Strength for the Day

Melissa moved to Calgary a few months ago to begin a Master of Architecture program at the U of C. As the first term winds down, the crazy pace has intensified and she told us that for the next while she will be living right at the school, sleeping on a couch and budgeting her time for five hours of sleep a night.

I sent her some encouraging words the other morning, blessing her with strength, confidence, and peace. She texted back saying that she would have a fifteen-minute bus ride shortly and that we could have a chat on the phone. In our conversation, I shared three scriptures, which then reminded me of an article I wrote about fifteen years ago. I told her I would find the article and email it to her.

Reading about that day-in-the-life was like looking at an old snapshot of another life, but the words are as true today—and as relevant—as they were then.

This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it (Psalm 118:24).

Life is so busy lately. And I’ve been running short on sleep, which doesn’t help. Last night Greg and I didn’t get settled until 12:30—again. Then he woke up at 5:30 a.m., and although he was trying to be very quiet about opening his current book or his Bible or whatever it was, I woke up too. Sometimes I can put the pillow over my head and sleep on, but this time I could tell right away that my brain was up and running for the day.

I peeked out at the morning. Brilliant blue sky. It was gorgeous. But as I viewed my day from where I lay, it didn’t look so appealing. Once I got the kids out the door to school, there would be a quick scramble of duties before I left for my singing lesson. I didn’t have enough energy even to put my heart into my singing. And I really needed to work out this morning, but my limbs felt like deadwood. How would I muster the strength? And the remainder of the day was a maze of commitments, finishing with year-end ceremonies at the girls’ school. It would be another late night.

I found myself staring into the familiar face of a long-time acquaintance: discouragement. I wouldn’t exactly say that he’s a friend, but I have spent a lot of time with him over the years. And in all those times with him, I can’t say that I remember ever once having any fun. I turned away from his dark face and looked into the face of the Lord.

“This is the day that the Lord has made,” I found myself saying aloud. “I will rejoice and be glad in it.” I never much cared for that quote. It was mercilessly butchered in a simplistic chorus, sung over and over in churches when I was a new Christian. It spoke to me of a superficial joy in a newly discovered God, a joy based on pleasant circumstances, utterly untested by the true facts of life. But now suddenly this verse was resurrected from its lowly status and infused with new life. This is the day that God has specially designed for me to live today, I thought. In His wisdom and goodness He has deemed that I face this day, full of commitments and challenges, with a tired body, fortified by only five hours of sleep. Because I trust Him, I will rejoice and be glad in it.

And so I began my day, choosing to rejoice in the Lord. As the morning progressed and my thoughts mused on God and His Word, another verse connected itself to the first: “The joy of the Lord is your strength ” (Nehemiah 8:10). Hmmm. Another seemingly trite verse (God forbid that I actually say anything in His Word is trite!) from another silly song reminiscent of my early salvation. But see now how it ties in with the other verse: If I choose to rejoice in the Lord in this difficult day, I will find strength from Him.

Now the little concordance in my brain, of its own volition, took a key word from each of those two verses and went searching for a verse that would tie the loose ends together. Day, strength. Day, strength . . . What was that verse hovering on the edge of my memory? And then it popped up on my mental screen: “As thy days, so shall thy strength be” (Deuteronomy 33:25b). Whatever kind of day I face, God will see to it that I have the strength to match it.

I see, Lord. As I face my day, I choose to rejoice in You. That joy will be the source of the strength I need. And the strength You give me will be sufficient to meet whatever You bring me in the course of this day.

Well, it was a good day. And I even found an hour free to lie down, but I was physically over-tired and I only dozed fitfully. I felt much worse when I got back up. Again discouragement came knocking as I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to clear my foggy brain.

I remembered the Lord’s teaching from earlier in the day. Determinedly I chose to speak out the Word of God. But this is how it came out: “This is the Lord that the day has made . . .” and my voice trailed off with a little laugh as I realized my error.

And then I thought a bit more about what I’d inadvertently said. How often do we make that error? We allow the kind of day we’re having to determine how big our God is. We reduce the Lord to the stature of the day. The day becomes the measure of our God, instead of the other way around.

The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty! (Zephaniah 3:17a). Blessed is the man whose strength is in thee (Psalm 84:5a).

Take No Thought

Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. (Philippians 1:6)

 

Our daughter Melissa is quickly nearing the end of a four-month internship in Washington, DC. It has suddenly come to my remembrance that I started writing an article when she first arrived there, which I always meant to get back to and finish and send to her. Here it is, now or never.

She and I were exchanging a few light texts one evening when she abruptly changed the subject. She said her insecurities were flaring up; she was over-thinking things, putting certain expectations on herself. Many of the stresses she wrestles with fit under the heading of what she calls “people pleasing.” Her thoughts were running away with her and she couldn’t seem to stop them.

I see an unfortunate similarity with her mother in the area of runaway thoughts, unconscious and undisciplined thinking, and I find myself hoping that she will get free of these things a lot sooner than I have.

“Hey dear,” I texted, “I wish I could help you stop your busy mind …”

Then I thought of something that Jesus said several times in His earthly ministry, and that He has said several times to me personally over the years.

I continued: “I think Jesus would say, ‘Take no thought.’ Think of it as a command.”

I paused and thought and then texted on:

“So when you catch yourself ‘taking a thought,’ repent—that means change your mind!—and put it back where you got it.”

If we take something we’ve been told not to take, especially if it’s God and His Son who have told us not to take it, well, we’re obviously moving in the wrong direction.

I glanced at my watch. It was a little after 9:30 p.m. That made it nigh on to midnight where she was. I hoped she’d get to bed soon and not start doing a Bible study at this very moment; nevertheless I made a suggestion:

“Do a search in the King James Version for ‘take no thought,’ and I think you’ll see the kind of things he doesn’t want us clogging our minds with. He implies that it’s the antithesis of faith. Rest and peace on you, my dear girl, body and soul.”

