Destination Discipline

“Has not man a hard service on earth, and are not his days like the days of a hired hand? Like a slave who longs for the shadow, and like a hired hand who looks for his wages, so I am allotted months of emptiness and nights of misery are apportioned to me.” – Job

Many of us are facing each day with a kind of hesitation; which way will the world tilt today? It’s like we are in a pinball machine and there is a maniacal clown at the controls. One day we are boinking along with happy little bells ringing when suddenly the whammy hits and we get swacked into the stratosphere only to experience sheer terror at the hands of gravity and a black hole beneath our feet. We don’t even have time to question who will catch us when we fall.

If you aren’t familiar with Job (from the Bible) you might like to get acquainted with his philosophies. He’s got a pretty realistic approach to life and some really crappy friends trying to set him straight after the pinball machine of life hurls him into the gutter.

(I mean, can you relate? Have you ever had something bad happen to you and all the squirrels jump out of their trees to tell you how you could have avoided such a catastrophe?)

But seriously, Job asks a lot of really good questions. Here is a sample:

“Why was I not hidden as a stillborn child, as infants who never see the light?”

“Why is light given to him who is in misery, and life to the bitter in soul, who long for death, but it comes not, and dig for it more than for hidden treasures?”

You might be asking why we should care – after all – the dude lived a couple thousand years ago. But I think his story bears relevance to today. Job was deeply afflicted physically, emotionally and spiritually. He was wealthy and lost his goods. He had beautiful children and they all died in a day. He was physically afflicted with sores from head to toe, but he didn’t die, even though he longed for it. He was a man who feared God, yet he asked some pretty tough questions of Him.

Like Job, my questions come in waves as the clouds obscure my vision of God. Why isn’t my life the way I expected? Why do the people I love hurt me? Why is there so much evil in the world? Why do good people have to die? Why do my friends let me down? Everyone asks these questions, but they approach them differently. Some become bitter and resentful. They speak fluent sarcasm and take solace in biting actions and words. Others just pretend to be happy. They fill their life with television programs and movies and other forms of entertainment. Some write self-help books. Meanwhile, I quietly wrestle with how to function in a pain-filled, sin-saturated world where even my friends are no real help.

I was jogging earlier this week when I tried to cross an intersection in a residential neighborhood. Two vehicles were stopped at the red light across from the high school. Since I had the right of way, Annabelle and I jogged in front of the first, a large 4X4 truck. But suddenly the owner of that truck ran the red light and nearly crushed us. I jumped back just in time and neither my dog or I was hurt, but the car behind the truck didn’t move. The driver wore an expression of horror and shock that I had not been pulverized like an errant opposum right before her eyes. For what seemed like an eternity, I hugged the sidewalk and we stared at each other. Life and death hung in the balance and this time I stood on the side of life. I praised God for His kindness to my family and to me. The truck never even slowed down.

But the next day when the lower vertebrae on my back went out, my outlook on life shifted. That pinched nerve made it nearly impossible to walk. It wasn’t just pain–it was the inability to move. I have developed a healthy sense of humor about my back – I like to say, “The pain is breathtaking!” while I imagine myself in a York Peppermint Patty commercial. But what I’m REALLY thinking is, that old maniacal clown is swacking me around again and I’m getting ready to drop into the black hole.

Need I even mention current events?

The debate between Job and his friends is epic. They call him a windbag, a heathen sinner who’s being punished, and worse.

“Know then that God exacts of you less than your guilt deserves.” – Zophar

And yet there’s no record of Job smacking them. Maybe his sores were particularly painful that day and he couldn’t move. Either way, God eventually speaks up and puts the friends in their place, “Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?” And then God tells Job who He is.

To me, this is the magnificent crescendo of the symphony that is the story of Job.

God speaks to man…

“Have you commanded the morning since your days began, and caused the dawn to know its place that it might take hold of the skirts of the earth and the wicked be shaken out of it?” – God

…and man responds by falling on his face with humility and terror. Poor Job. All he can do is just shake his head and try not to wet himself. Or maybe he did. The text doesn’t say. (I wouldn’t write that in either if it happened to me). I personally always wonder why God doesn’t allow Job’s atoms to dissolve why he’s still conscious and then put him back together again – you know, just as an example of His power. But really, why do we think God is safe? And why do we think we know better how to run this world? And just who the heck do we think we are anyway? (I might be channeling a little Voddie Baucham here…)

Because God doesn’t owe me any explanations. I am flesh and He is divine. The problem is, we forget this sometimes. With all the “Jesus loves me” mooshy stuff, we forget this deity is the one who created the rhinoceros, the alligator, the whale and the sun (which would rightly fry us to a crisp if we were on the Enterprise and got sucked into its orbit without shields). And since the moon hasn’t turned to blood (today) and the sun is still in the sky (and not raining burning cinders onto our faces) I would venture to guess He is still running the universe just fine (thank you very much!). And since we know the bible is true, we can trust that if we repent of our sin by the blood of Jesus, He will forgive us our sin and not incinerate us in a moment of wrath because Jesus atoned for it. The bible says He is waiting patiently, not wanting anyone to perish but wanting everyone to come to repentance.

