Cottonwood - Thompson Farm - Swea City, IA

Under pressure? Feeling squeezed?

Me, too.

Do you like it?

Me, neither.

Pressure. Squeezed. Pressed. In the vice. However you describe it, I hate it.

So how about we just eliminate it?

No more pressure. Badda boom. Badda bing. It’s gone.

While waving my mental magic wand, I thought about what life would look like without pressure. To not be squeezed would be refreshing. Yet if all pressure was truly gone, life wouldn’t be as we know it. In the immediate moment, I wouldn’t be writing this column on a computer. Because the plastics in my laptop had to be melted down and squeezed through an injection mold. If you knew how bad my handwriting is, you’d know how thankful to be for my typing.

In fact, everything we deem functional, useful, or otherwise serving a valuable or needed purpose has undergone some form of pressure that result in their usefulness.

If it’s made of wood it’s been sawed, carved, routed, sanded, grooved, planed, pressure treated, or cured to achieve it’s intended purpose. Metal is heated, molten and poured. And those favorite denim jeans you wear didn’t grow that way on the cotton plant. Cloth has to be woven, dyed, cut, and stitched before it becomes clothing.

Muscle grows when it is stressed to the point of being torn at the cellular level. When amino acids and proteins repair the tear, it builds back bigger than it was before. The ache you feel the day after a workout is proof that you’ve put your body under pressure.

In God’s creation, at the most basic cellular level, pressure is the norm. Have you ever wondered how a tree is as green at the top as it is at the bottom? Especially with no pump to get the water from the roots to the leaves? It’s called “turgor pressure”. It involves the adhesion and cohesion of water molecules and the building up of pressure within the individual cell wall. Water travels up the xylem tubes in the tree through this pressure. That the top of the tree is as healthy as the bottom assumes unbelievable constant pressure that causes water to flow to the top. Increase the diameter of the tree and the pressure required to keep the plant healthy increases. Imagine the turgor pressure within a Redwood that’s 35 feet in diameter and 300 feet tall.

Without turgor pressure, the tree dies. Growth requires pressure. And greater growth means increased pressure. The hard truth my comfort seeking self doesn’t want to hear but can’t avoid is that I can’t grow as a person or a Christ follower without pressure. You and I can’t have a cutting edge faith without enduring trials. No missionary returns from the field with exciting testimonies of comfortable circumstances. Without pressure, there’s no growth.

In Romans 5:3, Paul says, “we also rejoice in sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance”. The Greek word Paul uses for “sufferings” is “thlipsis”. It means “a squeezing pressure”. Paul knew a thing or two about being squeezed. Shipwrecked, beat up, imprisoned, falsely accused and put on trial, Paul was familiar with pressure. Yet he says that this squeezing pressure produces endurance. In describing this endurance, Paul chose to use the word  “hupomone”. It’s an endurance that actively seeks to overcome the trials of life. In Paul’s life the squeezing pressure produced an endurance of character that was able to say “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13)

Pressure. You hate it. I hate it. But it’s how we grow. And if our aspirations are to grow taller in life and character and effectiveness then it requires even more pressure.

The good news is that if God can grow a tree, He can grow us, too. Whatever “squeezing pressure” you’re experiencing, remember it’s part of God’s plan to make you more of who He desires you to be.

And while you’re remembering that for you, maybe drop me a note and remind me of the same truth.

We’re all in this together.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Each week they sent an empty coffee can home with one kid. The kid could place anything he or she wanted in the can, put the lid on and bring it back on Sunday. When it was time for the children’s sermon they’d hand the coffee can to the pastor and he’d have to do an on the spot lesson based on whatever he found inside the can.

One Sunday Jack opened the lid to find a blue plastic frog. What to do? Creation? The plague of frogs from Exodus? Jack came up with something else. He talked about “church hoppers”. People who go from church to
church but never settle in one place, never plug in and commit to being members of a local community of Christ followers.

The kids loved it. Some of the adults? Not so much. One couple, who evidently happened to be doing some pretty regular hopping chose not to come back.

I admit that church hopping is something that bothers me, too.

We are, to a large degree, products of our culture. It seems especially true when it comes to the American Christian sub-culture. We’re a consumer society. We are blessed, and one could argue cursed, with innumerable choices. If we don’t like a particular cafe, we find a different one at which to dine. If we’re not enamored with the Ford we purchased, we trade it for a Nissan. Even our daily minute to minute decisions are consumer driven. Ever sit and channel surf on your TV? We give a “thumbs up” or “thumbs down” to a given program in three seconds or less. We like what we like. And we want what we want. And we want it when we want it. Which means we want it now.