She thanked me for my words and said she would look it up in the morning. Then she added, “Plus I realize that I didn’t spend quality time with God this morn. Still trying to get a routine and a place to have my quiet/rest-in-Him time.”

Of course. Jesus, toward the end of all his advice on taking no thought, gives that very antidote: “But seek first the kingdom of God and His way of living—and He’ll see that everything else is looked after.” (Matthew 6:33, paraphrase)

It must be hard for Melissa to carve out that space for seeking God, I thought, just settling into this internship in DC, sharing living quarters with several other young women and a bedroom with one of them. It’s hard enough for me to find that time in the midst of my own busyness, even with all the freedoms my current status in life affords. The empty nest and all that.

I looked it up for myself in the morning—“Take no thought.”

The first twenty-four verses of Matthew 6 are all about learning to choose God’s opinion, God’s approval, God’s kingdom, over the opinions, approvals, and dominions of this world and its people. We are called to love and serve others, but we can’t even do that freely when we’re caught up in what they think of us. It comes down to letting go of our reputation so we’re free to move in God’s rhythms.

Then at verse 24 begin the “take no thoughts.” “Take no thought for your life, what you will eat, what you will drink, what your body looks like and what you will put on it. Your father will look after all of that.”

“Take no thought about how tall you are or about how many years you will live. You have no control over that, but God does.”

A little further along, Jesus reiterates. (Repetition speaks of emphasis.) “Therefore take no thought—and waste no words talking—about what you’ll eat or drink or dress yourself in. Those who don’t trust God worry about these things, but this kind of preoccupation is not appropriate for a child of God.”

I had texted Melissa to consider “Take no thought” as a command. Perhaps I didn’t choose the word carefully enough. Some Christians are fond of saying, “It’s a command, not a suggestion.” It’s a way of manipulating, trying to force people to comply with God’s instruction. It quickly brings bondage. But God’s instruction is meant to bring liberty—in this case, freedom from the worries that preoccupy most of us. “Instead,” He says, “focus on my kingdom. Get preoccupied with that. God will keep that person in perfect peace who steadies his mind on God and His interests. Oh, and then, by the way, God will look after all those other things you used to worry about.” (Isaiah 26:3, Matthew 6:33)

The chapter ends with another exhortation about our thought life: “Take no thought for tomorrow. Tomorrow will look after itself. There are enough challenges today in which you will have opportunity to test your faith to the limit.”

I like what The Message version says in this chapter, in the part where Jesus instructs us to consider the state of the birds, blithely living under God’s provision: “Look at the birds, free and unfettered, ... careless in the care of God.” Not careless as in sloppy, but as in without a care in the world. It reminds me to cast all my cares upon the One who cares for me. (1 Peter 5:7)

“What I’m trying to do here,” The Message continues, “is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God’s giving....” Getting may make us think of materialism, being enamoured with the goods of this world, but getting is broader than that. In my case, my most obsessive desire for getting has to do with getting things done, and this is always a struggle of my own fleshly effort. God, meanwhile, is continually trying to give me something: His peace.

Further from The Message (6:33 again): “Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met.”

There is another final “take no thought” a few chapters farther along. It refers specifically to times of intense persecution when Christians will be hauled up before authorities, but the exhortation and promise given here cover us in any situation where we are put on the spot to speak. As a daily discipline and delight, let us learn to listen for God’s prompting and only speak those things we hear Him speaking. “Take no thought,” says Jesus, “how or what ye shall speak: for it shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall speak.  For it is not ye that speak, but the Spirit of your Father which speaketh in you (Matthew 10:19-20, KJV).

 

Will not God, who gave his son, freely give you all things? (Romans 8:32, paraphrase)

 

 

The Raven

I have directed the ravens (God speaking, 1 Kings 17:4, NIV). 

It was a Friday morning. In keeping with my current wacky sleep schedule, I had woken up at about five o’clock, and now, three hours later, was back in bed hoping to top up my rest so that I was fit for the day. But I couldn’t go back to sleep. I lay there for an hour, trying every which position to facilitate a gentle descent into dreamland, but nothing was working.

Then I heard footsteps in the hallway. More accurately, I heard the distinctive creak of the floor outside our bedroom door that indicates someone’s approach. Greg had headed out of province a couple of hours earlier, so it must be our son Ben, I thought, needing something and wondering if I was awake. “Hello,” I called, so that he would know that I was indeed. But there was no response. I turned over the other way and closed my eyes.

The floor creaked again. There is absolutely no way that that happens unless there is someone out there. “Hello,” I called, more loudly this time. Still nothing.

Again I tried to settle. Just moments later I heard another creak and a gentle knock on the door. “Hello,” I called. “Come in!”

Suddenly I realized that the knock had not been on the door but on the window just above me. Someone had knocked on my second floor window! I grabbed the bottom on the venetian blind, intending to lift it right up, but quickly thought the better of it as I was in a skimpy nightie. Instead I carefully lifted the blind a few inches and peered out. There, just a couple of feet from my window, was a raven. The movement startled him and there was a great flurry of wings as he flew away, immediately followed by his mate, who had been just outside my range of vision.

I remembered now that I had been hearing a bunch of ravens calling to one another all through the early morning hours. We don’t often see ravens out at our property. I’d certainly never before heard the raucous carryings-on that had filled the background of my morning so far today. And now one of them had stopped to visit me personally. My first thought was one of foreboding. It seemed to me that the raven is supposed to be an ill omen. Certainly Edgar Allen Poe’s poem by that name is dark, ominous, almost occultic. But then again, I thought, in Biblical times God sent ravens to bring food to Elijah the prophet for a period of time in the wilderness. In that event they were very welcome missionaries.

