The Wave

Building waves at North Beach, Ogunquit, Maine.

Once upon a time, in fact, only a few days ago, a man had a real-as-life dream that seemed to have been triggered by something far removed from whatever he may have had to eat before bed.

This was no usual mish-mash of his day’s or life’s events, or a weird blend of the stuff weighing on his subconscious, or the panic of classes he missed in college. This was one of those rare dreams when he knew when he was in it and when he awoke that it was not trivial but perhaps weighty and Eternal. The kind you don’t dismiss with a yawn and a strong cup of coffee, but the kind that you write down—every detail—and ponder, and pray about, and wonder, and pay attention to…

…The time was late winter, perhaps early spring. I was standing on a sidewalk outside our town’s elementary school looking out on the large expanse of playing fields down the embankment. Everything was covered with water, like a large lake or an ocean. The water was heaving and gently rolling. From the south end of the field, a train of snow piles that seemed to have gathered momentum, as though pushed by a river during spring thaw, paraded on to the back of the “lake.” This seemed to cause what looked like a huge building wave that was coming toward me and other unknown faces around me, and we sensed it was coming toward the school—but not in a horrific or fearful way. There was no panic, although I felt myself instinctively running for cover to get out of its way. As I turned around to look, the building wave was very blue, as if from heaven itself. Just as I was about to reach an unlocked door to the school gym, the wave had somehow surrounded me and was coming from the other direction as well. Again, no nightmarish fear. I remember diving through it and feeling neither cold nor warm but incredibly refreshed. A friend who had been with me said he decided to ride the wave, and though he was soaked, he was beaming from ear to ear with joy. Once inside the gym, although the wave had washed over the school, all was well. Peaceful. Of note, however, was where there had been an actual slow drip of water from a leaky roof had turned into a torrent. No one was concerned. Someone who appeared to be a teacher approached with a smile and gave off a vibe that everything was going to be fine. The scene suddenly transitioned to walking out of the school and back to my car. And as I walked down a hallway, it morphed into a sprawling restaurant-like atmosphere crowded with adults who were loud and having fun but who seemed to be totally oblivious to what had just happened down the hall and outside…

You have probably heard on the news or online about a wonderful wave of spiritual awakening that is significantly impacting several college campuses and even public schools across the nation. The media isn't quite sure what to make of it. Church people in my generation have tried to define it, label it, critique it, even make it their own. But this is not about us, really. This is about God sovereignly showing love to a generation desperately in need of some. Many are, reportedly, being healed of deep hurts in the process. They are discovering or rediscovering who Jesus is, that He is not “religious” or political, and that He is more than a figure from history. And they may or may not be interested in coming to our churches or listening to sermons…yet. Shocking.

Because this is a wave of Love that does not precisely fit a mold from “revivals” of the past, it has caused some to question its authenticity. In fact, however, it looks something like this: a young man who seems troubled and weighed down by the craziness of the world around him is approached by a Believer, greeted by name, told that God loves him, and is given a hug. And a dam breaks. Simple as that. That kind of “revival.”

If the man’s dream means anything, that sort of wave can happen wherever we live, and it is not to be feared but embraced. But none of us will make it happen. It can’t be announced or programmed or event-ed. If there is a wave in our towns, it will be a sovereign wave of God. And it will be because of one thing— someone and several someones prayed, and never quit praying, for the kids and teachers in their community. And it will be because our generation embraces the wave but gets out of the way and simply stands ready to be spiritual moms and dads. Ready with a prayer, a “God loves you” and an embrace.

May my generation never be like that oblivious, “who cares?” throng in the dream’s restaurant.

That would be a nightmare. 

“But when the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth?” (Luke 18:8)

Hope In the Woods

Like Robert Frost’s on a snowy evening, my woods are “lovely dark and deep” Even on a gray early morning like this.

And no matter the season, they are a window with a non-stop, open invitation to stop and pause…

And slow down and breathe deeply…

And be still…

And in the stillness, be thrilled to hear this day off in the distance the familiar songs of early spring birds.

The same ones you hear on a warm summer night!

To take time to fill your heart and soul with simple gratitude…

It’s a new day, “let us rejoice and be glad in it.”

To let your mind wander a bit to the day ahead,

And even a bit randomly, but perhaps perfectly, to ballplayers gathering under warm sunshine for spring training—where everyone is hopeful, no one has lost a game, and no matter what happened last year, all begin with a clean slate ready to be filled with dreams and goals.

So good.

But even better to find your thoughts suddenly shift to this:

That no matter how many faults and blemishes you can see in yourself,

No matter how bad your morning breath may be,

The God who made you and formed you for an abundant life loves you incredibly anyway.

(And besides, it is His breath in your lungs, so how can it be bad?)

A time to focus on that sun trying ever-so-hard to break through the cloud cover and remembering some favorite words…

“Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in You. Show me the way I should go, for to You I entrust my life.” (Psalm 143:8)

Amen. Sometimes, simple prayers are the very best.

These woods that are “lovely dark and deep” at 6 a.m., and have an aroma of earth

That’s almost as intoxicating as the smell of cookies in the oven

Will likely be, according to the forecast, like Robert Frost’s later this week.

Such is the tease of late February and March in New England.

But “to everything there is a season,” even this one.

Because through all of its up and downs, this early morning pause is a reminder that life is good.

Because God is still faithful.

He hasn’t left the building.

And though the morning clouds have now covered the sunrise glow in the east,

In the stillness, my woods that are “lovely dark and deep” are nevertheless shouting encouragement:

“May the God of hope fill you with joy and peace in your faith, that by the power of the Holy Spirit, your whole life and outlook may be radiant with hope.” (Romans 15:13)

Here we go!…

Sticking With It

An early morning February fog on Grove Street.

"Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in You. Show me the way I should go, for to You I entrust my life."—Psalm 143:8, NIV

In a classic Monty Python sketch, actor John Cleese explains his uneven cadence upon entering the Ministry of Silly Walks: "Good morning. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but I'm afraid my walk has become rather sillier recently, and so it takes me rather longer to get to work. Now then, what was it again?"

It's how a person can feel greeting God during those seasons of the Walk when even though a new sunny day dawns, it is often, like February in New Hampshire, obscured in clouds. Not horrible, but lacking that certain sweetness and clarity.  And like Cleese, not free-falling backwards but nevertheless sometimes feeling stuck in neutral, or for every two steps forward, one step back or even sideways. What's with that? It's called being human. It's called the Walk of faith. And the solution, it seems, can be found by taking what some might consider another kind of silly but beautiful walk: Very early in the morning on a Saturday in the late winter when most sane people are still cozied up in their beds. Walking and observing and remembering...

"Hey, what's that aroma?" It's not the usual wood smokiness accenting a frigid day. It's...it's the fragrance of the south wind! — the same one that hits you in the face during t-shirt and shorts weather. It's coming!

"Hey, what's that sound?" It's not the usual wintertime cackle of a blue jay. Nope, it's a robin! OK, so it's a Canadian Robin, eh? But it's still the same sound that sings in your ear when kayaking on a still lake on a warm evening. Kayak...open water...warmth. It's coming!

"Hey, wait, what's that thing growing in February?" It's not the usual wintertime shrub, like the one right next to it still covered with protective burlap, but a lilac bush with some very fat buds — the same bush that every balmy spring explodes in all-too-short-lived color and fragrance. It's really going to come!

Not just an early morning walk in late February. Instead, one where it was good to remember that whether feeling sunny or in a feels-like-I'm-stuck-in-neutral fog, God's faithfulness and promises for another Spring and for every season of life are unshakeable. And when you don't really know what's going on or feeling a bit "off," it's good to remember that the Walk of faith often means going into a land you do not know, and like millions of saints before you, God will be with you still. It's good to know, too, that occasional forgetfulness of God's faithfulness and goodness every step of your way is not a sin but a frequently off-course rudder that requires an occasional early morning walk of remembrance to get back on track.

And out of His great, unfailing love for us, and how that He knows so very well how we tick, God will use whatever means at His disposal — everyday things like aromas, sounds, and sights from a walk — to remind us that His faithfulness never changes and His promises have no "sell by" date. Most especially, God will often drive it all home with His Word, even one that hit home so hard many days ago that you wrote it down and tucked away for future reference because you knew you'd need re-reminding in the future. Like now...

 

"Barricade the road that goes nowhere

I choose the true road to Somewhere

I post Your road signs at every curve and corner

I grasp and cling to whatever You tell me

God, don’t let me down!

I’ll run the course You lay out for me

If you’ll just show me how.”

—Psalm 119:29-32, Message

"The strongest kind of faith is not mountaintop faith but one that says 'I won't quit.'"

— Steve Boyce

Backyard Wisdom

On a weekend like this, we could all use some wisdom from a warmer day…

…The red lantern was one of the few remaining things from my parents’ house that, for some reason, I held onto. I’m not a huge fan of red, and its fuel-burning capabilities had been dismantled. But I kept it because it was a fixture at their front door, hanging off to the side as a symbolic beacon of welcome to all who entered there. Several times, I’ve walked around my house looking for an appropriate place to put it, but it always looked out of place. Several times, I was ready to send it to the recycling center, until I walked out onto the porch one night this summer…

“This must be the place for it. Totally rustic like the rusty old lantern.” Except even here, there was no place to safely hang it, and having it sit on the floor or a table just looked…strange. So, I took that red lantern in hand, resigned once and for all to put it in the garage next to the other recycling center things awaiting the next trip. I decided to take the more pleasant short cut to get there—out the screen door to the backyard. And there it was—the perfect spot, even though it had been probably staring at me for months:

On the top step leading to the porch. A beacon of welcome to all who entered there, even if that “all” in the backyard would be me nine times out of ten. I don’t think that was coincidence. And I don’t think family nostalgia was the story ending that God had in mind. Because as I tucked the lantern into the corner away from the elements and door slams, while there was no thunderous voice from heaven, I sensed something quite loud and familiar from within…

“Your Word is a lamp for my steps; It lights the path before me.”—Psalm 119:105

And now at home on that top bakyard step leading to the porch, that old red lantern now has a small LED within it, helping to remind me that:

• God’s guidance, protection, wisdom, discernment and direction are gifts…but I also need to walk them out every time I step out the door.
• I have a purpose every single day…Every routine, every conversation is an opportunity to make a difference because I carry the Light within me wherever I go. To remember what Jesus said and still says: "You are like that illuminating light. Let the light shine everywhere you go, that you may illumine creation, so men and women everywhere may see your good actions, may see creation at its fullest, may see your devotion to Me, and [who knows?] may turn and praise your Father in heaven because of it.” (Matthew 5:16, Voice)
• I carry a weapon of hope and praise…because that Light can break through someone’s dark and heavy mood, and through all the negativities and unknowns of life.
• I have the world’s most reliable GPS…God’s words of life and His presence within me help me to see and trust for what is ahead, even on those days when I can’t see one step in front of me.

And unlike the LED inside it, that old red lantern on the backyard step nevertheless reminds me that though I grow weary at times, my Light never goes out, never needs batteries or solar power, and never loses power—the Light of the world is always true and right, sometimes piercing but always faithful, sometimes mysterious but never wavering, and always shining for my good so as not to hog it to myself but to lovingly reflect Him in some way to those along my path.

And so, to live in such a way as this:

“We can be the Light of the world without leaving our high beams on and annoying everybody.”—Bob Goff