This consumer mentality carries over to how we view church. Don’t like the preaching? Go to another church. Don’t like the music? Go to another church. Don’t like the youth program? Go to another church. Encounter someone who isn’t easy to get along with? Go to another church. It’s called “church hopping”. More accurately, it’s church shopping. And it’s not healthy. Or Biblical.

Lubbock, Texas is sometimes referred to as “the buckle of the Bible Belt”. There are around 300 churches in the area, give or take a couple sets of pews. If a person wanted to, they could visit a different church every Sunday for nearly six years. And the way some of us hop around, both here and across the country, it’s a wonder more churches haven’t installed revolving doors.

Too many Christians possess an attitude of “what can the church do for me?” And, for good or bad, churches cater to that consumer mentality. Planning meetings are based on the question, “What can we do to attract people to our church?” They invest in modern facilities, contemporary music styles and technology. In many churches today there are just as many people scrolling through the morning’s Scripture text on their smart phones as are flipping the pages of their Bible.

There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s crucial that we be relevant to the culture we live in. In fairness, part of the reason for church hopping is that some congregations are living in the past and refuse to do whatever it takes to communicate God’s truth in today’s reality. It’s not practical to ask people who live in a graphic intensive, high tech culture to go back in time 40 years on Sunday morning and expect them to relate. God’s truth is always fresh, never stale or antiquated. Wise are the churches who work hard to communicate with relevance.

That said, the bells and whistles of a particular church are not the issue. The issue is committing to a group of Christ followers where we live. Or as the Bible calls it, “the body of Christ” (Ephesians 4:11-16).

The Bible talks about you and I as members of the body of Christ. We’ve each one been given unique talents and skills and abilities by God to use for the building of His Kingdom. Ephesians 2:10 describes them as “the good works that God has prepared in advance for us to do.”

Yet instead of asking ourselves, “How has God gifted me to contribute to His local church?”, too many of us hop from church to church asking, “What can this place do for me?” That egocentric approach is a recipe for disaster. There’s no place (or person, for that matter) that will always be able to meet all our needs. If the focus is on our needs, it is inevitable that we will be disappointed. And because the focus has been our needs, the problem will never be our fault. It will be the church’s fault. And that’s when the enemy steps in and whispers sweet lies in our ear.

“You don’t need to put up with this. There’s a perfect church out there for you. A church with no politics. A church where every song is your favorite. A church that will meet all your needs and the relationships will be easy and free of disagreement.”

Really. It’s out there. Somewhere. The enemy says, “Just keep hopping till you find it.”

Of course, it’s a lie. There is no such place. Yet if the enemy can keep you hopping, then he can keep you disconnected. When he keeps you disconnected, he keeps your God-given talents and abilities from being offered and used within in a group of Christ followers. Without your God-given gifts and talents, without the life experience you bring, the body of Christ is less than it was intended to be.

When we continually hop around, the body of Christ suffers. And the devil wins.

It’s not about finding the perfect church. There is no such place. After I joined Turning Point in the fall of 2007, I was asked to share with the congregation my experience of being a first time visitor there. In concluding my remarks I said to them, “I know Turning Point isn’t a perfect church. And if it was before, it’s not anymore. Because I’m here now.”

Do your homework. Pray about it. Then pick a church and plug in. Quit hopping around. Offer your God-given talents and abilities. Bring to that group of people your life experience that is unique to you. And in doing so commit to that church for better or worse. It might be a mega church or a house church. It really doesn’t matter. They’re all made up of imperfect people, just like you, who are loved by a perfect God.

You’ll be surprised how far God will take you when you quit hopping around.

“But, speaking the truth in love, may we grow up in all things into Him who is the head – Christ – from whom the whole body, joined and knit together by what every joint supplies, according to the effective working by which every part does its share, causes growth of the body for the edifying of itself in love.” – Ephesians 4:15-16

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

When I was a kid I would play Scrabble with my Grandma Thompson. She was into her 70′s the first time we ever played. Grandma liked words. I remember her doing the Jumble puzzle in the newspaper everyday. She had been a school teacher and principal in the 1920′s before marrying my Grandfather and becoming a farm wife. She believed in being a life long learner and led by example.