I lay back down, feeling that I really wasn’t supposed to be trying to sleep anymore. I thought of Samuel, dedicated by his mother to the Lord from his very conception and left at the temple, just a little weanling, to be raised by the high priest, Eli; of how one night while still a young boy he heard someone calling his name and ran to the priest to see what he wanted. Eli sent him back to bed. “I didn’t call you,” the old man said. It happened a second time, and then a third. The third time, Eli clued in and realized that it was the Lord who was calling Samuel. He instructed him, “If He calls again, answer: ‘Speak; for thy servant heareth.’”

As it says in 1 Samuel 3:1, NLT, “Now in those days messages from the Lord were very rare, and visions were quite uncommon.” But God called Samuel’s name a fourth time that night. The young boy responded as he had been instructed, and God gave him a very important message.

As I lay there thinking, I heard the ravens land again on the roof that is just below my window. It was a heavy-footed tread that sounded like a grown man walking around out there. The sound stopped outside the window. I got up on my knees and lifted the blind way up. I was face to face with the raven: I was less than a foot from the glass and he was the same distance the other side. We stared at each other. His gaze was fierce. I could see every vivid detail. Then he tilted his head another way, as though to add emphasis, eyes still fixed on me. If I could translate that look into words, it would be “Pay attention!” The word “messenger” came to my mind. After about eight long seconds, the raven’s wings flashed again and he mounted up to the sky. His mate, who had been standing just a couple of feet away, flew right behind him.

I lay back down. There was no question that I was getting up; I just needed a few more minutes to clear my head and muster my resolve to face the day without sufficient rest. A minute had hardly gone by when I heard a thump again at the far end of the lower roof, and the footsteps came again, with firm intent, this time traversing the roof a good thirty feet to my window. And then, for the second time, came the beak on the glass, aggressively this time: “Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap.”

I lifted the blind one more time. He and his mate flew away immediately, calling raucously to half a dozen or so of their kin that were circling some distance from the house. I got on my feet and began my day, dressing and straightening up the room, talking to God, thinking of Samuel. “Speak,” I said, “for thy servant heareth.” Then I added, “Well, actually, Lord, I’m not sure how well I heareth, but I sure listeneth.”

I was supposed to be meeting our daughter Melissa for lunch in downtown Edmonton. I might as well get a move on. But first I wanted to phone my husband. I still had a low-lying cloud of fear over me, wondering if the raven had been a messenger of impending disaster. I wanted to pray with Greg for each of our kids, for the special people in their lives, and for each of our workers. But God seemed to be saying no. Not right now. Then I wanted to phone my friend Deb and tell her all about the raven. No, God seemed to say again. Talking about something outside of my timing is as useless as gossip.

What I did feel to do was to google “raven” and find out what it symbolizes. I quickly found myself at a site that seemed like the right one. The first thing I saw was a text box with a quote in it attributed to “Raven.” It read, “You are the master of synchronicity. Know in your heart that all doors are open wide. All you have to do is move through them.”

Below the text box was the main body of content, beginning with the heading “If Raven Has Come to You.” The first paragraph began, “If Raven has come visiting you—” and I thought, Are you kidding me? He surely has!  

If Raven has come visiting you, it can mean any number of things. Most powerful of all is the synchronicity that Raven assures you is pending. He is a master of bending and folding time and space so that you are exactly in the right moment at the right time. As a messenger¸ [he reminds you] that those around you are reflecting back at you the things you most have to learn about yourself.

Know that when Raven appears that magic is eminent. Raven is about rebirth, recovery, renewal, recycling, and certainly reflection and healing. He signifies moving through transitions smoothly by casting light into the darkness. 

It was not lost on me that the raven was here referred to as a messenger. In fact, the word “messenger” was highlighted (albeit to show another link). Then there was the phrase, “magic is eminent.” Now “magic” is not a word much used in my vocabulary, but I simply translated it as “supernatural,” meaning “all things God,” and that suited me just fine. The kingdom of heaven is eminent. At hand. Yes!

Then began the next section, but God seemed to say, Don’t read any further. The rest is irrelevant to you. I stopped reading. I really wanted to hear, and I really wanted to obey, because this is how we get into the flow of God’s life, and how we get to see amazing things.

All that I had read thus far had made me think of Melissa, especially as she has been taking some counselling and has been processing a lot. I decided I would share these excerpts with her and see if they rang any bells with her.

Now I felt that it was okay to phone Greg and tell him the story of the morning. He was amazed and intrigued. “The raven coming to your window is quite something,” he said, “but three times!” He was quite willing to agree with me in prayer concerning the safety of our loved ones and those with whom we have to do, and so we prayed, but afterwards he said he didn’t think this was a warning as such. “Ì think the important thing here,” he said, “is the message, ‘Pay attention!’”

In due course I headed for the city. En route, I turned on my favourite classical station just in time to hear the host say about a composer, “He’s just the messenger.” Synchronicity. The synchronizing of time and circumstances.

I was three-quarters of the way to my lunch date with Melissa when my phone rang. A familiar female voice said, “Hello? Is this the Pine Haven Colony?”

“Hello?” I answered. “Is this Deb?”

“Yes,” she said, sounding confused.

“This is Nancy,” I clarified for her. “How on earth did you end up calling me?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s the colony’s number?”

She told me.

“That’s the same as my number except that where their last digit is 4, mine is 7.”

That cleared up that little mystery.

“Well, you better hang up and call the colony,” I said, “but before you do, I want to tell you something. I wanted to call you earlier but the Lord told me it wasn’t the right time. I have a feeling that the right time is now.” And so I told her all about the raven.

“This is fascinating,” she said. “I’m going to be really praying into this. I’ll let you know if the Lord gives me anything.”

I picked up Melissa outside her office building, and shortly we were seated with a meal. I told her the story of my morning, and that I felt there might be something in the message for her.

 “Let me read you what I found on that website about the raven,” I said. 

I got out my phone and found the webpage; scanned the text box with the quote by “Raven.”

