Author: danefowlkes

“Then Elisha prayed, “O Lord, open his eyes so he can see.” The Lord opened the servant’s eyes and he saw that the hill was full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.” 2 Kings 6:17

This is the prayer we need to pray for ourselves and for one another, “Lord, open our eyes that we may see”; for the world all around us, as well as around the prophet, is full of God’s horses and chariots, waiting to carry us to places of glorious victory. And when our eyes are thus opened, we shall see in all events of life, whether great or small, whether joyful or sad, a “chariot” for our souls.

Everything that comes to us becomes a chariot the moment we treat it as such; and, on the other hand, even the smallest trial may be a Juggernaut car to crush us into misery or despair if we consider it. It lies with each of us to choose which they shall be. It all depends, not upon what these events are, but upon how we take them. If we lie down under them, and let them roll over us and crush us, they become Juggernaut cars, but if we climb up into them, as into a car of victory, and make them carry us triumphantly onward and upward, they become the chariots of God. (Streams in the Desert)

Art interpretation and diplomacy are twin requirements for grandparents. Two of my young granddaughters needed a diversion to occupy them while their mothers finalized Easter lunch. The two cousins dearly love one another, but frequently fall into the trap of one-up-man-ship. I was assigned the task of preventing domestic disturbance, so opted for the age-old distraction of paper and colors. I offered a few suggestions and they replied with the equivalent of “We’ve got this,” and went to work. The activity started innocently enough, but gradually took on a competitive edge, with frequent glances from each child to the other’s art, resulting in a quickened pace and more outlandish drawing and coloring. Word came from the kitchen that lunch was ready, so I told the girls it was time to put the art aside. That is when the trouble started. How should you respond when asked by a set of baby blues and girlish greens if you recognize what they have drawn? Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but diplomacy is a far more valuable skill with children. Instead of offering an interpretation, I asked each child to describe her own picture. This proved to be the wise route, because their descriptions were worlds away from what I thought they had depicted.

How God views us is far more important than how we see ourselves; the challenge is to exchange ours for His perspective. ‘One point perspective’ is a drawing method that shows how things appear to get smaller as they get further away, converging towards a single ‘vanishing point’ on the horizon line. The issue before every believer is how we choose to see. When I rely on my own interpretation of pain or joy, I land far short of God’s eternal perspective. Eyesight is easily taken for granted, while all the while I may be looking without seeing. Trust opens a window for both contentment and productivity. Instead of rushing to conclusions, pray for eyes of understanding.

“Glorify ye the Lord in the fires.” Isaiah 24:15

Mark the little word “in”! We are to honor Him in the trial–in that which is an affliction indeed and though there have been cases where God did not let His saints feel the fire, yet, ordinarily, fire hurts. But just here we are to glorify Him by our perfect faith in His goodness and love that has permitted all this to come upon us.

And more than that, we are to believe that out of this is coming something more for His praise than could have come but for this fiery trial. We can only go through some fires with a large faith; little faith will fail. We must have the victory in the furnace.

A man has as much religion as he can show in times of trouble. The men who were cast into the fiery furnace came out as they went in–except their bonds.

How often in some furnace of affliction God strikes them off! Their bodies were unhurt–their skin not even blistered. Their hair was unsinged, their garments not scorched, and even the smell of fire had not passed upon them. And that is the way Christians should come out of furnace trials—liberated from their bonds, but untouched by the flames.