Scrabble was fun for her because she was good at it. My Grandfather was good at it, too, but I had a hard time getting him to join us because Grandma most always won. And it wasn’t just that she usually won. It was how she won that made him crazy.

Grandma was what could be kindly described as a deliberate player. Grandpa would describe her as a slow player. She would study the board, look at every possibility, then look some more. Her turn would sometimes turn into a coffee break for me and Grandpa. Finally, she would put down her letters, usually for a big word and lots of points.

On this particular day, Grandpa was winning. As the available letters dwindled to zero, Grandpa got excited. He had a big lead. There were no more letters left to be drawn. We were stuck with what we had on our tray. He managed a double word score and increased his lead to what seemed insurmountable. I played some grand three letter word like “sit” or “dog”.

Then it was Grandma’s turn.

She put her hand to her chin and scanned the board, quietly studying the open squares. Grandpa and I looked at the board and then at each other. Why was Grandma taking so long? We can’t see a single opening anywhere, save maybe adding an “I” to an “F” for “IF”. Certainly nothing that could generate enough to win the game.

Why take so long looking and hoping for something that just isn’t there?

Grandpa was a patient man. He’d been married to Grandma for over 50 years. But he was ready for this game to be over. He was ready to win. “Hurry up, Bernice. Play something.”

“I’m still looking.”

Drink a little coffee. Look out the window. Look at the board.

There’s nothing there.

“Oh”, she says. “This will work.”

She put down the rest of her letters. “Let’s see. That’s on a triple word score, too….48 points. And I’m out. What’s the score, Dettmer?”

Whatever Grandpa said to her he said walking away from the table.

Grandma wins. Again.

I was thinking today that at times my relationship with God is like playing Scrabble with Grandma. I can’t make sense of the board and my letters are all consonants and I can’t draw an “A” or an “E” to save my life. I can’t see any openings and I’ve played the same short words over and over. Words like…

Why?

When?

How?

Where.

Are.

You.

God?

I’ve taken my turn. It’s God’s turn to go. But He’s not going.

Drink some coffee. Look out the window. Pray. Repeat. Again. And again.

Day after day. Month after month.

Year after year.

“Hurry up and play, God!”

And about the time I’m ready to quit and walk away from the game because I see no possibilities, no openings and no chance to make sense of anything in my life, God plays His letters. A triple word score with a “Z” and an “X” for a zillion points. And I stand in awe of how He could make something out of nothing. How He made a way where there was no way.

God wins. Again. He always does. And though it’s sometimes hard for my stubborn self to admit, when God wins in my life, I win.

If you’re waiting for God to play His letters, or wondering how He could ever help you make a word with the goofy mix of letters on your tray, hang in there. Take it from someone who’s gotten out of his chair more than once. Don’t walk away from the game. There is a blessing to be had by staying at the table. Sometimes God is slower than your Grandma. But He’s never late. And He promises that when He makes His play, whatever He puts down for you will be worth the wait.

Oh, about my Grandpa and that Scrabble game…It took a long time before I got him to play with us again. When he finally agreed to another game, Grandma had the first turn. She played a huge word on a double word score. All the usual points plus a 50-point bonus for using all seven letters. She was up 85 to zero before Grandpa’s chair was even warm.

Whatever words he laid down we didn’t hear because he just smiled, shook his head and went outside to work in the garden.

It was just me and Grandma after that.

“But this I call to mind; therefore I have hope: The Lord’s loyal kindness never ceases; His compassions never end. They are fresh every morning; your faithfulness is abundant! “My portion is the Lord,” I have said to myself, so I will put my hope in him. The Lord is good to those who trust in Him, to the one who seeks him. It is good to wait patiently for deliverance from the Lord.” - Lamentations 3:21-26

“For I am confident that He (God) who began a good work in you will continue to perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 1:6

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

]]> http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2011/01/17/triple-word-score/feed/ 0 http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2010/04/11/love-that-lasts/ http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2010/04/11/love-that-lasts/#comments Mon, 12 Apr 2010 06:32:15 +0000 todd http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/?p=462 (This appeared as the back page “Classic Thoughts” column in the February 2010 issue of “The Classic”, the alumni magazine of  Northwestern College. I’m grateful for the privilege to contribute to this fine publication.)

Pulling into the parking lot, I ask my 9-year-old twin daughters the same question I ask every week.