“Oh my goodness!” I exclaimed.

“What?” she asked.

“This is not the quote that was here two hours ago,” I said, thoroughly confused and mystified. “How can this be?”

“What did it say before?” she asked.

“I can’t remember. Except I know it said something about synchronicity.”

“What does it say now?”

“‘Something special is about to happen. Use gratitude to speed its process.’”

“That’s kind of interesting,” she said, “’cause this morning I was sitting at my desk and thinking about how much I like my job and how grateful I am for everything in my life right now. I was so full of joy and gratefulness. And I was aware of my gratitude.”

I read her the rest of what had caught my attention on the site, in particular the part saying, “Those around you are reflecting back at you the things you most have to learn about yourself,” as well as the words “reflection and healing,” as this had made me think of the counselling she has been having. Also “moving through transitions smoothly,” because she has recently transitioned back from school to full-time work and also in another month is heading for Washington, D.C., to begin a four-month internship.

So we talked about her last counselling appointment and other things and then I rushed her back to work, after promising to email her the stuff from the raven site so that she could ponder it further.

Later that evening I checked the site again to copy and paste it into an email for her. I found yet another message in the text box. The mystery of these changing quotes was solved when I scrolled to the bottom of the page and saw a note explaining that these quotes rotated among four or five different messages in the course of the day. They suggested that the “right” message would be there when someone needed it. Kind of like a Chinese fortune cookie, I guess. Now, for the nervous or religious Christian, I know that God’s word warns us against pursuing any kind of divination. But I was convinced that God had led me to this site and that it was all a part of the message he wanted me to ponder. After all, God can speak through anyone or anything He chooses, even a dumb ass (Numbers 22:21-33, KJV).

In subsequent visits to this website, I found several other messages circulating through the text box. Each of them was signed, “—Raven.” Here below, I have juxtapositioned these quotes with scriptures that they brought to my mind:

“You are more powerful than you think you are. Believe and have faith!” (Philippians 4:13, NKJV: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!”)

“It’s time for you to make changes within yourself. Embrace your true potential and become who you really are.” (Romans 12:2 and Ephesians 2:10, NKJV: “Be transformed by the renewing of your mind. You are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works which He has before prepared that you might walk in them.”)

“Magic surrounds you right now. Take note of the small miracles that are happening right now!” (Matthew 10:7, NKJV and Luke 1:37, KJV: The kingdom of heaven is at hand! With God, nothing shall be impossible!”) 

The next morning I got a call from Deb. She said God had been speaking to her about the raven incident. “Nancy,” she said, “I don’t believe it’s a bad omen. The fierceness of the messenger was just to get your attention.” (This was essentially Greg’s perception the day before when I told him about it.)

Deb’s words brought something to mind immediately. One morning the previous summer as I lay in bed, a little wee bird landed on the sill of my other window and tapped the glass with its beak. Oh, how cute, I thought. It flew away, but a few moments later it was back, tapping on the window again. I thought it was curious that the bird had done that, especially that it had done it twice, but I moved into my day without a backward glance, with no other impression than that it was a dear little thing and a unique incident. It certainly hadn’t riveted my attention the way the intense glare of the big, fierce black bird had.

Deb went on: she felt God was saying that He was going to be speaking to me in ways that I wasn’t used to, in ways that would surprise me, and that He wanted me to pay attention so that I wouldn’t miss what He was saying. She spoke about Samuel, about how God had called him three times, and how Eli hadn’t got it until then: “Oh, that’s the Lord speaking.”

She reminded me of how when God has seen fit to say something more than once in the scriptures, we can be sure He’s really trying to emphasize it to us: “Heed what I’m saying!” The raven coming three times was very significant, emphasizing the importance of God’s getting—and of my giving him—my attention.

So I really do want to pay attention. But I, like many of us, wonder sometimes if I will get what God is saying. This question is reflected in something I said to God that morning of the raven’s visitation: “Lord, I am listening, but I don’t know how well I’m hearing.”

I see now that it’s our responsibility to simply be listening; God is quite capable of making Himself heard.  

Moreover He said to me: “[Daughter] of man, receive into your heart all My words that I speak to you, and hear with your ears (Ezekiel 3:10, NKJV).

 

 

 

The Glass Window

When I woke up that morning, I felt the Lord calling me to spend some time with Him. But I told Him, “Well, Lord, I’ve got this really great book on parasites, and I’d really rather read that right now.”

This was our second morning after arriving on Eleuthera, an island in the Bahamas, for a much-anticipated family vacation. My reticence to respond to God’s nudging was another way of saying, “Lord, I’m on holidays. I just feel like doing what I want right now.” It would have been good if I’d reminded myself of how Oswald Chambers said, “You no more need a holiday from spiritual concentration than your heart needs a holiday from beating” (My Utmost for His Highest, April 15).

Greg has had a saying lately: “Set your feet a little wider.” The “amplified” version, which comes out as you talk more to him about it, is this: Strengthen your stance. You don’t know what’s coming, and you need to be braced against something unexpected that may otherwise knock you off your feet. You may also be called upon to steady someone next to you who failed to get his feet planted firmly enough under him. (He adds that it’s also easier to dance when the opportunity presents itself.)

I see now that this is what we are doing in the Spirit when we spend time with God: We are setting our feet a little wider, strengthening our stance. And I chose not to do it that morning. It just didn't seem like a big deal.

When I came down to the main house to join the rest of the party for breakfast, I found that the plan shaping up for the day was to drive up to see the Glass Window. We had heard that this was a must-see on the island. In due course, our party of eight piled into the two little rental cars and headed north.

Internet Photo

The island of Eleuthera is long and narrow, 110 miles long and an average of 1 mile wide. The Glass Window is where the island narrows to almost nothing and the deep blue Atlantic sends its mighty waves crashing through an opening into the placid, aqua Caribbean. There used to be a natural rock bridge over the opening, as depicted by artist Winslow Homer in 1895.