Is there not something captivating in the sight of a man or a woman burdened with many tribulations and yet carrying a heart as sound as a bell? Is there not something contagiously valorous in the vision of one who is greatly tempted, but is more than conqueror? Is it not heartening to see some pilgrim who is broken in body, but who retains the splendor of an unbroken patience? What a witness all this offers to the enduement of His grace! (Streams in the Desert)

Faith is most accurately measured when tempted to cower before insurmountable odds and to relinquish hope in the shadow of the paralyzing question, “Why?” Created in the image of the Almighty and recreated by the resurrected King of Kings, how dare I bow beneath the weight of worry and fear? A defeated believer is an oxymoron; Christianity was never intended as a defensive posture. Jesus says as much when he declares that the gates of hell will not prevail against his Church. The better translation of “shall not prevail” in Matthew 16 is “shall not withstand.” The Church marches relentlessly forward, and the forces of evil cannot withstand her onslaught. “Think about the picture here. Jesus says the gates of hell will not prevail against the church. Now tell me, how do gates prevail? When have you ever seen gates on the march? They don’t attack. They fortify. They are there to hold their ground. That’s all. Hell is not on the offensive, brothers and sisters. The church is on the offensive. The church is marching into all the hells in this world, ready to reclaim every square inch for Christ. And when we storm the gates of hell, Christ promises that we cannot fail” (Kevin DeYoung).”

Make no mistake about it, we are at war. “Moral relativity is the enemy we have to overcome before we tackle atheism” (C. S. Lewis). The great news about the Good News is that the battle is the Lord’s and we are on the winning side. Fulfill your birthright; advance under the banner of our victorious King.

“They looked… and behold, the glory of the Lord appeared in the cloud.” Exodus 16:10

Get into the habit of looking for the silver lining of the cloud and when you have found it, continue to look at it, rather than at the leaden gray in the middle.

Do not yield to discouragement no matter how sorely pressed or beset you may be. A discouraged soul is helpless. He can neither resist the wiles of the enemy himself, while in this state, nor can he prevail in prayer for others.

Flee from every symptom of this deadly foe as you would flee from a viper. And be not slow in turning your back on it, unless you want to bite the dust in bitter defeat.

Search out God’s promises and say aloud of each one: “This promise is mine.” If you still experience a feeling of doubt and discouragement, pour out your heart to God and ask Him to rebuke the adversary who is so mercilessly nagging you.

The very instant you whole-heartedly turn away from every symptom of distrust and discouragement, the blessed Holy Spirit will quicken your faith and inbreathe Divine strength into your soul.

At first you may not be conscious of this, still as you resolutely and uncompromisingly “snub” every tendency toward doubt and depression that assails you, you will soon be made aware that the powers of darkness are falling back.

Oh, if our eyes could only behold the solid phalanx of strength, of power, that is ever behind every turning away from the hosts of darkness, God-ward, what scant heed would be given to the effort of the wily foe to distress, depress, discourage us!

All the marvelous attributes of the Godhead are on the side of the weakest believer, who in the name of Christ, and in simple, childlike trust, yields himself to God and turns to Him for help and guidance. (Streams in the Desert)

Depression emerges from somewhere down deep that is hard to define and even harder to resolve. It’s a feeling that spreads slowly like a sunset that begins with changes in light and ends in the absence of any. We have all felt its effect to one degree or another, but for those engulfed by its shadow, despair is a weight that drags toward an unseen bottom—pain that pummels like a subterranean river hollowing out solid rock along its course.

So commonplace is it these days that melancholy may overtake love as the most common of all human emotion; yet, it is such a complex issue that entire professions and elaborate institutions have been created to study and treat it. Christians are not immune; depression is a larger problem among Christians than the Church lets on. “To be in a state of depression…. is to be unable to occupy yourself with anything much except your state of depression. Even the most marvelous thing is like music to the deaf. Even the greatest thing is like a shower of stars to the blind. You do not raise either your heart or your eyes to the heights, because to do so only reminds you that you are yourself in the depths. Even if, like the Psalmist, you are inclined to cry out ‘O Lord,’ it is a cry like Jonah’s from the belly of a whale” (Buechner).