“Girls, what are we here to do?”

“Galoshes 5:13b.” (We’re still working on the reference part.)

For the past two years, Annie, Emma and I have been bringing flowers and hugs to the residents of Carillon House and Vista Care, a skilled-care center and in-patient hospice. God uses our simple act of service to teach us many life lessons, like the power of encouragement and the frailty and brevity of life. It’s also allowed us the privilege of witnessing the final chapters of beautiful love stories.

Say to any couple, “Tell me how you met,” and you’re guaranteed a fun and fascinating story. Beginnings are full of romance and anticipation.

Sadly, romantic beginnings do not guarantee happy endings. If only couples could be glued together like the souvenirs in a wedding album. Some thrive during seasons of “better”—times of health and wealth. Yet when the “worse”—sickness and poverty—happens, their commitment wanes.

“How we met” stories are many. “How we stayed together” stories are much rarer.

There are many love stories among our Carillon friends. Ray and Margaret had been married 65 years when she died last month. Mr. Williams is a steady presence at the side of his bride of over 50 years. He watches helplessly as Alzheimer’s assaults her memory.

What choices do you make when “for worse” will never get better? Buddy and Shirley were married 50 years when he went in for a hip replacement two years ago. Complications from the anesthesia have left him bedridden ever since.

My Emma asks me, “Daddy, is Shirley with Buddy every day?”

“Yes, honey.”

Emma pauses before concluding, “She loves him.”

Indeed.

Dub stares at a photo of himself and his wife, Cody. “She was the pick of the town. Everyone told me how lucky I was. A kind and godly woman of high moral character. Everyone loved her.” After combat in the Pacific Theater during World War II, Dub came home and proposed. They built a life together as West Texas cotton farmers.

Through better and worse, God was good to them. He blessed them with children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As he speaks, Dub doesn’t want to cry. Yet with the memories come the tears.

“I had a stroke 18 years ago,” he says. “I was dependent on her. She was so good to me. No matter what, she made sure I got out of the house twice a day. She would drive me to McDonald’s, and we’d sit and have a 37-cent cup of coffee and talk.

“I had to have a hospital bed in our bedroom. When I woke up, I always looked over at her. She’s been gone for over a year now, but when I wake up, I still look that direction.”

When your eyes have awakened to the same beautiful face for over six decades, how could you not keep looking and hoping she would be there? Dub and Cody were married 62 years when she died.

“Those 18 years after my stroke were the best years of my life because I got to see her every day. If I hadn’t had that stroke, I’d have been out playing golf or out fishing and I would have missed that time with her,” Dub concludes.

Sometimes it takes the worst to teach us what is the best.

Ecclesiastes 7:8 tells us, “The end of something is better than the beginning.” Maybe Solomon was saying that however something starts, finishing well is more important. Better a beautiful final chapter than a happy first paragraph.

My daughters know the reason we come to Carillon is to “serve each other with love.” I hope someday they realize the Dubs and Codys they met here succeeded in marriage for the very same reason.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

“Grandpa, I don’t want to be 4. I want to stay 3.”

“Why is that?”

“Because after you turn 4, then you turn 5.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Because when you turn 5 you go to kindergarten and they make you spell hippopotamus…and I don’t know how!”

We’ve all been there. The unknown. We look ahead. We wonder. We worry. What waits for us? Will we be ready? Are we up to the challenge? Little Nathan was doing the “double jump ahead”; fearing an unknown twice removed from his present moment. We laugh at the story because we’ve done it, too.

President Calvin Coolidge said, “If you see ten troubles coming down the road, you can be sure that nine will run into the ditch before they reach you.” The wisdom being “don’t borrow trouble”. While President Coolidge’s advice is comforting, if you’re like me, instead of being relieved that nine troubles are dead in a ditch, you worry like crazy about the one trouble that will end up making the trip. What will it be? What will it look like? How will it affect me? We “what if?” ourselves into a tizzy.

What if…?

What if…?

What if…?

Allowed to run unchecked, our minds are masterful at creating imaginary crisis. Yet unless we’re terribly neurotic or boringly rich, rarely do we sit around and manufacture crisis out of thin air. Our worry usually stems from genuine present moment troubles. That one trouble that makes it down the road to our door. A chronic health problem. Financial pressure. An unstable job situation. A teenager running away with their desire for independence. A relationship that’s headed for the point of no return. These troubles are all very real.