Internet Picture: The Glass Window, Winslow Homer, 1895.

But that arch was destroyed by several hurricanes in the 1940s. A concrete bridge was built in its place—and has had to be replaced a number of times since.

When we arrived at the site, we drove across the bridge and pulled off and parked on the side of the narrow pavement. Everyone piled out and headed across the bridge. I was bringing up the rear. Lindsay immediately jumped up on the concrete rail and proceeded to walk across on it, long arms extended for balance. Anxiety took an easy foothold in me.

Internet: Although the concrete rail is under repairs here, it shows where Lindsay did his balancing act.

Halfway across, he appeared to lose his equilibrium, arms waving wildly, torso going first one way and then the other, about 80 feet above the treacherous lava rock. Scott (Rachel’s boyfriend), walking beside him on the bridge proper, made several wild grabs for an arm but could not seem to connect. I had to face the other way and just hope for the best. I was already wishing that I’d spent that time with God. I was overtaken by fear now and could not get a grip on it, any more that Scott could get a grip on Lindsay.

It turned out, as Lindsay told us later, he was “just fooling around.” And then I realized that he had intentionally evaded Scott’s helping hand.

Across the bridge, the kids headed away from the road, off across the jagged rocks toward the cliffs. Lindsay plunked himself down high above the water, right on the edge.

Lindsay "living on the edge"; Scott & Rachel nearby.

I was following them, but suddenly could not walk. I sat down for a few minutes. I was nauseated and dizzy, fearful of Lindsay’s seeming carelessness. More than that, there was an awful sense of foreboding that was so thick over me, I could have cut it with a knife. I needed God’s help so badly, and I began to pray in the Spirit. I caught up with Rachel and asked if she felt strange.

“I’m just really angry at Lindsay for pushing the limits,” she said.

I wanted to scream at him, to make him hear above the roar of the incessant wind, wanted to tell him to get away from the edge. But nobody likes a screaming mother. “I can hardly stand up,” I said to Rachel, and I bent double at the waist to try to clear my head, still praying under my breath.

Now I saw that my dear husband Greg was climbing down under the bridge, and now I wanted to scream at him. You don’t know this place; you don’t know what’s safe and what’s not. But nobody likes a screaming wife. I kept my mouth shut except for the movement of my lips as I prayed continuously in the Spirit. When you know not how to pray as you ought, the Spirit intercedes for you with groanings that cannot be uttered (Romans 8:26).

Lindsay & Christina. Greg is just out of sight at the left of the photo, 
seated at the base of the concrete bridge support.

Between waves, Greg made his way across to the other side of the rocky pass and settled himself at the base of the bridge support. The kids were all watching him, and they laughed when a slightly larger wave came through and soaked him with spray. I was not amused.

I wish now that I’d known then what I know now about the Glass Window, having read, after the fact, various things online, like the following:

“One should take great care when visiting the Glass Window Bridge and the surrounding cliff areas. Rogue waves have been known to arrive unexpectedly and wash over the bridge and nearby cliffs. Since there are no immediate reefs along the ocean side to break up these rogue waves as they arrive, the waves can hit with great force and have been known to not only wash people out into the ocean, but vehicles as well.”

And this is referring to the risk of hanging around on the bridge, not under the bridge. And this is not necessarily in rough weather. These rogue waves can happen literally out of the clear blue.

Now some of the kids—first Melissa, then Ben, then Scott and Rachel, emboldened by Greg’s foray, made their way down. Lindsay and his girlfriend, Christina, climbed down too, but fortunately, as I found out later, they didn't stay long.

Kids coming and going. This shows the rugged rocky channel between waves.

I was very uneasy with the whole rest of the family being in what seemed such a vulnerable place. I couldn't watch anymore. I climbed back to the road and walked along it, over the bridge and away from it with my back to the whole scene, thinking over and over, I’ll just hope for the best. I’ll just hope for the best. And all the while, I prayed “without ceasing.” And I kept thinking, I just can’t wait until we’re finally driving away from this place.

Panoramic shot by Ben. Greg right at the edge of the 12 or 15 ft. cliff into the Caribbean.

At length I walked back to the centre of the bridge and looked down. Greg had moved back to the opposite side from where he’d been sitting, and the other four were standing pretty much right smack in the middle of that channel of rock. I was there just in time to see it all unfold, and I watched silently with a strange detachment.

I heard Greg shout, “Get back!” as a large wave came through. It hit immediately and threw all four of them off balance. Rachel was hit hardest; the wave took her right over backward and she tumbled in the vicious rocky froth about twenty feet and just over the edge of the 12- or 15-foot drop that plunges down into the Caribbean. As she went over, in all that water she managed to quickly flip to her front and grab the rough rock in front of her with both hands, also jamming her bare feet into crevices, her pretty flip-flops now irretrievably lost. There she was able to hold fast until the water subsided and then to brace herself as another large wave loomed.

In the interim the other three had scrambled across the rough wet terrain to get to her, and Ben and Melissa, getting there first, reached over the edge and did their best to get a good grip on her. Scott was just behind them, and as the next wave hit, he braced himself and leaned down hard on Ben’s and Melissa’s shoulders as their feet went out from under them again.

Internet Photo, from the Caribbean side, shows a 100-ft. wave coming through.
This explains why seaweed sometimes drapes the power lines above the bridge.

When I think now of the role Scott played there, I think again of Greg’s saying: “Set your feet a little wider. Strengthen your stance. You don’t know what’s coming, and you need to be braced against the unexpected, which may otherwise knock you off your feet. You may also be called upon to steady someone next to you who failed to get his feet planted firmly enough under him.” I also now picture a couple of angels, standing on either side of Scott, planting their own feet a little wider too, hands on his shoulders, and leaning down hard on him as he was leaning down on Rachel’s brother and sister.

