That Was Close

Thursday morning I felt it – the moments shifting to minutes. 

Like massive tectonic plates scraping arduously in opposing directions.  Not an earth shattering shift, but enough to rouse the needle of a seismograph.

I felt the strained pull toward a measuring line,

a countdown to a deadline,

its go time. 

Sermon prep was in full swing, yet barely midway.  Sunday was coming.  It was time to put thought to page and begin sorting out what I’d say.  I felt the gripping drag away from the God-pleasing posture of faith to the God-repulsing posture of fear…

Will it be ready in time?  What will I say?  How will I organize it all?  What if it’s too long…or too short?

The battery of questions were slung like boulders from distant and ancient catapults – catapults staged somewhere beyond the cross of Christ.  For on this side of the cross; on this side of the victory, in the land of Kingdom-of-God, there is no assault as this.  Only a strong deep tonal reminder…

I am good; a shepherd leading you through this seemingly dark valley.

The boulders pounded the valley floor with mounting thuds as the day went on.  Each one barely missing me.  A question boomed in my mind:  Who do you think you are? 

I snapped back with truth, assuming it was God’s enemy taunting me:  A child of God!  A saint in Christ!  A fellow heir with Christ!

By nightfall I felt pinned beneath the largest boulder of them all.  If I’d been humble enough to glance over my shoulder I would have seen the really big ones deflected by the Cross.  The more I prayed – the Bible says to ask, seek, knock – so, the more I prayed, the more I listened.  And not for an answer so much as a sign the prayer was audible in the heavenly realms, the way we listen for the chime from beyond the door after pressing a door bell. 

Friday morning, those tectonic plates, they wrenched and shuddered.  The moments vanished; swept away by the marked and shrill ticking of the second hand.  Amy and I huddled together and prayed – the Bible says to pray continually – so, we prayed.  And this time with no further expectation but that God is good.  And He is…He was.

Saturday the moments returned with all the gratitude to go along…

Reading proverbs to my son.

Listening to my youngest daughter “read” her picture Bible.

Making pancakes with my best friend.

Eating my oldest daughter’s homemade peanut butter cookies.

And on Sunday…

           Entering my sermon delivery (aptly titled “Who do you think you are?”) with full joy!