I’ve been battling worry a lot lately. With due respect to President Coolidge, I have one or two or twenty troubles right now that ignored the ditch and are parked in my driveway. They don’t look like they’re moving on anytime soon. I’d like to say I’ve handled my worries well. But it’s been paralyzing at times.

So what to do?

I’m learning. Slowly, painfully, tearfully, imperfectly. I’m learning what God is trying to teach me about worry.

And trust.

“Todd, here’s the deal…

I told you that I’ll never leave you or forsake you. Others may have promised that and bailed, but I’m not them. I’m Me. I’m God. And I am not a man that I should lie. Simply put, you’re never alone. Ever. You might feel like you are, but you’re not.

Next, you need to understand that I understand your worries and your fears. I know that life is hard. I’ve never sugar coated that. “Many are the afflictions of the righteous” is how I put it in Psalm 34. You’re living in a broken world. Being a Christian doesn’t make you immune from that. Your problems are real. That is not lost on Me.

You need to understand something else. And it may not make sense to you. But everything that happens in your life, good and bad, passes through My sovereign hand. If I allow it, I have a reason for it. That doesn’t mean I cause bad things. It means I work all things, even the bad things, for good in your life. There are no loose ends in your life not connected to my perfect purpose.

You’ve asked me a few times, “Why am I allowing this @#$% to happen?” It’s a fair question. If I love you, why don’t I spare you? You might not like this, either. But there’s more at stake here than your present circumstances. See, I care more about your character than your comfort. I need you to come to grips with your faults, the things you need to change for your good and My glory. I need you to learn to trust Me with the injustices in your life. I need you to go through this. Not around it. The hard stuff, the pain, it’s all part of the process of making you like Jesus. 

And you have no idea how committed I am to that process. Does the phrase, “never stop this side of heaven” ring a bell?

I know heaven seems far away right now. That’s why I need you to believe Me when I say take life one day at a time. Don’t worry about tomorrow. Each day has enough trouble of its own. The things you need, I’ll provide. I promise. It’s about depending on Me every day. That’s why Jesus called it “our daily bread”.  Just do the next thing in front of you and trust me. Don’t waste your time on the “what if’s” about tomorrow. I’m already there. And I’m working in ways you can’t see or understand.

So keep talking to Me. All the time. It’s the best thing you can do. Don’t polish it, don’t edit it. Don’t spiritualize it. Just bring it. The angst. The tears. The passion. The needs. Just bring it. Your worries plus you equals fear. Your worries plus Me equals peace. And my peace passes all understanding.

Whether your circumstances get better or worse…and yes, they could get worse, remember that nothing separates you from My love. Come hell or high water, I love you. I’m for you. Do I need to state the obvious?

If God is for you, who can be against you?

I’m for you.

So keep going.”

- God

In mathematical terms, pi is “a physical constant defined as the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter”. It’s usually written out to 3.141, just three decimal places. Yet theoretically, there is no limit to the number of decimals it can be written to.

Being one who is mathematically challenged and believes the handheld calculator is right up there with fire and the wheel as significant in human history, several thoughts come to mind.

First…why?

Second…really. Why?

Third…”mental health counselor” and memorizing 100,000 digits don’t seem to go together.

Finally, the ability of the human mind. The most advanced computer on earth is like a Commodore 64 compared to our God-created brain. Some scientists speculate we use less than 2% of our brain’s capacity. Read the newspaper accounts of the wacko things some people do and 2% seems like a high estimate. Regardless, we’re all underachievers when it comes to using our brain.

I was thinking about Mr. Haraguchi’s feat of reciting 100,000 decimals and said to myself, “There’s no way I could remember a list that long.”

Maybe so. Yet I don’t seem to have trouble remembering long lists of other things.

Like the wrongs done to me by other people.

And I suspect I’m not alone.

Why is it that many of us can’t remember five items on a grocery list but we can recall in detail how we’ve been hurt by others over the years?

We’re fallen people. We hurt others and others hurt us. That’s life in a broken world. It took God’s intervention to give us a way to break that cycle. It goes something like this…

God’s perfect. We’re not. Our sin separated us from God. We can’t bridge that gap on our own. So Jesus died on the cross to pay for our sins. Because of Jesus’ sacrifice, God forgives our sins. In turn, God instructs us to “forgive others as we have been forgiven”. That means forgiving with a willing heart. Or as Lewis Smedes so beautifully put it, “Forgiveness is giving up my right to hurt you for hurting me.” 