Things were a blur then as the others helped Rachel up and quickly got her and themselves out of harm’s way. Then Rachel became hysterical. She was bleeding profusely. The rough lava rock had shredded the bottoms of her feet as well as her shins and knees and wrists. The pools of water that were left behind, waiting for the next wave, were red with her blood. She wouldn't let anybody touch her. “Just pray for me!” she cried.

It was a slow and painful climb back up to the vehicles. Ben and Melissa, too, had scraped their feet and were bleeding.

Our two vehicles took a hasty trip looking for a medi-centre. A doctor treated Rachel’s wounds and gave her a tetanus shot. When she heard where we’d been, she looked at us with first shock and then sternness. “The locals don’t even go down there,” she said. “We know better. The last few times we've been called for an accident up there, they haven't even found the bodies.”

Rachel’s legs, glamorously waxed and tanned in anticipation of our trip, were now half-covered with bandages. Her feet and wrists were likewise swathed. (Remarkably though, not a single one of her lovely gel nails was even chipped!) Ben’s and Melissa’s cameras, both expensive, were both destroyed by the sea water, as were several cell phones. But we all felt we’d got off very cheaply.

(Some weeks later, as I shared this story with my friend Chris and told her how badly Rachel had got cut up, she said, “Yes, but the rock saved her life.” Then after a pause she added, “Sometimes when we cling to the Rock, our flesh gets shredded.” She, of course, was speaking now in a metaphor, because Christ is referred to—and referred to Himself—as the Rock. And the second half of my friend’s metaphor speaks of our “old nature,” or as the Bible calls it, the flesh, which God is slowly stripping out of us. I picked up on her theme and quoted something Jesus said—and He, too, was using here the same metaphor: “Everyone who falls on that stone will be broken to pieces” (Luke 20:18). Yet at the same time, He saves our lives.)

That evening as the family cozied up around a movie, I texted my friend Debbie, because I needed someone to share the weight of both the fear and the gratitude. I kept thanking God over and over, but it seemed so paltry. So I texted Deb the briefest of details, swore her to secrecy (because the experience was just too awful to be spoken of lightly), and asked her to please thank God with me. That helped.

The next morning, as Greg and I lay there and talked, he said he felt even more shaken up now than the day before. We prayed and brought God into the middle of our fear and relief and gratitude. We touched base with Him the way I wished I’d done the day before. The fear was only then finally put in its place, and faith rose up. I quoted God’s word back to Him, reminding Him that He promises that He is working everything together for good to those that love Him and are called according to His purposes.

On the basis of that scripture, I then declared aloud, “I command now that these circumstances yield forth glory to God and blessing to His people.” Within the hour we were seeing the manifestations of that prayer. But that’s another story altogether.

At one of our meals later that day, I shared about how God told Job that it was He who had set the doors and bars of the sea in place; that it was He who said to the ocean, “This far you may come and no farther; here is where your proud waves halt.” I told the whole family that I believed that God had spoken that command to the waves the day before: “This far you may come and no farther.” And I read aloud a psalm that had been on my mind. There are a couple of verses in it about the ocean, and even their structure has a rhythm and repetition that reminds me of breakers on the shore.

The Lord reigns, he is robed in majesty;
the Lord is robed in majesty and armed with strength;
indeed, the world is established, firm and secure.
Your throne was established long ago;
you are from all eternity.

The seas have lifted up, Lord,
the seas have lifted up their voice;
the seas have lifted up their pounding waves.

Mightier than the thunder of the great waters,
mightier than the breakers of the sea—
the Lord on high is mighty.
                                                                 Psalm 93:1-4, NIV

There is a worship song that says, “The waves and wind still know His Name.” This speaks back to when Jesus walked the earth, the night He calmed the storm on the lake with just a simple command. In His Name is all power and authority in heaven and on earth. The fearsome power of nature still recognizes that higher authority and bends its knee in submission when He says, “This far and no farther.”

I finally shared this story publicly, six weeks later, in our Saturday evening church service. When I was done, Ben and his worship team led us in the powerful and oh so fitting song “Oceans,” by Hillsong.

You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown where feet may fail
And there I find You in the mystery
In oceans deep
My faith will stand

I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise my soul will rest in your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

Your grace abounds in deepest waters
Your sovereign hand
Will be my guide
Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me
You've never failed and you won't start now

So I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior

I will call upon Your Name
Keep my eyes above the waves
My soul will rest in Your embrace
I am Yours and You are mine

Like a Rose

Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows (Isaiah 53:4, KJV).

It was a year ago this week that our daughter Rachel had an accident. Greg had had a strange uneasiness all day, as he told me over a late lunch, so we’d prayed. We prayed God’s blessing over the house and property, over the upcoming jobs and the one just completed. We prayed for each of our workers in turn, asking God to pour His blessing into their lives; then we prayed the same for each of our four children. We did not happen to pray for their protection, the way we so often do, but we blessed them with intense intentionality.

I mention this because we wonder, in retrospect, if our prayer had any bearing on the outcome of the events that would unfold only minutes later.

After we finished praying, I excused myself and went to the phone. I needed to call Rachel about some plans for the evening. But I couldn’t get an answer. Fifteen minutes later I tried again. This time she picked up. She was gasping and crying. She said she was okay, but that she had been hit by a semi.

The details were filled in for us later: Rachel had left Edmonton after work, heading for a commitment in Wetaskiwin. There was a semi in the fast lane on her left, south of Edmonton on QE2, afternoon rush hour, 4:30 p.m. She was doing about 115 km; the semi was going a little faster. The semi driver couldn’t see the little car she was driving and decided to change lanes. She was hemmed in on the right by traffic, so she accelerated hard, trying to get ahead of him. He caught the left rear of her car as he turned into her lane, knocking her sideways in front of him.