I have a feeling things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. If you think gas prices are high now, don’t blink. And if you think we’ve heard the worst on Ukraine, don’t hold your breath. And if your still afraid of Covid, take heart; God is in control.

So, pray like there is no tomorrow. Rejoice in hope. Be patience in affliction. And trust that God really does have the whole world in His hands. You are not in a pinball machine and there is no maniacal clown at the helm. And you can take that to the bank (especially when your paper money becomes worthless)!

I love carefree days. I like watching clouds undulate across the sky like white, wooly fluff. I like listening to the birds sing and the breeze blow through the trees. But this is not one of those days. Today, the foul mood of badness has fallen on my head like an anvil, and I feel like kicking the dog. I feel like driving fast with loud music blaring and cutting people off in traffic. Because as we all know, a bad mood is best when shared with unsuspecting people.

A friend of mine said recently I am prone to allowing my emotions to get the better of me. She meant to admonish me for caving into my feelings because I was having an epic sulk. After I grabbed said friend by the throat and body slammed her into a cement wall (or was that just my imagination?) I grabbed a bag of chocolate and showed her! Take that Miss Judgmental Judy. I’ll show you how much I don’t care about your self-righteous platitudes. And while I’m at it, my pants are getting pissy too so don’t mess with me.

The thing is, bad moods don’t generally just happen. There is usually a precipitating factor that causes pain. Depending on the situation and our temperament, we may just have a good cry and move on. Other times, we need to kill people (or at the very least poke them with sharp sticks until they squeal).

I yam what I yam

I’m a slow-burn type of girl. I’m sort of like a female version of Popeye. I can be really calm and collected and self-controlled for a while, but then, “I’ve had all I can stand, and I can’t stand no more!” Hand me the spinach. Somebody is going to suffer. That is when I get reckless.

I won’t bore the dear reader with my sob story of how I got to this point. (Hint: I live with a 13-year-old, strong-willed bi-polar boy) What I will say is that lately, I’ve been seeing red–blood red. And the truth is, it’s just plain fun to provoke people when I feel that way. In that regard, social media is like crack cocaine; there are plenty of other pissed off and provoked people who fuel my addiction. And sometimes, the temptation to indulge in a little verbal jousting is simply irresistible.

“But Margaret, are you saying that when you get mad you enjoy being a jerk?”

“Why yes, Dear Reader. Yes, I do. Would you like some of this action?”

But the really bad thing about reckless behavior is that it breeds like a bunny. Not that I’m worried about losing friends when I’m in that type of mood, but I recognize there can be long-term consequences. Which is why I have been cultivating habits for healthier ways to address my bad moods.

There is something very cathartic about running when I am mad. I can turn on the music (usually Switchfoot) and beat up the cement with my Mizuno running shoes. Nobody gets hurt and I expend pent up energy. There is also something very appealing about burning things. For a while I was really angry with some stumps in my yard that refused to stop growing. I decided to pile leaves on them and burn them…at least until one of my (nosey, obnoxious) neighbors called the fire department–who promptly informed me burning leaves in my yard is not exactly legal. And since it is also illegal to konk firemen over the head with my rake, I let them use my garden hose to extinguish my fire. But I must admit, I was very “put out”.

…and you thought stepping on a crack would break your mama’s back.

This weekend, I was mad enough about life stuff that I picked up sweet gumballs and burned them in my firepit. This is what I do when I get so mad I could spit. Take that you darn tree of horrible, god-awful, thorny spheres of ankle-breaking evil. I will burn your progeny in my fire pit. Roast! And since there are no instances of sweet gum trees attacking feisty middle-aged mothers of testy teens, I figured I was probably pretty safe.

But seriously, when the urge comes upon us to enact vengeance, we really must try to resist the urge to puncture innocent people. For that matter, we probably shouldn’t poke guilty people either. There are laws against assault and battery that could land us in a real jail cell or at the very least, poked back and still pissed. And since our culture is currently in a heightened state of “reckless”, we really should do our best to end the cycle.