God says, “Forgive one another as I have forgiven you” (Colossians 3:13). He says when He forgives us that He “separates our sins from us as far as the east is from the west” (Psalm 103:12).  

So how does God forgive? He forgives and forgets. 

Not easy for fallen people like us to do. We may forgive, or at least try to. But there’s something in us that is loathe to forget. It’s as though we take the forgiven hurt and bury it in the back corner of our mind, but before walking away we pound a stake to mark the memory in case we want to dig it up again.

When we choose to repeatedly dig up the memories of wrongs done to us, either to satisfy our desire for revenge or to avoid taking personal responsibility for our own failures, we don’t allow God the opportunity to grow anything good from the pain.

Worse, if we hang on to our hurt long enough, it becomes our identity. I know people who’ve chosen to allow a wrong suffered 20 years ago to define their existence. They have chosen to be defined by their pain instead of experiencing the freedom of forgiveness. And it is a choice. When we dig up the memory of a wrong done to us, we’re the one holding the shovel.

There’s nothing easy about this. It is tearful, agonizing work. When Jesus said we need to forgive our brother 70 x 7, I think it’s because He understands that forgiveness is a process. When painful memories come to mind, we forgive. Again. Then give the pain back to the sovereignty of God. We give our pain back to God because He is the only One capable of bringing something good from it. When we trust God with our pain, it will never be for free. In His time, He makes all things beautiful.

Until that happens for you and me, let’s at least do our best to leave the shovel alone. If we can just stop turning the dirt over, God will have a chance to grow something good.

“Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” – Ephesians 4:31-32

One thing we see a lot of in the store is tattoos. From the small, understated rose on an ankle to full arm images of mythical dragons. Nicknames on knuckles. Names on necks. Some in multiple colors, some with plain black ink. All applied with a needle. Which is why you won’t find any tattoos on me.

Last week during halftime of the Suns/Mavericks game, a 20-something guy came in the store sporting a tattoo unlike any I’d seen. It was a dandelion. About ten inches long from top to bottom. The kind of dandelion you blow the fluff off of. It was expertly done. Some of the seeds in flight, as if it had just been bumped by a light breeze. But this tattoo also showed the root of the plant, deep into the ground. And where the green stem stopped and the root started, a gray cross section of concrete, smooth on the top and jagged on the bottom. 

I tapped him on the shoulder and said, “There’s got to be a story behind this. What is it?”

He looked at the tattoo and then at me. “Years ago someone asked me what my favorite plant was. I said the first thing that popped into my head. “The weeds that grow through the cracks in the driveway.” It was a random answer, but it kind of stuck with me. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. You know, growing in a hard spot. Perseverance. That kind of thing. So when I decided to get a tattoo I knew exactly what I wanted it to be.”

Pointing to his arm he added, “I just had the concrete added this week. I think it turned out great.” 

It sure did.

Growing in a hard spot. Thriving in difficult circumstances. Blooming where you are planted, even if where you’re planted is an unforgiving rock hard place. There are plenty of days I wish I had the perseverance of a dandelion.

In God’s design you and I are higher in the created order than a dandelion. Though we’re sometimes hard pressed to see it in our rough and tumble world, we are created in the image of God. Psalm 8 says that we were “made a little lower than God” and that He has entrusted us to rule over His creation. All that to say we are very valuable to God and He has a divine purpose for our lives.

And that’s the rub. In the middle of our gut wrenching, heart shredding, head banging hard times, we don’t see the purpose in it. How can anything that hurts so much be for our good? Caring friends might attempt to encourage us with a card that says, “God has a plan for your life”. They mean well. And it’s true. God does have a plan. So we smile and nod and say “thank you”, while our pain thinks about how satisfying it would be to put the entire Hallmark section through a paper shredder, one platitude at a time.

We may know in our head that God has a plan. Psalm 139 says that “all our days were written down in His book before there was yet one of them.” In our hurt, our hearts wonder if He’s looking at the wrong page. Yet the only way we can grow in a hard spot and thrive in difficult circumstances is to remember that every difficulty in our lives is attached to a higher purpose. In God’s economy, our pain is never for free. It’s always attached to the higher purpose of conforming us into the image of His Son Jesus Christ, who suffered all things that you and I might be made complete.

God never promises that our pain will make sense to us. We may die confused. God does promise that everything has a purpose and no experience is wasted. 