She could see his grill coming straight at her door, driver’s side, and then he hit her, shattering all her windows and plowing her down into the ditch of the grassy median between the northbound and southbound lanes. Her car went airborne then and flipped end over end. She must have landed on the trunk first, because it was annihilated, the air spoiler pushed into the back seat. Then the car bounced right-side-up onto its wheels.

The people who came running didn’t expect her to get out of the vehicle under her own power, but she did. No blood, no broken bones—just some severe bruising from the seat belt, as well as a red mark and bruise on her upper left arm where, as Rachel later said, she had to “hold off the semi.”

I was reminded of how scripture says, “He is a shield unto them that put their trust in him” (Proverbs 30:5). I was so inexpressibly grateful to God for His protection. And yet my emotions stayed strangely detached. I was numb; I couldn’t truly take in what she had been saved from.

The next morning I headed off to my Wednesday commitment at the local farmers’ market. I set my purse down on my chair and began to unload my books and CDs onto my table. Suddenly I was aware of music coming from somewhere. Listening carefully, I finally located the source: it was coming from my purse. My iPhone was playing a song all by itself! I put it to my ear and heard a line from a song I recognized: “Like a rose trampled on the ground . . .”

It brought tears to my eyes. This was a picture of Rachel, a newly blossoming rose, in the freshness and beauty of youth. And so easily she could have been trampled on the ground. The car certainly had been. The reality of what she had so narrowly escaped came rushing home to me, finally connecting with my numb emotions. Tears rolled down my cheeks as the song continued playing. I didn’t even know how it had turned on, and now it played twice, back to back. I stood with my back to the busyness of the mall, stopped trying to unpack my wares, and just let gratitude sweep through me, letting the tears have their way.

Someone touched my shoulder. I turned. It was a young tough who had been doing yard work for me, showing up to claim his cheque, as arranged. He did a double take when he saw my tears. Asked me what was wrong. So I described what my daughter had gone through and how she had come through unscathed.

“That’s God!” he declared firmly. (Not that he claims to be a believer, but he knows that I am.)

After he went on his way, I finished setting up my table and sat down to listen to the song again, Michael W. Smith’s “Above All,” a picture of the sacrifice of Christ. This is the chorus:
.
Crucified, laid behind a stone
He lived to die, rejected and alone
Like a rose, trampled on the ground
He took the fall
And thought of me
Above all

“Like a rose trampled on the ground . . .” It caused me to picture a big, muddy boot heedlessly grinding a tender blossom into the dirt. It caused me to picture what life in its fallen state had very nearly done to our daughter. But Jesus “took the fall” for her.

Perhaps you wonder: How could Jesus take the fall for Rachel in this near-fatality?

Some of my understanding of what was accomplished on the Cross comes from a word study I did several years ago on Isaiah 53. Isaiah prophesied 700 years before Christ’s birth, “Surely he hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows” (verse 4). My study of the meaning of the Hebrew words revealed that “griefs” include every malady, anxiety, calamity, disease, and sickness. “Sorrows” include anguish, affliction, and pain.

Since that time I have had a sure confidence that Christ, in His death, broke the power of all these things in our lives. In this case, Rachel’s accident, it was the word calamity that stood front and centre in my mind. Jesus is Lord over every disaster that comes our way, especially when we are yielded to Him. Obviously, this is not to say that calamities don’t sometimes end in severe injury or death: they certainly do. But Jesus’ lordship prevails over every situation, and whether it ends in miraculous deliverance or death, for those who believe God, He commands the circumstances to yield up glory to Him and good to His people. (See Romans 8:28.)

The day of the accident, as we drove to meet Rachel at the hospital, we kept thanking God over and over, so grateful that she was alive and seemingly unhurt. At one point I said, “God, You are so faithful.” But then I decided I didn’t like the sound of that. Even if she had been badly hurt—or worse, God is still faithful. Greg said it best: “Thank You, God, that You saw fit to let Rachel live this time.”

But in spite of all my gratitude, my emotions did not really connect with the reality of it all—until that next morning at the farmers’ market, when that song randomly played—twice—on my phone. And here’s the strange thing: I had never before played a song on that phone. Greg had passed it on to me several months earlier, and although he had several hundred songs on there, in my possession they had lain dormant. 

I discovered later, as I experimented to try to figure out how the music had come on by itself, that two quick taps of the “on” button—even with an inanimate object—will bring up the music program. But it takes the warmth of a human finger on the “pause” button to activate the music. My phone had been in my purse. It’s reasonable that in carrying my purse in from the car with all my other stuff that something jostled twice against exactly the right spot to bring up the program. But only God could have started the music through the exterior of my purse. It reassures me of His involvement in our everyday lives, in the little “coincidences”—and in the living-saving miracles.

Call unto me, and I will answer thee, and show thee great and mighty things . . . (Jeremiah 33:3, KJV).

The Accident That Didn't Happen

Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts (Psalm 95:7-8; Hebrews 3:7, 3:15, 4:7; NIV).

It was a week ago today that Greg and I had such a narrow miss, I still can hardly get my head around it. We had been in the city at a theatre production with most of the family and several others and were returning home. Greg had got sleepy and turned the wheel over to me. By the time the situation unfolded, he was sound asleep in the passenger seat.

I was on Hwy 2A approaching Clover Lawn Hwy (616). There was a cold, light snow blowing. The highway seemed pretty good, but there had been some dicey spots, so I’d been keeping it a little under the speed limit. As I approached 616, I saw that there was a vehicle pulled over on the right, signal light flashing. I knew there was at least one vehicle right behind me, as his lights had been in my mirror; whether there were more than that, I didn’t know and it didn’t matter. I put on my own signal in plenty of time to warn those behind me that I had to turn left, and I began to pump my brake.

