Scott answered with humility, boldness, confidence, clarity of vision, and purpose — and the more he talked, the more I sensed God’s hand was on his life. At the end of that first conversation, my eyes were opened to something I believed God was doing, and my resistance melted. I agreed with Danny to do whatever we could to help Scott. One year to the day after going into exile, Danny and I returned. We came back into church fellowship with those who are not perfect but are committed to connecting people to Jesus for life change. Because God cares, He brought us out of exile.
Although Hagar was not aware of it, God cared about her also as she ran from her wounders. As her sandaled feet moved swiftly over the rough, rocky terrain that emptied into an endless desert, I imagine she must have felt lonely, confused, terrified, and angry. I expect she mentally replayed the scene with Sarah over and over again. Maybe she even had an imaginary confrontation: Just who do you think you are? Your name might mean “princess,” but you’re nothing but a bitter, barren old woman. As for sleeping with your husband, do you think I enjoyed that for even one moment? I was just doing my duty. Now I’m carrying his child, which is more than you could ever say. And you’d better not follow me or I’ll run and run and keep on running until I’m so far away you will never find me. And the old man will never have his baby.
One reason I think Hagar may have had an imaginary confrontation with Sarah is that I often rehearse imaginary conversations with my wounders, honing my words like knives on flint until they are not only sharp, but seem brilliant to me. Of course, as my words get sharper and sharper, I find myself feeling angrier and more justified in self-pity or in plotting revenge. Although I would never speak the words out loud, they shred my inner peace because they keep my focus on “them,” and what they did to me.
Instead of having an imaginary conversation with myself, I would be better served by pouring out my heart to God in prayer. Yet I have discovered that while I may have an endless supply of angry words for a one-sided conversation in my mind, I find myself at a deplorable loss for words in prayer. When that happens and I struggle for words, I often turn to David’s prayers in the Psalms and use them as my own. For example,
Give ear to my words, O LORD,
consider my sighing.
Listen to my cry for help,
my King and my God,
for to you I pray.
In the morning, O LORD, you hear my voice;
in the morning I lay my requests before you
and wait in expectation… .
The arrogant cannot stand in your presence; you hate all who do wrong.
You destroy those who tell lies… .
Lead me, O LORD, in your righteousness
because of my enemies —
make straight your way before me.
Not a word from their mouth can be trusted… .
Let their intrigues be their downfall… .
But let all who take refuge in you be glad;
let them ever sing for joy.
Spread your protection over them,
that those who love your name may rejoice in you.
For surely, O LORD, you bless the righteous;
you surround them with your favor as with a shield.1
David’s honesty in his prayers resonates with my heart. Often he begins his prayer complaining, crying out, expressing anger toward his enemies, but invariably he ends his prayer with praise of God. You can almost pinpoint the place where his focus changes from “them” to “Him.”
I know by experience what David knew. Prayer can help heal your hurt. It can take the sting away. One reason is that it can help put your wounding in perspective. When I focus on God and who He is, my wounders don’t seem so intimidating and my hurt somehow becomes smaller. So may I encourage you? Put the brakes on any runaway mental conversations you may be having with those who have wounded you. If you don’t, and those sharp words careen recklessly across the highway of your healing journey, your wounded heart and life are going to end up as something like splattered roadkill. At the very least, you will delay, and perhaps even deny, the healing God wants to give you. And while the damage may not be readily apparent to anyone else, you will miss out on the blessing and purpose God has for you.
Maybe you are not having any imaginary conversations — no onesided, mental confrontations with your wounders. Instead, maybe you are having actual conversations … but with others, not with the ones who hurt you. Perhaps you have gravitated to people who have also been wounded. As you repeatedly open your wounds to sympathetic ears, you begin to feel not only supported and encouraged, but also justified in your hardness of heart. It’s as though your deterioration into a bitter, angry person is not only something you can blame on the wounder, but also a means of revenge. You want others to know how bad that person has been by showing them how miserable you are. It reminds me of an old saying: “Bitterness is like drinking poison hoping the other person gets sick.”
Who have you invited to “drink the poison” with you? How long is the guest list for your pity party? Are you gathering an audience to listen to your angry complaints, witness your heated tears, and stir up the same outrage you feel for the offender? Unfortunately, pity parties never result in authentic benefit or blessing; they just enlarge, deepen, and intensify the wound by repeatedly exposing it. At the very least, these kinds of discussions with others will keep you focused on your hurts instead of focused on your Healer.