So in the middle of our pain, much better to ask “what?” than “why?”. The “why?” may never be answered. Yet the prayer, “God, what will you have me learn from this?” is one He never fails to answer.

Growing in a hard spot. Thriving in difficult circumstances. Blooming where you are planted, even if where you’re planted is an unforgiving rock hard place.

Persevere. Your pain isn’t for free. God is growing something good in you.

“And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. For whom He did foreknow, He also predestined to become conformed to the image of His Son…” – Romans 8:28-29

It’s dry in the desert. That’s why they call it a desert. On a good year, the Phoenix valley receives only 7″ of rain. This hasn’t been a good year. Until God turned on the faucet last Saturday, it had been 143 days in a row with no rain. The last time water fell from the sky was October 18th. My twins’ birthday. When you’re 5, not seeing something for 143 days can make you forget you ever knew what it was. Annie looked out the window with disbelief and asked, “Daddy, is that rain?”

Rain here is a tease. Sometimes it’s spotty. It might be pouring buckets at your friend’s house a half mile away while you’re washing your car under sunny skies. Rain is especially fickle here during monsoon season. It’s a seasonal weather pattern of hot, moist air that blows up from Mexico during July and August. You see the clouds form in the late afternoon and you think it’s finally going to pour. More often than not, all you get is a dust storm; a wall of wind whipped dirt followed by 12 drops of rain on your windshield. A little mud in your eye as it laughs going away.

Saturday was not a tease. It really rained. The clouds rolled into town, took off their coats and stayed awhile. In a place where the sun shines 330 days a year, a day like this is more than a treat. It’s an event not to be missed. Gray skies. The steady sounds of water dripping off bougainvillea leaves onto the sidewalk. The splash of tires rolling through puddles. The smell of water in the air. The feel of raindrops on your face. The sight of accumulated dust and grime being washed away clean.

I worked the Suns game that Saturday night. Fans came through the doors from the parking garage and the street, coats damp and dripping, no one complaining. When you’ve been dry and dusty for five months, you welcome the shower. Wet rubber soles squeaked on the floor and folks stopped to wipe off their glasses before moving along the concourse. It was easy to see the rain made people happy. It had been 143 days. Now the wait was over. The rain came.

Waiting.

We do a lot of waiting.

In Phoenix, we wait for rain. In Seattle, they wait for sunshine. We all wait in line at the grocery store. Some waiting is expected. No one in their right mind ever goes to the Social Security office or the Department of Motor Vehicles expecting to be in and out in five minutes. Some waiting we plan for.

It’s waiting when we didn’t plan to wait that is the hardest.

Like waiting for a job when we’ve been unemployed two months after the savings runs out. Waiting for the doctor to say this round of chemo therapy finally worked. Waiting for a baby to place in the nursery that’s been ready, and empty, for years. Waiting for that estranged relationship to be reconciled.

This is the waiting that exasperates and exhausts us. And if we’re honest, it is a waiting that frustrates and angers us. Because deep down, whether we admit it or not, we realize we’re waiting on God. He could do something about it if He wanted to. So why doesn’t He? Why doesn’t He do something? Anything to show us a glimpse of forward progress?

Most of the time we want our waiting to be over because we’re ready for a change of scenery. We want to be delivered from our immediate circumstances. All we can see is what’s in front of us. God has a different vantage point. He sees the big picture.

Though it pains me to say it, our waiting may be God’s working.

Abraham was an old and childless man when God promised him a son. If it was a hilarious thought that at 75 years old Abraham would be shopping for bottle warmers and a bouncy seat, then it was beyond incredible for him to be in the delivery room at age 100. But that’s what happened. God promised Abraham a son. And delivered on His promise 25 years later. They named him Isaac. It means “laughter”. Being a new dad when you’re 100 is pretty funny.

We can read the account in the book of Genesis and we can wonder about the wait. But God must have had His reasons. Albert Baylis put it this way,

“It appears God wants to do more with Abraham than drop promises on him. Abraham had received an irrevocable promise from God. But being God’s candidate for blessing is not a trip to Disneyland. Because God is going to bless Abraham, he’s going to make him into a man of faith. Because He is going to make Abraham a blessing, God will take whatever time is necessary. And God has never let time bother Him.”

Time bothers us. But it doesn’t bother God.