Depression is typically defined as a mental condition characterized by feelings of severe despondency and dejection, and is usually accompanied by feelings of inadequacy, guilt, and lack of energy. It acts like culture shock in that it may best be understood as distance between expectation and reality; the wider the gap, the more intense will be our battle with despair. Believers are not exempt from false views of reality and unrealistic expectations of themselves and others; in fact, the Church fosters just such a dichotomy when we make it unacceptable to admit our struggles before the very ones most qualified to form our base of support. Acute misery is never resolved by blushing and turning away in embarrassment. “Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there” (Will Rogers). Those suffering from misery’s tightening grip feel like they are alone in the world, and that is exactly the reason they cannot climb out of the pit without someone ready to offer a hand up. As necessary as confession is to repentance, honesty is essential to recovery; acknowledge your struggle to someone you trust and admit your inability to resolve it alone. It is not a sin to be depressed, but it is a shame to keep it to yourself.

“Anyone who is among the living has hope.” (Ecclesiastes 9:4, NIV)

“Though he slay me, yet will I trust him.” Job 13:15

“For I know whom I have believed.” 2 Timothy 1:12

“In fierce storms,” said an old seaman, “we must do one thing; there is only one way: we must put the ship in a certain position and keep her there.” This, Christian, is what you must do. Sometimes, like Paul, you can see neither sun nor stars, and no small tempest lies on you; and then you can do but one thing; there is only one way. Reason cannot help you; past experiences give you no light. Even prayer fetches no consolation. Only a single course is left. You must put your soul in one position and keep it there.

You must stay upon the Lord; and come what may—winds, waves, cross-seas, thunder, lightning, frowning rocks, roaring breakers—no matter what, you must lash yourself to the helm, and hold fast your confidence in God’s faithfulness, His covenant engagement, His everlasting love in Christ Jesus. (Streams in the Desert)

Could Easter mean more to anyone than Peter? More times than I can count, I’ve asked church groups and university students which biblical character they would choose to be if they could go back in time. It may surprise you to know, as it has me, that rarely does anyone select the apostle Peter. Peter, of all people—spokesman and passionate leader of the Twelve, one of Christ’s inner circle, head of the Church following Christ’s ascension, the “Rock” for Pete’s sake! As I consider possible reasons for this anomaly, the best explanation I can come up with is that believers are, for the most part, an unforgiving lot—not primarily of others but of ourselves. We cannot bear to admit our uncanny resemblance to a beloved friend of Jesus who betrayed him when stakes were the highest. It is hard for us to get beyond the courtyard scene with accusations and sparks flying, Peter swearing, and cock crowing. We fail to acknowledge his stricken heart, grieving and repentant spirit, and dogged determination to never again fail his Lord.

Easter is more verb than noun. Resurrected Christ-followers do more than look behind wistfully or forward longingly. In a very real sense, Jesus folds aside the grave clothes and rises triumphantly each time a fallen sinner limps into his arms. Unfortunately, many reach down for those same macabre bandages and do their best to hide beneath them. The struggle for believers is not finding divine mercy, but forgiving ourselves. Herein lies the grand lesson from the Apostle’s experience: we do not live in the shadow of the cross; we thrive in hope emanating from an empty tomb. No one stands or stumbles beyond the reach of grace. Peter struggled with and never fully recovered from his own denial, but the brokenness he lived with in its wake forged a graceful spirit. Near the end of his life, grace and love became his theme, exhorting other believers to believe in God’s mercy, grace rolled off his tongue as easily as cursing did before: “Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy” (1 Peter 2:10, NRSV).

It is possible to forgive one’s self while remaining sensitive to the conditions that led us astray to begin with. Mercy and memory are suitable companions for disciples.

“May grace and peace be yours in abundance. Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in Heaven for you…” (1 Peter 1:2b-4, NRSV)

“The wind was contrary.” Matthew 14:24

Rude and blustering the winds of March often are. Do they not typify the tempestuous seasons of my life? But, indeed, I ought to be glad that I make acquaintance with these seasons. Better it is that the rains descend and the floods come than that I should stay perpetually in the Lotus Land where it seems always afternoon, or in that deep meadowed Valley of Avilion where never wind blows loudly. Storms of temptation appear cruel, but do they not give intenser earnestness to prayer? Do they not compel me to seize the promises with a tighter hand grip? Do they not leave me with a character refined?

