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haven in uncertain waters

“Some . . . were merchants . . .
They mounted up to the heavens and went down to the depths;
    in their peril their courage melted away. . .
    they were at their wits’ end.

Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,
    and he brought them out of their distress . . .
 They were glad when it grew calm,
    and he guided them to their desired haven.
 Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love
    and his wonderful deeds for mankind” (Psalm 107:23-31).

The stock market plummeted today, while a bike builder announced his discovery of an eighteenth-century treasure. Gold coins sank into oblivion, failing to sustain the European seamen who once hoped in them. Today’s merchants sail turbulent waves of NASDAQ. DOW, and S&P riches. We venture into uncertain markets with a dubious eye on storms threatening a crash.

Shipwrecks remain inevitable. What rises must fall. Investors and businesses stake their livelihood upon determining when. Financial stability sways before us as a tempting foundation for security. The churning waters of business remain incapable of tethering an anchor for hope. Those who trust in money doom themselves to sink to the depths like an iron-banded chest.

In the midst of life’s uncertainty, God listens. He knows our need. Our inability to meet it on our own. He’s not waiting for us to disclose our situation, but to ask for His support. The instant an outcry rises from the heart, God shows up.

Sometimes His intervention isn’t what we thought we wanted. God doesn’t concern Himself with meeting our expectations. By nature, He exceeds them every time. Whether or not we recognize the amplitude of his work at first glance.

The Lord brings us through hardship and adversity. Not always around it. And not necessarily into material wealth. Christ affords us passage to wealth exceeding all earthly treasure. Regardless of swirling circumstances, our hope finds an anchor in solid Rock instead of the waters. Eternal life in heaven glows from the horizon with a glory eclipsing the sun. Despite the present seas, we fix our eyes on His peace sustaining us. And we’re glad when we grow calm.

Our Father guides us to His perfect haven, even before we understand our deep longing for it. While culture insists our well-being rests in a lifestyle money can buy, mortality and its trappings bear an expiration date. This temporary life, whether comfortable or not, will end. Eternity dawns with incomparable delight for those who cry out to the Lord and anchor themselves in His security. Then, real life begins. No dark waters. No instability. No. More. Devastation.

Whatever our seastorm rescue looks like today, let’s give thanks to the Lord for His unfailing love and His wonderful presence forever with us and eternally blessing us.

I glanced at the movie pass offer, displayed on a banner across the bloodmobile.

I just used my last movie pass with my son the other day. Maybe it’s a good day to give blood. I feel healthy, after all, and so much of our community struggles with a cold right now.

I strode into the chapel for worship and prayed for guidance. At the close of the service, I exited the double doors to face the blue bus again. I tilted my head and studied the option.

A whisper descended into my mind’s weak ear. “Not now. Go get a cup of coffee.”

I rounded the corner toward the social hall. I could get some coffee, stand available for a divine encounter, then proceed to the bloodmobile. Halfway down the sidewalk, a boy scout held a posterboard advertisement for a pancake breakfast.

Pancake breakfast? I don’t eat pancakes. I can’t possibly go in there and just get a cup of coffee without getting the scouts’ breakfast. There also won’t be many opportunities to bless or encourage others, since they’ll all be seated at tables with food I won’t be sharing.

I whirled around.

I can get some diet soda while donating blood. That should serve me just as well as coffee.

A nagging uncertainty pricked at my spirit as I marched across the street. I peered inside the bloodmobile at the empty benches.

“I must’ve come at just the right time.” I grinned at the phlebotomist and ascended the steps.

Paperwork and vitals breezed along without issue, but the ease ended there.

“Just a little prick, now,” the technician said.

Familiar with the process, I nodded. “Hope there’s not too much scar tissue. I’ve given blood from that arm many times.”

“Let me get someone to help.” He turned away.

I glanced at the clear tube extending from my arm. “That’s strange.”

The woman who took my paperwork elevated my elbow and jabbed the needle deep into my arm. I winced at the unfamiliar pain level. Needles never bothered me before. The clock ticked past eleven, each passing minute increasing my tardiness to teach the eleventh grade Sunday school class.

