Fearless and Self-Controlled

One night at work, I encountered a smoking package. While hazardous material clean-ups were in my job description, this one probably warranted a call to the local fire department. Instead, I placed it on a cart and gingerly walked it to the farthest region of the property where I allowed it to "do its thing." Its thing ended about two in the morning when we learned it was some sort of compound that had baked and hardened when it came in contact with a catalyst. Water? Heat? Who knew? But once it cooled to the touch I brought it back into our building and began the paperwork. "Judi, you are absolutely fearless," a coworker said. To the casual observer, perhaps, but on a personal level I was going through one of the most frightening periods of my life. Pressure mounted to the point I couldn't stand another criticism, another suggestion, another word of advice, another deadline. I believed I was constantly under attack, and like a cornered animal, I would strike out thoughtlessly and unpredictably at the very people who were trying to help. I thought my abrasive, and even, offensive exterior would mask the fear that was consuming me.

Lately, I have been doing my daily devotions from a book that is not my usual fare, but it has just ministered to me during this season. God is marvelous that way! Tuesday's topic was "Fear," and the verse was 2 Timothy 1:7:

"God gave us His Spirit. And the Spirit doesn't make us weak and fearful. Instead, the Spirit gives us power and love. He helps us control ourselves."

I knew this verse. I'd read it a dozen times before, even memorized it from the King James. But, this time I "tasted" it:

I am filled with the Holy Spirit. It is the Spirit of God, almighty and powerful. Therefore, I am empowered to do things for the kingdom, things like love. I can love my enemies. I can love those whom others want no part of. I can love those who use me or dismiss me. I can do that because the Holy Spirit bears fruit in me, the fruit of self-control.

That's where God continued to teach me. Fear is a self-preservation mechanism. Fear is based on a perception my very self is in danger; fear is self-focused. All those things that make up who I am -- my hopes, my opinions, my habits -- all those things could be taken from me or altered by people who challenge my time, or my money, or my privacy, or my health, or my position. Fear is knowing that possibility exists and focusing on the "me" that could be lost were this to happen. Not convinced?

What happens when you get the news they're cutting jobs in your office? Or you discover your 14-year old daughter is pregnant? Or your husband is given months to live? Or your sister with dementia can no longer be left alone? Can you feel the panic take your breath? "What ifs" streak through your mind, making your prayers seem to go no further than the ceiling. Can you feel your dreams slipping through your fingers? This is going to change the life you've grown to love. This is going to be uncomfortable. This could ruin everything.

2 Timothy 1:7, however, tells us that the Holy Spirit has been given to believers. It is the very Spirit of the Creator, the good and sovereign God, Jehovah Jireh. It is that Spirit in me that yields self-control. My self is brought under submission that I might go where God wants me to go. My self is of no significance, that I might do what God wants me to do. My self is crucified that I might fulfill the plans God has for me to fulfill. Even if it changes my hopes, my opinions, my habits. Even if it changes who I am -- and, hopefully, it will!

The Christian life is not always the quiet, safe one. The martyrs of centuries past testify to that. But when we allow the Spirit to direct our steps, when we seek to honor the King of kings, fear gives way. The Holy Spirit brings self under control that we might serve people in the worst neighborhoods, love people who may abandon us, minister to those with the deadliest diseases, or simply tell our story -- every wretched or embarrassing detail -- to someone who needs to know what God can do for them. When we know we are safe to love, to risk, to fail, even to give all we have for His glory, that's when things really begin to change -- even our selves.

I Love You, Pookie

I'd say, "Life is funny," but that would be pointing to some abstract, fatalistic idea that life's twists and turns are somehow random or determined by chance. God determines our steps. God holds all of life in His hands. It's just that sometimes He has a very strange -- to us -- way of doing it.

I have spent the last day and a half weeping. On Saturday night, I lost a coworker. He and I had worked together for more than seventeen years; we'd known one another much longer. And though time was responsible for seasoning our relationship, time or chance was not responsible for the depth of friendship we experienced.

When I transferred into John's department years ago, I considered myself to be pretty good at my job. I'd already been with the company many years, and I was reliable and conscientious. After my transfer, I realized just how little I knew. This department was an entirely different world, and John was king of it. He'd been there longer than many of the folks who worked beside him and above him. He knew his job backwards and forwards. He could to get to the root of an issue with a few specific, direct questions, and that same skill enabled him to problem solve just as succinctly. He knew how to give an order and make people follow it. He was one of the quietest people in the room but his presence loomed larger than anyone else's.