Storms of bereavement are keen; but, then, they are one of the Father’s ways of driving me to Himself, that in the secret of His presence His voice may speak to my heart, soft and low. There is a glory of the Master which can be seen only when the wind is contrary and the ship tossed with waves.

“Jesus Christ is no security against storms, but He is perfect security in storms. He has never promised you an easy passage, only a safe landing.” Streams in the Desert

I have a perfectly good explanation for enjoying Hallmark Channel movies—I love a happy ending. The good girl always ends up with the right guy, even though all appearances to the contrary dominate the story line. While there is no plot without conflict, resolution is the greater joy. No matter how gloomy we are at any given moment, something deep inside prompts us to hope life will take a turn for the better. Discord begs for harmony. I don’t know beans from parched coffee about musical theory, but I am relieved when a diminished chord is resolved.

The night before Easter, all creation strained for morning. Scripture proclaims no fairy tale, but narrates conflict on the grandest scale—eternity hangs in the balance of Mount Calvary and a garden tomb. The whole universe groaned for resolution, and shouted triumphantly as the stone rolled back to reveal victory unfurled in an empty shroud. The grave was no place for the Son of God, and death an unfit suitor for our Savior. The resurrection is more than a happy ending; it is perpetual new beginning for every sinner who clings to Grace like a drowning sailor to a lifeboat. Hallelujah! What a Savior!

“Behold, all ye that kindle a fire, that compass yourselves about with sparks: walk in the light of your fire, and in the sparks that ye have kindled. This shall ye have of mine hand; ye shall lie down in sorrow.” Isaiah 50:11

What a solemn warning to those who walk in darkness and yet who try to help themselves out into the light. They are represented as kindling a fire, and compassing themselves with sparks. What does this mean?

Why, it means that when we are in darkness the temptation is to find a way without trusting in the Lord and relying upon Him. Instead of letting Him help us out, we try to help ourselves out. We seek the light of nature, and get the advice of our friends. We try the conclusions of our reason, and might almost be tempted to accept a way of deliverance which would not be of God at all. . . .

Cease meddling with God’s plans and will. You touch anything of His, and you mar the work. You may move the hands of a clock to suit you, but you do not change the time; so you may hurry the unfolding of God’s will, but you harm and do not help the work. You can open a rosebud but you spoil the flower. Leave all to Him. Hands down. Thy will, not mine. . . .

Remember that it is better to walk in the dark with God than to walk alone in the light. (Streams in the Desert)

Worship happens when I least expect it. I exited DFW Airport for the hour and forty five minute drive home enduring traffic slowdowns among other frustrations of urban gridlock, and breathed easier once I left the concrete jungle behind. It’s impossible these days to avoid road construction with its narrowing lines and reduced speed limits, but I navigated all of them while retaining focus on returning home. South of the -Y- where I-35 east and I-35 west merge to become simply Interstate 35 south, I glanced across and out the passenger side window and smiled at an almost indescribable array of central Texas wildflowers. It looked as if someone emptied a paint bucket gradually alongside the highway. I hastily identified bluebonnets, Indian paintbrushes, pink evening primroses, and a few winecups thrown in for good measure. Blue and orange ribbons streamed as far as the horizon, dipping over and beyond. I looked as closely as one is permitted when traveling seventy five miles an hour, and the whole display was so dazzling that, on the spur of the moment, I pulled to the shoulder for a closer look. I lowered the passenger side window, tilted my head for a better view, and was surprised to spot a small white cross engulfed by the ocean of wildflowers. The cross stood a foot or so above the floral carpet.