Hagar’s focus was definitely not on her Healer. She was running. And she was running on “the road to Shur.”2 That was the road to Egypt. Hagar was going back. Back home to her mother. Back home to the familiar pagans of Egypt. Back home to where she used to belong. She reminds me of the apostle Peter, who went back to his prior life of fishing after his dismal failure as a disciple when he denied his Lord.3
When we fail at trying to do the right thing, or live the right way, or say the right words, or be the right person, or fit into the right fellowship, we often just want to give up and say, “I can’t do this. I’m going back to the life I used to know.” The familiarity of a former way of life, or old friends, or previous habits can seem to be comfortable at a time when we’re rejected or wounded by God’s people. The “world” of Egypt seems safer than the “church” of Abraham’s tent. But going back only increases our misery, doesn’t it? We can’t go back. Not really. Because we can remember what it was like to be in God’s presence and to be part of His family with a greater purpose to life than just living for ourselves. Yet we find ourselves in a Catch-22. We don’t really want to go back to our former way of life, but we don’t feel we fit in with God’s people either. Which is why God Himself needs to show up.
It was at this miserable moment on the road to Shur as Hagar was not only running away, but running back, that God showed up and taught her a profound life lesson: Even if you run from the wounders, you can’t outrun God.
As she ran, her heart must have been beating out of her chest. Her breath must have come in shallow gasps, either from the physical exertion or the panic she surely experienced when “the angel of the LORD found Hagar near a spring in the desert.”4
God did show up! Hagar wasn’t alone after all. He was there. Right there. Because God cares. He came to her as “the angel of the LORD,” a mysterious description of Him as He appears suddenly, unexpectedly, and seemingly out of nowhere from time to time in the Old Testament. God is described as the Angel of the Lord when He wrestled with Jacob by the Jabbok River, leaving him both blessed and limping.5 He was described in a similar fashion when He confronted Joshua outside of Jericho, told him to take off his shoes because he was on holy ground, and then told him how to overcome the enemy fortress.6 He appeared to Gideon in this way, appointing him as the deliverer of His people when he was hiding from the Midianites in the winepress.7 Again and again this intriguing figure appears throughout the history of Israel. Scholars agree that the Angel of the Lord is a “theophany,” or an appearance of the pre-incarnate
Son of God. Astoundingly, He is Jesus before Bethlehem! Who can fathom the magnificent grace of God in that the very first time we encounter the visible Son of God is right here, at the spring beside the road to Shur, revealing Himself …
to a woman not a man;
to a servant, not a warrior;
to an Egyptian, not a descendant of Abraham;
to a sinner, not a saint;
to a slave, not a king;
to an outsider, not an insider.
What an undeserved, compassionate intervention of the Creator in the life of one wounded woman. He intentionally sought and found her — while she was running!
Why? Why did God go after Hagar? Why didn’t He just let her run away, die in the desert, have a timely miscarriage, or return to Egypt where she would never have been heard from again? Having Hagar out of the picture would have solved a lot of problems in Abraham’s household. So why didn’t God simply dismiss her as Abraham had done?
The incredibly wonderful, amazing answer is because God loved Hagar! God felt her pain even though it was provoked by her own arrogance. He cared so much about the wounds inflicted on a pregnant Egyptian servant that He left His throne in heaven and ran after her, pursuing her right into the desert. While God chose Abraham as the one through whom He would uniquely bless the world, Hagar represented the world that He wanted to bless.
God loved Hagar as much as He loved Abraham!
This is a truth to wrap your heart and mind around, especially in a world that sometimes thinks God cares more about …
Jews than Muslims,
whites than blacks,
the churched than the unchurched,
insiders than outsiders,
men than women,
rich people than poor people,
adults than children,
religious people than atheists;
that He cares more about us than them.
God cares about each of us and all of us — period! And because He really does love you — He really does care about you — you and I can run, but we can’t outrun Him.
When Hagar knelt to get a refreshing drink from the spring, she heard a sound. It may have taken a few moments to quiet her racing heart and collect her scattered thoughts so she could really listen. It must have been a sound more beautiful than gurgling water, clearer than a singing bird, softer than the desert wind, more tender than her mother’s voice.
Glancing in the direction of the sound, her eyes must have squinted against the harsh, glaring light of the sun, trying to focus through her tears on who was speaking to her. Then she saw Him. A mysterious figure gazing at her with a compassion that reached back before the foundations of the world, reached ahead all the way to the cross, reached up all the way to heaven, and reached down to her — right there — on the desert road that led to Egypt.
He was speaking to her, calling her by name. Hagar …
And the little wounded runaway servant girl, with tears streaming down her grimy face, her heart still pumping furiously, her breath coming in ragged gasps, encountered the One Who Sees and pursues those who are running. She met the amazing God David worshiped and to whom David prayed:
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.8
Wherever you are, whoever you are, David’s God — the God of Hagar — is right there. If you can still the racing beat of your heart, quiet your frantic thoughts, silence those imaginary conversations, listen carefully with the ears of your spirit, then you will begin to hear His voice. I think I can hear Him now, calling you by name …
SIX
Spiritual Blind Spots
You Are Missing the Obvious
And he said, “Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from, and where are you going?”