The left turn there is not a right angle; you have to turn back somewhat, which means slowing a little more to make the turn, especially when you’re not sure of the traction. I slowed to the point that I was ready to go into the turn. I was aware that no one was going around me, even though there is an extra lane on the right for just this purpose. In retrospect I realized that probably that car being pulled over on the right was crowding that lane a little. So I was very cognisant that I was making traffic come almost to a stop in the middle of the highway, and that is a situation where you know you need to get on with it and out of the way as quickly as possible.

Having slowed sufficiently, I was just at the point of moving my foot from the brake pedal to the gas to accelerate into my turn when ... all I can say is that something deep inside me went “STOP!” Although this was completely unexpected and totally counterintuitive, I stepped firmly on my brake. And a split second later, a big pick-up shot by on my left with a roar of acceleration, probably doing 120 k. Evidently he had approached these several cars with their brake lights on (perhaps my signal light was hidden from him) and decided to pull out and zoom past it all.

I came to a complete stop (or was I stopped already?—I don’t know) in the middle of the highway and sat for some long seconds there, immobilized by a great wave of anger, fear, and gratitude. “Stupid, stupid!” I muttered vehemently. “Stupid! Oh, thank you, God!” (This, of course, roused Greg somewhat.) I took my turn then, realizing that it wasn’t a good place to stay for long, and I drove the last ten minutes homeward with a sick feeling in my stomach. If I had followed common sense, we would have taken that truck broadside. We would have been annihilated.

I lay awake for a long while that night while Greg slept contentedly beside me. He doesn’t waste much time or energy on what might have been, whether good or bad. I lay there with that knot of fear still in my stomach, thinking what our four dear kids might have been dealing with at that very moment.

And I thought about something else: How marvellous it was that I had heard that cry deep in my spirit and yielded to it.

I thought about how in recent years I have worked at cultivating sensitivity to God’s voice—and obedience to it. Jesus said that He only does the things He sees His Father doing; only says what His Father is saying. (Look at all the ways and the many times He expressed this idea in the Book of John: it makes a great study, as well as something to shoot for personally in our relationship with God: John 4:34; 5:17,19,30,36; 7:16; 8:26,28,38,40; 10:31; 12:49,50; 14:10,24,31; 17:8.) With His help, I’ve been listening carefully, yielding to what I hear, and seeing the amazing fruit of that. When this incident shaped up, there wasn’t time to consciously notice the impression and choose to go with it or not: it was a split-second stimulus and response. I’ve often considered that obedience is its own reward. But this takes it to a whole new level. What can I say? I’m grateful. I’m glad to be alive.

Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it” (Isaiah 30:21, NIV).

A Tale of Two Kitties

Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee (Isaiah 49:15, KJV).

In the summer of 2003, we went away for a week’s holiday. When we left, our cat Frizzle was very pregnant; when we returned it was apparent by her figure that she had given birth. Yet we could find no evidence of the kittens, nor did she appear to be nursing. We concluded that they had all died or been eaten by a coyote.

Whatever had happened, Frizzle was not accepting it easily. She kept meowing at me, trying to communicate her distress. That was Friday. Saturday I suggested to 12-year-old Rachel, who had searched high and low to no avail and who was almost as distraught as Frizzle at the absence of kittens, that we should consider getting another kitten to help the unhappy momma deal with her engorged milk supply—and her bereavement.

Sunday morning I was awakened early by Frizzle yowling below our window, two floors down. (She knew which room was mine.) I got Rachel up and suggested that we drive to the farm where we get our eggs. They always have more kittens around than they want. I sent her out to fire up the Suburban. She was back in a moment, keys still in hand and very excited.

“Mom, I can hear kittens mewing somewhere, really faintly!”

Our house was in the process of being stuccoed. The men had left an old pick-up truck, the box piled with some supplies and a lot of refuse, parked in our yard over the weekend. It was in the back of that truck that we located the source of the mewing. I removed armfuls of empty mortar bags and stucco wire, and there I found two tiny kittens.

And here was the extraordinary thing: They were bound, face to face, to one another. They’d each had a long, trailing umbilical cord, which had become entangled with the other’s, along with a piece of stucco wire and some long bits of grass and string. The wire, a strand about ten inches long with cross members every few inches, was between them, and it ran right through the centre of the tangle between their bellies. They had tumbled around and around in their efforts to get free, in the process cranking that knot tighter and tighter, pulling themselves into a dying embrace. They could not have reached any nourishment from their mother the way they were caught, and it is a wonder that they were still alive.

I lifted them gently out and sent Rachel running for wire cutters and my sharp sewing scissors. She also came back with Frizzle, who, upon seeing that I was rescuing her kittens, nearly came unglued with gratitude and joy. She crawled all over me, my busy hands, and her babies until I couldn’t do the careful operation and had to ask Rachel to hold her tight while I worked at the tangled mess.

The kittens both survived and thrived, and fittingly, one of them found a home with the granddaughter and great-granddaughter of the head of stuccoing company. And Frizzle and I had another bit of history that made me special to her and her to me. (Sadly, she died three months later.)

Although Frizzle was just a simple little beast, her maternal instinct was strong. She was pathetically concerned for the survival of her off-spring, devoted to their well-being. If so a little, half-sized cat, how much more a human mother? And, as the scripture above asks us, if so a human mother, how much more God?

When God’s people feel forgotten and forsaken, in need of comfort and mercy (Isaiah 49:13-14), God reassures them: Even if a mother should forget her own child, “Yet will I not forget thee” (v.15).

When we are lost and bound in captivity, unable to turn to God ourselves to find the sustenance we need, He will raise up intercessors to cry out faithfully on our behalf. He will send someone to seek us out where we lie, rendered helpless by our difficulties. Just like the scene outside Lazarus’ tomb, He will command that one: “Loose him.” The trappings of death will be disentangled and removed.

After all, that is God’s desire—and Jesus’ mandate:

To proclaim liberty to the captives (Isaiah 61:1).