I admired those qualities. And I resented them. John could make me feel small with little more than a look. Everything I said or did he retained in some dark corner of his mind for use at the most inconvenient (for me)/ opportune (for him) moments, moments he used to call me out -- publicly. He was gruff, sinister, inappropriate, and downright rude. Banging the phone on people was his trademark, and I used to wish he would one day do it to someone with the power to threaten his job and put him in his place. He could go for days without speaking to anyone, and I went day after day wishing he'd never speak to me again. Every confrontation with him left me feeling completely stupid or insignificant. This was John's world, and he reluctantly tolerated the rest of us in it.

Some time ago, as I was driving home and tears of frustration were, once again, pouring down my face, a strange thought occurred to me: Every time you call out of work, John spends days "punishing" you by only speaking harshly to you, only pointing out your flaws; but every time he's bragging on himself, he says he could do all without you -- he can't have it both ways! I was either valuable to him, or worthless. So which was it? Well, I'd learned a long time ago to put more stock in what people do than in what they say. So, that was it; I chose to believe I was valuable! And I began praying. Lord, if I am to stay here and do this job, You're going to have to handle John, or You're going to have to handle me.

God did both, I'm sure of it. Suddenly, I didn't dread going into work anymore. Suddenly, John was smiling more. Suddenly, I began praying for John because I cared about him. Suddenly, John began speaking a little more softly and entrusting me with more. Suddenly, I saw it as a challenge to get something done before he noticed or before he got the chance to do it himself. Suddenly, John spent the wee hours of the morning joking with me and poking fun. Suddenly, it was fun.

I'll refrain from playing armchair psychologist, except to say, John and I were more alike than we were different. I truly wished for him the joy and peace that I found because of Jesus Christ. I don't know if that ever happened for him. I do know, the man who once was my thorn, my nemesis, was the man I'd grown to love and care for as a friend. The man who made my job unbearable, had mellowed and matured to become one of the primary reasons I went to work each day. The man I'd grown to respect and rely on as my boss, to cherish like a brother, the man who protected me and challenged me, the man who had respect for me but kept me striving to earn it by never letting me know it was there -- is gone. I will never again play "movie quotes" with him (I was terrible, but he always gave me mulligans). I will never again allow -- though I secretly cringed at -- his irreverent, offensive sense of humor. I will never again find my desk drawer filled with thousands of sugar packets or paperclips. I will never again complain about the earworms he loved to play, while smirking behind my computer monitor at the way it made him giggle. I will never again say those words, the words I once spoke sarcastically but came to deeply mean, the words that he would never admit made him smile (but I know they did):

"I love you, Pookie."

 

The Extra Chair from the Basement

I think every family has one. Maybe it's in the office or the spare bedroom -- wherever. It's the chair we pull out when we've got an extra mouth to feed. "Get the extra chair from the basement," someone yells, and we sit it right alongside the rest of the chairs at our table. We welcome our guest to eat whatever is served, as much as they'd like, and join with us in our conversation, our laughter, our sometimes questionable table manners, our "family time."

Today, the extra chair came out of the basement. Not a huge stretch when you've got a family of six to feed everyday, but it is a blessing when one of yours comes home. Thing is, I hadn't really planned. Last week was a whirlwind of activity and emotion; grocery shopping and meal prep took a backseat to much of what was going on. So, we opened the fridge, surveyed the meager inventory of leftovers, formed a rainbow of plastic containers across the table, and sat down to eat. Not one person went away hungry, and we still had left over leftovers.

Just this morning, I was reading about another dinner guest. In 1 Kings 17:8-16. the prophet Elijah was commanded to leave Brook Cherith and go to Zarephath, about eighty miles away. God had commanded a widow there to provide for him. By the time he arrived, the widow was at the gate of the city, gathering sticks to build a fire. It was to be her last, as the widow and her young son were on the verge of starvation: she was baking one final bread cake and preparing for death. But, Elijah said, (I am paraphrasing) "No worry. Just make my small cake first; then you and your son can eat what's left." What man of God takes the last bit of food from a starving widow and her child?! But there was a promise: "The Lord God of Israel says, 'The bin of flour will not be used up, nor the jar of oil run dry, until the Lord sends rain on the earth.'"