So, dear reader, take my advice: don’t kick your dog, don’t throw eggs at your neighbor’s house, and don’t slap anyone silly (though you may text someone that if they don’t shut up you will slap them silly). But rather, pray to Almighty God to help you find an alternative outlet–be it stomping moles that are destroying your yard, trapping greedy squirrels and poking them through the cage with your fingers, or farting on your bratty teenage boy (beans, the magical fruit!). There really is no limit to the creativity a bad mood can inspire. Shoot, I did all three of those things today and I feel much better already.

I welcome safe and effective suggestions in the comments.

I have a friend who lived on a lonely island. Sally spent years trying to build a boat that would transport her from isolation and depression to love and security. She was a master boat-builder, but every time she completed a boat and set sail, a tsunami of circumstances snatched her creation and wrecked it at sea. The ocean near her island was littered with the bones of many valiant ships, yet she sat on the lonely shoreline with only a handful of tears for company.

She had a host of friends shouting at her from across the harbor. They all had advice for how to build a better boat. They told her about canvas and rigging and what type of wood to use. They offered plenty of constructive criticism on her rudder design, but while they had the best intentions, they couldn’t stop the tsunami’s from happening.

Some of them got tired of watching her build and ridiculed her instead. Others, faded away because her efforts exhausted them. But there was one friend she barely perceived on the opposite shore who called out to her in a calming voice, “I love you. I have not abandoned you. I am here. I will find a way to rescue you.”

There were times the fog was so thick she couldn’t see this friend. Sometimes the wind was howling to an extent that she couldn’t hear the friend either. In fact, she had never even seen his face, but she kept searching for his voice and his words. She wanted to believe he was there, and that he would find a way to get her off that stinking island. Unfortunately, for all her wishing and hoping, he never seemed to show up.

One sunny day Sally notices the water is rising on the island. Her latest ship is complete and ready to sail–and just in time! She jumps aboard the great “Lottery Jackpot” and unfurls the sails. A great gust of wind fills them, and she is propelled further out to sea than ever before. A flock of gulls swooshes over the bow and lands. They drop gold coins near her feet and then fly away. Sally cannot believe her good fortune. With blue skies and no clouds in sight she realizes that she is finally going to reach the other shore. No tsunamis! In fact, a great multitude of people have gathered to meet her there. She sees they have champagne and fireworks and her heart is filled with happiness when suddenly—she is propelled forward when the ship hits something hard. There is a loud groan. She leans over the rails to discover she has hit a coral reef. Worse, there is a giant hole in the side of the ship, and it is taking on water.

Sally cries out to her friends, “Help! Save me! Send a life raft.”

But they stare at her, perplexed by her predicament. Someone shouts, “Why don’t you grow wings and fly over here?” Another person whistles, “It can’t get much worse than this. You’re doomed.” While another shouts, “Hey, throw me some of those gold coins. I can use them since you’re going to die anyway.”

Sally gazes back at the island and wishes for a moment that she could go back. At least on the island she had food and water. At least on the island she had a modicum of hope.

Sally walks back to the stern and lays down. She knows it’s over now. But over the commotion she hears the voice of her friend. “I love you. I have not abandoned you. Do you believe me?”

Sally wants to answer but her weak voice can’t cry above the rushing water. She really wants to believe that he is there, but she can’t see him. When suddenly above the din and clamor she hears a deep voice proclaim, “A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not quench.” And then Sally believes with her heart that she can see him–even though her sight is failing–even though the ship sinks.

With her last breath she says, “I believe! Lord, help my unbelief!”

And then a hand reaches out and grabs her arms and pulls her out of the water. She is stunned to see she is standing on the most marvelous golden bridge. She looks up at the man who has rescued her and sees that he is just a plain guy. In fact, he’s not dressed very cool, nor does he even have trendy hair. Sally is so overwhelmed with emotion to discover he is real she says, “Dude! Thank you!” But nothing else will come out.

His smile is very kind. And he says, “I told you I would never leave you or forsake you. I’ve been building this bridge to get to you for years. You just couldn’t see it.”

Sally stutters a bit, spitting water out of her mouth and taking deep breaths. She is still reeling from not being sucked into the vortex the sinking ship created. “Why not?”

“You needed faith. The only people who can use this bridge have faith in me.”

Sally takes one of his nail-pierced hands and squeezes it. “Thank you for saving me, Jesus.”

Faith is like a bridge. Bridges are built. They don’t just happen. 

Bridges serve an important purpose. They help us to get from point A to point B. 

Sometimes they are modern marvels; other times they are a spattering of stones over a trickling creek. If the bridge is not adequate, we fall–often to our peril.

In times of war, the opposing army will first destroy local bridges to slow the opposition. 

For those who believe in Jesus, we have a bridge that can never be destroyed. That bridge is faith–and it is more precious than gold.