“Give the ball a squeeze every few seconds,” he reminded me. “You’re almost done.”

Squeezing sent a jolt through my arm. That’s never happened before. 

When the donation ended, he instructed me to raise my arm for a few seconds. He cleared me to lower it and another technician tried to apply a bandage. Profuse bleeding ensued, so she told me to raise my arm again. That’s never happened before, either.

At quarter past eleven, I hustled to the far building. My sole remaining student waved to me from the classroom across the hall. I joined the other class and apologized. Despite dizziness, I engaged the students with my usual passion for the Word.

I considered running errands after church, but a tug toward home persuaded me to put them off until later in the afternoon. I checked on my son’s cough, worked on some writing, and clipped coupons with no further dizziness.

On my way to the first of my errands, I processed my experience aloud. “I don’t think I’ll give blood again for a long time.”

I considered several shades of thread at the fabric store, but struggled to decide in the poor light. I took two in hand and grabbed a third.

The thought sifted into mind. “Don’t buy a third. Two is sufficient.”

I glanced at the spool. God? My stomach churned. I should go. I replaced the third spool and headed to the check out line.

Customer service hailed me. “I can take you over here.”

As she retrieved my change from the drawer, a tidal wave of nausea overwhelmed me. I knelt and rested my reeling forehead against the counter.

“Do you need a chair?” Three associates rushed from behind the customer service desk.

“Yes, that’d be good. I’m just dizzy all of a sudden…”

“Sit up.”

“Have some chocolate…some Coke…”

I sipped the cola. My gullet resisted the tiny square of candy. “I feel sick…”

A trash can appeared beside the chair. I leaned my head into a dream…things to do…

A crowd of faces hemmed in the fluorescent glare. Linoleum chilled through my tee shirt into my spine and ribs. How did I end up on the floor?

“Are you all right?” A man smiled down at me. “Her color’s looking a bit better now.”

“The ambulance is on its way,” an associate said.

After the EMTs completed their review, my husband arrived from work to support me through the parking lot and drive me home. My son later helped retrieve my car. I spent the unsteady evening in bed.

My failure to tune into the Spirit cost time and energy for countless others. I felt silly and weak, a reminder of my utter dependence on higher strength. Each minor choice carries an  infinite stream of potential contingencies, and God alone foresees them all. When I am tempted to trust my own understanding, I pray His Spirit will bring my public fall to mind. For in my weakness, I must listen.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
 in all your ways submit to him,
and he will make your paths straight.

Do not be wise in your own eyes;
fear the Lord and shun evil.
This will bring health to your body
and nourishment to your bones.” (Proverbs 3:5-8)

May the Lord reward my husband, the anonymous doctor who volunteered his attention, the kind associates at JoAnn’s Fabrics, and Hillsborough County Fire Rescue from His richest treasures of abundant blessings.

 

 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.  In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.Matthew 5:15-16

 

Once upon a time, in a window not so far away, a candlestick tarnished on the sill. As layers of dust thickened over the wax, hope for a purposeful existence faded. Then one day, the owner came to the window. He smeared white paste over the silver. The polish cut through the corrosion, with some initial discomfort. As the owner polished the surface, it gleamed with increasing beauty. He continued buffing until seeing his own reflection in the silver. After trimming the wick, he also lit the candle. Dust crackled and burned away with each moment.

A few passers by turned down the path toward the light and the owner welcomed them into his home. Others continued on their way down the dark, stormy road. The candlestick strove to burn higher, shine brighter, to find itself exhausted. It failed to provide more light than the owner had offered it. The candlestick doubted its purposefulness, wishing to leap through the window and reach those bedraggled travelers.

The owner dusted the candlestick with a soft cloth. “Those who aren’t looking won’t see, even if the light appears before them in the middle of the street. They’ve rejected me, not you. Only my light has the power to save them. You only carry the light I give you. You are a candlestick, not a flame. I’ll take care of you,” He said. “And I can take care of them, too. Keep shining, but shine in peace with the light I’ve given you.”

“Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:29-30

 

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