"So, she went away and did according to the word of Elijah." And what was the result? "She and he and her household ate for many days. The bin of flour was not used up, nor did the jar of oil run dry." Because of her obedience? Obey and be blessed, right? Yes, but let's not be simplistic. This poor woman got "the extra chair from the basement." She didn't question Elijah's presence. Why in the world would God send to her, a widow, another mouth to feed?! Widows were typically cared for -- not the other way around. And there was a famine in her land! We don't see a struggle over the jar of oil. That handful of flour, the puddle of oil in the bottom of her jar, were all that stood between her son and death! Who was this man to take that from her? But she held it all loosely. Like the widow in Luke 21:1-4 -- "she, out of her poverty, put in all the livelihood she had."

You know, when I'd first read the widow's response to Elijah's request, I'd thought of it as a bit of refusal; but perhaps it was more like this: "When your God first told me to provide for you, I wanted to -- I really did. But that was so long ago. You took so long in getting here, and things took such a turn for the worse, I've got nothing left. How am I to help when I have so little that I am planning my death and the death of my son?" None of that came as any surprise to God, however. The widow's willingness to care for others, despite her material circumstances, created the opportunity for God to provide for her and all that were in her home.

Today, a blessing in our home brought "the extra chair from the basement." When hearts are willing and hands are open, that extra chair can bring blessing for many days.

A Quiet Place of Grace

Early one morning, I found myself sitting in my truck alongside a dark, winding airport road. I'd called roadside service and received the usual song and dance about extremely high caller volume and abnormally long wait times. I didn't believe it. I've gotten a lot of use out of my membership through the years, and never waited more than an hour. So, at first, I sort of did nothing -- filed a rough fingernail, checked out the contents of my glove box, listened to the sounds of the road. But time went on, and I began to think, maybe there was something to this whole "abnormally long wait time" thing.

Why was I here? Why, just two miles down the road, were my coworkers doing something -- my work -- yet I was doing nothing? Why had I gotten dressed, out the door, wasted fuel, only to sit here? What would I do if I needed a bathroom? Questions I couldn't answer or, in the case of the last one, didn't want to think about. So, I began to pray. When I'm having trouble going to sleep some nights, I pray the alphabet. I begin with one friend or situation starting with "A", and keep on going, letter by letter, until I fall asleep. (If your name is Vivian or Zelda, I apologize; I rarely make it past "G".) This morning I made it all the way to "Z", and still no tow.

Every life, every season needs prayer, but this season of our life seems to require more than others. So, I began praying specifically for our situation, the folks directly affected in it, those we have met along the way, those who will be involved in the future, and so forth. When I got to some personal things, I asked that God would not allow others to see my failures and shortcomings, that they would not be dissuaded from following the Lord because of my screw-ups. "Hide my inadequacy that You might be better glorified and many would come to know You." God responded faster than that tow!

Through the darkness of my situation, above the chirp of crickets I heard the words of Paul:

"And He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.'"  -- 2 Corinthians 12:9a

Had Paul prayed as I had? Was he asking God to remove his "thorn in the flesh" not that he might be more comfortable or carry on the ministry with more vigor, but that others might not see his weakness or deficiency and reject God because of it?

I know what it's like to live with hypocrisy. My children know what it's like to live with hypocrisy. And it can be devastating to the truth of the gospel. I'm sure Paul, as a former Pharisee, was extremely sensitive to pietism -- especially his own. I'm sure he would rather have lost a limb than known a soul was repulsed because of any perceived duplicity or incongruency on his part. What if Paul had a tendency to be persistent when the situation required a bit more compassion? What if Paul's patience was perceived by others as being "soft" on bad behavior -- tolerant even? Perhaps Paul was a bit of an over eater. Imagine how such a habit might have plagued him to the point of begging God to remove it -- for the sake of the gospel. But God said, "No."

It's not about me. Or my inadequacy. Or even my sin. It's about the grace of God revealed in our worst moments as well as our best. If others can see what a control freak I can be at times and know that Jesus loves me enough to put me in situations that are completely out of my control in order to make me more like Him -- who wouldn't want to follow a Savior like that?! If others know how arrogant I can be and witness God humbling me -- and hear testimony of how He continues to humble me -- that I might be the "me" He designed with a purpose -- who wouldn't want to know a God like that?

We may not like our fear of public speaking, or our ineptitude at providing comfort to the grieving, or our short tempers, or our impatience, or our propensity to procrastinate, or any of a multitude of things that discourage us in our ministry, but God is not finished with any one of us yet. He is sanctifying us as we daily relinquish control to Him. He is transforming us as we seek after Him moment by moment. He is speaking to us and teaching us as we pray and sit silently before Him. Along a dark, winding airport road if necessary.