a train for the coast and hasn’t been seen for a week.
You know the feeling. We all do. Even the cup-is-half-full, sanguine souls who use the lyric “the sun will come out tomorrow” as their cell-phone ring. Sometimes we just run out of hope. When we do, where can we turn?
I suggest we turn to this great and precious promise: “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf” (Heb. 6:19–20).
Look at the key terms of the first phrase: anchor and soul.
You don’t need to be told what an anchor is. You’ve held those iron castings with the pointed edges. Perhaps you’ve thrown one from a boat into the water and felt the yank as the tool found its lodging place. The anchor has one purpose—to steady the boat. To weather a blast of bad weather, you need a good anchor. You need one like the tattoo on Popeye’s forearm—strong and double pointed. You need one that can hook securely to an object that is stronger than the storm. You need a good anchor.
Why? Because you have a valuable vessel. You have a soul. When God breathed into Adam, he gave him more than oxygen; he gave him a soul. He made him an eternal being.
Because of your soul, you wonder why you are here. Because of your soul, you wonder where you are going. Because of your soul, you wrestle with right and wrong, you value the lives of others, and you get choked up at the singing of the national anthem and teary-eyed at the sight of your baby.
Your soul unites you to God. And your soul needs an anchor. Your soul is fragile. It feels the pain of death and knows the questions of disease. Your liver may suffer from the tumor, but your soul suffers from the questions. Hence, your soul needs an anchor, a hooking point that is sturdier than the storm.
This anchor is set, not on a boat or person or possession. No, this anchor is set in “the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf” (vv. 19–20). Our anchor, in other words, is set in the very throne room of God. We might imagine the anchor attached to the throne itself. It will never break free. The rope will never snap. The anchor is set, and the rope is strong. Why? Because it is beyond the reach of the devil and under the care of Christ. Since no one can take your Christ, no one can take your hope.
Do critics define your identity? No, because God said, “Let us make human beings in our image” (Gen. 1:26 NCV). That includes you.
Can challenges deplete your strength? No, because “we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ” (Rom. 8:17). You have access to the family fortune.
Are you a victim of circumstances? Not in the least. “When a believing person prays, great things happen” (James 5:16 NCV).
Does God have a place for the small people of the world? You bet he does. “God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble” (1 Peter 5:5 NKJV).
Can anyone understand what it is like to lead your life? Jesus can. “Our high priest is able to understand our weaknesses” (Heb. 4:15 NCV).
Do you feel all alone with your problems? You aren’t. Jesus “is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us” (Rom. 8:34).
Can God ever forgive your failures? He already has. “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 8:1).
Is the grave a dead end? Just the opposite. “Death has been swallowed up in victory” (1 Cor. 15:54).
Will the sorrow ever end? Sometimes it feels as if it won’t. But God has assured us: “Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning” (Ps. 30:5 NLT).
Will you have the wisdom and energy for the remainder of your life? No, you won’t. But the Holy Spirit does. “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you” (Acts 1:8).
Life isn’t fair! But it will be, “For [God] has set a day when he will judge the world” (Acts 17:31).
Death, failure, betrayal, sickness, disappointment—they cannot take your hope, because they cannot take your Jesus. You may believe this but still ask, “Is there any hope?” when you find yourself overwhelmed by tough times.
Are you asking that question? Are you the single mom who has no resources? The man in the ICU with no strength? The businessman with no answers? Are you asking the question, Is there any hope?
Jonathan McComb did.
The McCombs were the picture of the all-American family. Two young, beautiful children. Terrific marriage. Jonathan worked ranches. Laura sold pharmaceuticals. They were God fearing, happy, busy, and carefree. Then came the storm. Rain was in the forecast. But a once-in-a-century flood? No one saw it coming. The Blanco River rose twenty-eight feet in ninety minutes and roared through the South Texas hill country, taking homes, cars, and bridges with it. Jonathan and his family sought safety on the second floor of the cabin in which they were staying, but safety was nowhere to be found. The house was yanked off its foundation. They found themselves clutching a mattress, riding white water.
Jonathan survived.
No one else did.
When Denalyn and I visited him in the hospital, he could hardly move from the pain. But the broken ribs and hip were nothing compared to the broken heart. Jonathan tried to talk. But he mustered only tears.
A couple of weeks later he found the strength to speak at the funeral for his wife and two children. It seemed the entire city of Corpus Christi, Texas, was present. The church had no empty seats or dry eyes. For well more than half an hour, Jonathan described his wife and children. He spoke of their laughter and joy and how empty his house had become.
Then he said:
People have been asking me how I am doing and how I can stay so strong and positive in a time like this. I have told them that I have been leaning on my family, my friends, and most importantly my faith. . . . After church every Sunday, Laura would always ask, “How do we get more people to come to church
and learn about salvation?” Well, Laura, what do you think? They’re here.
A particular verse that I have loved over the years has also helped me along. “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding” (Prov. 3:5). I have no explanation for why such a tragic event like the flood takes place and lives are lost, but I know that God is not going to give us anything we can’t handle. I know that we are here for a little while, but trust me—if I could have every bone broken in my body to have them back, I would do it, but it is not our call. . . . Yes, I know that this entire tragedy is horrible, and I have been angry, upset, confused, and left to wonder why. I have cried enough tears to fill that river up a hundred times. But I know that I can’t stay angry or upset or confused or continue to ask myself why, because I will find out that answer when my time comes and I am reunited with them in heaven. But trust me, that will be the first question I ask.
I took note of the number of times Jonathan used the phrase “I know.”
I know that God is not going to give us anything we can’t handle.
I know that we are here for a little while . . .
I know that this entire tragedy is horrible.
I know . . . I will [be] reunited with them in heaven.
Jonathan was not naive or dismissive. He didn’t react with superficial, shallow belief. He knew the tragedy was horrible. But in the midst of the storm, he found hope, an unshakable hope. He found no easy answers, but he found the Answer. He made the deliberate decision to build his life on God’s promise to restore and renew.