“I’m running away from my mistress Sarai,” she answered.
Then the angel of the LORD told her, “Go back to your mistress and submit to her.” The angel added, “I will so increase your descendants that they will be too numerous to count …”
She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.” That is why the well was called Beer Lahai Roi; it is still there, between Kadesh and Bered.
So Hagar bore Abram a son, and Abram gave the name Ishmael to the son she had borne. Abram was eighty-six years old when Hagar bore him Ishmael.
Genesis 16:8–10, 13–16
Both of my parents have suffered from macular degeneration, a disease that blurs vision by causing a blind spot. My mother used to look at me with her characteristic twinkle and exclaim, “Anne, I can’t see your face. All I can see is a blank spot framed with hair.” In the end, she couldn’t even see my hair! And in spite of the latest medical treatments, including frequent injections directly into his eye, my father has lost the ability to focus. He can no longer read his Bible or the daily newspapers that still come to the house. His wonderful staff has improvised so that they pull up a large flat-screen television within three feet of where he is sitting, but he still has difficulty seeing the picture. One of my joys when I visit is to watch TV with him, explaining what I see. Or to read the newspaper headlines to him, commenting on what I read and asking him what he thinks. I can’t imagine how hard it is for my father, whose mind is still alert and active, to have blind spots that hinder him from seeing clearly.
Having witnessed the effects of this disease up close, I see it as the perfect metaphor for Hagar’s spiritual condition when she fled from Abraham and Sarah. She suffered from a significant blind spot of her own, a kind of spiritual macular degeneration. There were some things she just could not see clearly. So the Angel of the Lord gently questioned her. Not for information, since He already knew what had happened. He questioned Hagar for her own benefit, to help her focus. He wanted Hagar to talk things through with Him because she may have thought that she was just a victim, not responsible for what had happened. That the mess she was in was someone else’s fault. She may have been bitterly focused on them — God’s people who had wronged her — while remaining blind to her own failures.
The Angel of the Lord gently probed her blindness: “Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from, and where are you going?”1 Reading between the lines, I can imagine a whole host of additional questions: Hagar, will you talk with Me for a moment about what you’re doing and where you belong? You are Sarah’s servant; don’t you think you belong with her? Are you sure this is what you want to do with your life and where you want to go? Is this really wise? Will this course of action make you happy? Hagar, I know you’ve been deeply hurt by people who call themselves by My name. You’re rejecting them. Are you also rejecting Me? Let’s think this through carefully. Together.
When wounded, you and I also need to think things through very carefully. Could the wounding we’ve received be in response to wounds we’ve inflicted? It would be beneficial to talk things over with God because, if you’re like me, it’s easy to develop spiritual macular degeneration. When I’m hurt, it’s so much easier to focus on the faults of others. It seems to be almost an instinctive reaction to wounding and a convenient defense mechanism: It’s not me. It’s them! And even if it were me, what I did to them wasn’t as hurtful as what they did to me. So it’s still them!
Like Hagar, we need help in focusing on ourselves. So I’ve paraphrased the questions that the Angel of the Lord used to probe her heart to make them more relevant and personal for us. Prayerfully consider answering them one by one …
Where are you in your healing journey?
Do you remember what your life was like before you were wounded?
H
ow did you get to this place?
How is the way you are reacting today going to help you tomorrow?
Do you want your life characterized by the result of remaining focused on “them” while being blind to your own pride, arrogance, anger, resentment, name-calling, vengeful digs, schemes for revenge, or vicious gossip disguised as prayer requests?
Are these attitudes working for you and making you happy?
Do they give you a temporary sense of satisfaction but then disintegrate into a desire for even more revenge? And more misery?
What are you living for? Instead of living your life to the glory of God, are you driven by a desire to get even, vindicate your actions, prove someone else wrong, justify your opinion, expose the other person, get your own way?
Consider carefully … do any of these desires truly honor God?
When was the last time you put your head on the pillow conscious of God’s sweet peace and joy flooding your heart? If you can’t remember, could it be time for you to give your attention to considering your own part in the wounding?
Some of those questions hurt. I know because I have asked them of myself before sharing them with you. It can seem less uncomfortable to keep our eyes shut when the light of truth reveals our blind spot than to open our eyes and allow the light to penetrate into the deep recesses of our hearts where we rarely go. It takes courage to endure that kind of pain and just open our eyes.
Hagar didn’t open her eyes. Her response to the Lord’s questions, while being honest, reveals that she was still out of focus. Her attention seemed to be more on Sarah than herself: “I’m running away from my mistress Sarai.”2 I can almost hear the unspoken subtext behind her words: It’s not my fault. Sarah is the cause of this. She’s mean.
Wounded by God's People Page 6