If you’re waiting, know that God is working. It’s ok to yell and scream about it. It’s ok to wonder how and why. The Bible is full of people who, in the middle of their dry dust wait, threw up their questions to God. No worries. He is big enough to handle them. You may not get the answers you like. You may not get answers at all. But this much is true. God always delivers on His promises. In His time and in His way. And always for your good and His glory.

Hang in there.

The rain is coming.

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” – Proverbs 13:12

“The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him.” – Lamentations 3:25

“Do you see a man skilled in his work? He will serve before kings; he will not serve before obscure men.” – Proverbs 22:29 

A pleasant discovery upon moving to the Phoenix valley was how much life exists in the desert. God has created a number of both plants and animals to thrive in this climate.

One enjoyable way to get some exercise during the months October through May, the time when it isn’t a gazillion degrees hot, is to hike in the Superstition Mountains. Besides getting away from the incessant noise of the city, it’s fascinating to get a close look at the plant life. The green bark of the Palo Verde trees. The rubbery feel of the jojoba leaves. The spiny needle tips of the agaves. Fiery orange blooms of the ocotillo. And if you’ve ever been in the desert after a rain, you’ll never forget the scent of greasewood in the air.

And there are cactus. The names describe them well. Chain Fruit Cholla. Strawberry Hedgehog. Fishhook Barrel. Clock-face Prickly Pear. A couple of my visiting friends have gotten a bit too close to some of the cactus. They learned the hard way that the plant is called “Jumping Cholla” for a reason.

To me, the most impressive cactus in the desert is the Saguaro. Carnegiea gigantea for you botanists. Like human beings, it is the only living species in its genus. The usual life span of the saguaro is between 150 and 200 years, yet the odds against these giant cactus becoming giant are more than great. A saguaro may produce as many as 40 million seeds in its lifetime while only one of these seeds will likely mature into a plant that outlives its parent. A saguaro fortunate to develop as a seedling will, at the age of 3 years, measure only one half an inch in height. They don’t bloom for the first time until they are about 50 years old, and grow their first arm around age 75.

A fascinating feature of the saguaro is the way it responds to being wounded. When a Gila Woodpecker or a Northern Flicker pecks through the thick waxy skin and hollows out a hole to make a nest, the saguaro seals that part of itself with a callus. It limits the damage and prevents decay from taking over the rest of the plant.

When it comes to the wounds in our life, we can all learn something from the saguaro. This giant cactus can’t stop woodpeckers and flickers from poking holes in its skin. Instead it seals the wound to keep from “bleeding to death”. Otherwise the wound would be allowed opportunity to decay. Necrosis would set in and eventually kill the plant.

We don’t have woodpeckers trying to poke holes in us. But we get wounded just the same. Life is rough and tumble. The Bible is right up front about that. It says in Psalm 34:19 that “Many are the afflictions of the righteous…”. Which is another way of saying that life is hard for even the kindest among us. Being a good person doesn’t make you immune from pain. We can’t control that. We’ve all been wounded.

We can’t always stop people from poking emotional holes in us. But we do have full control of our decision to treat, or not treat, our wound. Some of us are emotionally bleeding to death because we have chosen not to seal off our wound. Some of us are decaying from a wound inflicted on us many years ago. We’re playing the blame game, replaying in our mind the injustice done to us like a loop tape in a VCR. Blame and self-pity are drugs we’ve become addicted to. In the meantime, we look for some park ranger to feel sorry for us while we sit and decay, bitterly waiting for the woodpecker to come back and apologize.

Yet even if the woodpecker returns, full of remorse and contrition,  a hole is a hole. An apology might make us feel better, but a wound is a wound. When choose not to treat our emotional wound, we’re choosing not to grow.

Reality is that we won’t begin to heal until we decide to seal off the wounded area, limit the damage, and focus on growing up. There’s a reason 200 year old saguaros grow to be 200 years old. They don’t allow one woodpecker hole to determine their future.

How are you doing with your woodpecker holes? Are they sealed off? If you still have some open wounds, you’re not alone in your experience. God cares about you. And your wounds. With gentle grace and forgiveness, He wants to heal and seal; for the purpose of strong growth. God wants you to grow tall!

Sometime soon go for a hike out in the desert. Even if you have to hop a plane to get here, it’s worth it. Take a close look at the saguaros; these stately persevering creations of God. Run your fingers over a cactus callus and see the beauty of a century old plant that refuses to quit.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18