I waited for a break in a traffic, quickly exited my Jeep, and walked directly toward the cross. Although I cannot fully explain my actions or emotions, it felt oddly calming to approach the cross jabbed into a sea of blue and orange while cars and eighteen wheelers sped by in another world. I stepped carefully through the flowers, not so much to prevent harming them as to keep from hurting myself, alert for any snakes that may have chosen to picnic among the bluebonnets. My wife and I comment on that danger every time we see adults positioning a child for a photograph against a floral palette—beware of snakes. A moment later, I reached the cross situated some twenty-five feet from the shoulder of the road, and looked down at the crude sculpture fashioned out of what looked like narrow intersecting boards from a weathered white picket fence. The roughly fashioned cross was evidently positioned there to mark a highway fatality. Someone lost a loved one along Interstate 35 and wanted to remember or perhaps establish a primitive warning to future travelers that danger once lurked there, taking the life of someone they cared deeply about. I had no way of knowing how long it had been there; what I did clearly observe were brilliant bluebonnets and vivid Indian paintbrushes crowded in around the cross, creating a floral frame for distant tragedy.

What happened next defies reason. The juxtaposition of cross and flowers washed over me like a wave that would not be prevented from the shore. There was so much more there than a cross and wildflowers; tragedy transformed into glory, mourning transitioned to joy. A memorial had become a sanctuary. Without thinking, as best I can tell, I raised my arms and lifted eyes heavenward and prayed out loud. It isn’t like me to be so obvious. Ask anyone who knows me and they will tell you that I don’t do that sort of thing; conservative is a label that fits more than my political posture. To be completely honest, I am characteristically rather dull, but although likely regarded as a lunatic by passersby, I was undeterred in my praise of our Creator who takes the worst life throws at us and fashions it into building blocks for eternal glory. Worship is unaware of anything but its object of adoration. Much that passes for worship these days may be better termed something else, something less. Rarely are we captivated by heaven, oblivious or at least unconcerned about what we’ll eat next, what others are wearing, the pain in our sciatica, the score from last night’s game, or the items we need to add to the calendar on our iPhone. Thank God there are unplanned moments when I remember that God is enough, that he is, in fact, everything. Worship is nothing more and nothing less than losing sight of all else save God, and enjoying him in the process. The Westminster shorter catechism begins by stating, “The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.” Ordinarily I grasp and respond to only as much of God as I need at the moment, making worship extremely selfish, but standing like a scarecrow in a field of wildflowers, my heart responded to what my mind still cannot fully fathom. Worship comes from a heart overfilled with the glory of God.

“Consider the lilies, how they grow.” Matthew 6:28

I need oil,” said an ancient monk; so he planted an olive sapling. “Lord,” he prayed, “it needs rain that its tender roots may drink and swell. Send gentle showers.” And the Lord sent gentle showers. “Lord,” prayed the monk, “my tree needs sun. Send sun, I pray Thee.” And the sun shone, gilding the dripping clouds. “Now frost, my Lord, to brace its tissues,” cried the monk. And behold, the little tree stood sparkling with frost, but at evening it died.

Then the monk sought the cell of a brother monk, and told his strange experience. “I, too, planted a little tree,” he said, “and see! it thrives well. But I entrust my tree to its God. He who made it knows better what it needs than a man like me. I laid no condition. I fixed not ways or means. ‘Lord, send what it needs,’ I prayed, ‘storm or sunshine, wind, rain, or frost. Thou hast made it and Thou dost know.'” (Streams in the Desert)

Our daughter had friends from California staying with them for a few days, and one of them was a yoga instructor. She graciously offered to put us through the paces if interested, and four of us agreed. We lowered the living room lights, spread bath towels on the ceramic tile, and did our best to bend our bodies on command. At one point I looked down and couldn’t determine how my leg had made its way in front of my hand while the other leg bent at an odd angle in the opposite direction. I felt like a pretzel, ready to take up Twister again after all these years. We completed thirty minutes of synchronized suffering and agreed to do it all over again the next day. Anxiety mounted when it became apparent early in the second session that our daughter’s friend had taken it easy on us during the first. Convinced that we could handle it, she pushed past the dimension of discomfort and into the arena of pain. I kept asking myself why I had agreed to this torture, and decided that yoga is a four-letter word in more ways than one. When I lightheartedly commented on the misery of the exercise, the instructor smiled and pleasantly stated that expanded flexibility could add years to my life or, at the very least, would enhance the quality of whatever quantity I end up with. In the aftermath, I discovered that my back felt better than it had in a very long time. Momentary misery is evidently worth the long-term benefit.

