Perfect Plan

“He sent from on high, he took me, he drew me out of many waters.” (Psalm 18:16)

In an attempt to explain life, inaccurate phrases are tossed randomly into conversation. “God never gives us more than we can bear,” is one such repetitive fallacy. For many of us, life dumps situations on us that are completely unbearable, that are clearly beyond our capacity to cope.

King David would concur. Throughout the Psalms he introduces us to one overwhelming scenario after another, where enemies, false friends and hardships threaten to extinguish the very breath within his lungs. We sympathize with his lament in Psalm 18:4: “The cords of death encompassed me; the torrents of destruction assailed me; the cords of Sheol entangled me” (Psalm 18:4). Surrounded, assaulted, entangled. David describes exactly how we feel.

Through his poetic songs we learn from David that when God allows us to experience incredible difficulties, they are a course directing us to throw ourselves on the mercy of Almighty God. Following the psalmist’s example, we cry to the Lord for help, cognizant that he is our only source of rescue.

And his response is not marred by pity or a sense of duty. Rather, we rejoice in the realization that he rescues us because he delights in us (Verse 19). The God of heaven and earth finds great joy in reaching down from on high and making a way for us to endure, to persevere, and to survive the struggle.

“This God – his way is perfect; the word of the Lord proves true; he is a shield for all those who take refuge in him” (Verse 30). That's a line of a song worth recalling on days when not much else makes sense.

Elizabeth A. Mitchell

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River Wash

“I want men everywhere to lift up holy hands in prayer…” I Timothy 2:8

Jacqueline’s hands are dirty, but she doesn’t care. She is four with river sand plastered to playful fingers. She’s dug a hole and carved a space in mushy soil. It is Sunday without stiff shoes or hardwood pews.

The stream catches our eye as we explore the tiny town. The four families vacationing together hunt for a place to hold church. We park beside the scrub, scramble down the bank, and dip our toes into the stream. We decide to stay; Jesus would have had church here, too.

But first we play. We splash and make castles in the mud. Jacqueline crouches close to the water and explores all the possibilities. She scoops the soft soil with her fingers and plops piles of it around her. The mud slides down her arms and creeps up her legs. She is oblivious.
“Who wants to pray?” asks Steve, our designated leader, as he begins the call to his disheveled congregation. Jacqueline raises her hand and hears her name. “OK, Jacqui. Go ahead.”

I watch her now with mother eyes. Hopefully she’ll talk clearly and slowly. But it’s OK. She’s young. Then she stretches out her tiny hands and preaches a sermon with her simple move.
Our daughter bends toward the river and rinses off the dirt. Palms down, she ruffles them in the water. Then tiny fingers fold up and squeeze each other tight.

I do not hear her pray. I do not know if others do. Instead, my mind replays her river wash. She could not pray with dirty hands, could not fold filth between her palms. First, she must let the grime go. Instinctively, she knows the dirt must be washed away before she can pray.

Often, I choose to come to Him with dirty hands. Regularly, I pour out prayers with smears on my soul unaware that first I need a river wash. He is the Living Water, willing to wash my grime away. She is only four. She’s taught me well this day.

Elizabeth A. Mitchell

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Seaside Stillness

“He taught them many things by parables, and in his teaching said: ‘Listen’” (Mark 4:2).

The situation could easily have turned ugly.

As the crowds surged toward him, they threatened to crush Christ with their aggressive behavior (Mark 4:1). The wind whipped waves and slapped them along the shoreline; he calmly maneuvered into the safety of the vessel he had requested his disciples to prepare (3:9). The boat bobbed in rhythm with the water as the disciples anchored close to shore. With the lake to his back and the multitudes perched before him, the master teacher projected his voice, positioning himself in order for the crowd to hear every word.

In sandals covered in sand and garments splashed by Galilee’s sea, the people pressed against the water’s edge for another helping of what this healer had previously delivered. The leper, the paralytic, and the one who now boasted an un-shriveled hand were effective advertisements of his miraculous touch. The silenced demons spoke volumes too.

Where disorderly conduct could have reigned, they were held spellbound by this king holding court within the confines of a simple wooden boat. No royal throne ever held such distinction as he extended truth to them like a regal scepter.

“Listen,” was the first word from the teacher’s lips. Before he even began the parable of the sower and the seeds, before he explained the significance of the soils, the rabbi seized their attention with his supreme authority.

Listen to the words I am going to share, though words are strewn generously on every shore and field. Quiet your hearts otherwise you will not be able to hear the truth I want to give. The master storyteller soothed the crowds then; he longs still to quiet our restless souls.

He will bring order to our disheveled world, calm to our chaos, as we wait attentively for him to speak, by the shore of our own wind-swept Galilee.

Elizabeth A. Mitchell

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Apple in Eye, Shadow of Wings

“As for me, I shall behold your face in righteousness…” (Psalm 17:15).

Here comes the New Year, full of promise, packed with potential, buzzing with beginnings and resolutions and goals. But wait. Everything isn’t new. Somethings are tried and true, stable, resolute, unchanging. Truth…hope…wonder. They adhere to the past like a gentle mist and usher us ahead with the brilliance of a bright beam of light.

Truth is promise permeating all the Psalms and summarized in a succinct line of the seventeenth one: “I call upon you, for you will answer me, O God” (Verse 6a). The One I appealed to for help previously, I can still depend on. The Creator of yesterday, and today, and forever, gives us his word that he will hear us and will respond to us.

We go forward confident that he is aware of our concerns and will act toward us like a benevolent Father. In a few simple words we are handed an enormous assurance of hope, a reminder to persevere in prayer as children expecting to hear a gracious response.

Allow this truth to soak inside you and be surprised with the wonder of belonging to such a God. Then like David pray, “Wondrously show your steadfast love, O Savior of those who seek refuge from their adversaries at your right hand. Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings…(Verses 7-8).

Hidden beneath wings of protection, cocooned within the center of his focus. Now that’s a great beginning for the flight forward.

Elizabeth A. Mitchell

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