Left to myself, I choose comfort over commitment every time, precisely the reason I cannot trust the decision to myself—I must live the crucified life so that the choice is always up to him. Dying today translates into life I never fathomed possible. Death to self does not mean emptiness; instead, crucifixion means spiritual altitude—life on a higher plane than I would have chosen for myself otherwise. In order to soar, we must first advance to abandonment. Rather than passive inactivity, the crucified life insists that we take action, cutting erroneous ties and re-lashing our moorings to Christ. Along with the Prodigal, “I will arise and go to my father.” I will wake up, get up, grow up, and climb up. I choose to discard the garbage piling up in heart and mind. Ruthlessly, I inventory motive and attitude and address each in desperate fashion. I recalibrate my attention to Christ with savage intentionality. “Reckon yourselves dead to sin.” This is no valley of ease; this is a summit to scale under harrowing and hellish conditions. Crucifixion places me precariously on a rocky crag with no safety net below, and bids me ever higher. (From Ordinary Glory: Finding Grace in the Commonplace by Dane Fowlkes)

“And it shall come to pass, as soon as the soles of the feet of the priests that bear the ark of the Lord, the Lord of all the earth, shall rest in the waters of Jordan, that the waters of Jordan shall be cut off from the waters that come down from above; and they shall stand upon a heap.” Joshua 3:13

Brave Levites! Who can help admiring them, to carry the Ark right into the stream; for the waters were not divided till their feet dipped in the water (verse 15). God had not promised aught else. God honors faith. “Obstinate faith,” that the PROMISE sees and “looks to that alone.” You can fancy how the people would watch these holy men march on, and some of the bystanders would be saying, “You would not catch me running that risk! Why, man, the ark will be carried away!” Not so; “the priests stood firm on dry ground.” We must not overlook the fact that faith on our part helps God to carry out His plans. “Come up to the help of the Lord.”

One of the special marks of the Holy Ghost in the Apostolic Church was the spirit of boldness. One of the most essential qualities of the faith that is to attempt great things for God, and expect great things from God, is holy audacity. Where we are dealing with a supernatural Being, and taking from Him things that are humanly impossible, it is easier to take much than little; it is easier to stand in a place of audacious trust than in a place of cautious, timid clinging to the shore. Like wise seamen in the life of faith, let us launch out into the deep, and find that all things are possible with God, and all things are possible unto him that believeth.

Let us, today, attempt great things for God; take His faith and believe for them and His strength to accomplish them. (Streams in the Desert)

One of the stories God used to capture my heart for missions as a university student was that of William Carey. At a meeting of Baptist leaders in the late 1700s, a newly ordained minister stood to argue for the necessity of global missions. He was abruptly interrupted by an older minister who said essentially, “Sit down young man, and shut up! When God pleases to convert the heathen, he’ll do it without your help or ours.”

Carey was raised in the anonymous rural village of Paulerpury, in the middle of England. He apprenticed in a local cobbler’s shop. When he was converted to Christ, he plunged heart and soul into his newfound faith. Though he had the benefit of limited formal education, Carey borrowed a Greek grammar and proceeded to teach himself New Testament Greek. Completing his apprenticeship, he took up shoemaking in nearby Hackleton, where he met and married Dorothy Plackett. Dorothy soon gave birth to a daughter. Carey earned only small amounts of money, and to make matters worse their daughter died at two years of age. Unthinkable grief and hardship not withstanding, he continued his linguistic studies, adding Hebrew and Latin, and became a preacher with the Particular Baptists. He also continued pursuing his lifelong interest in the religious experience and expression of other cultures.

Carey was particularly impressed with early Moravian missionaries and dismayed by his fellow Protestants’ corresponding lack of interest in missions. In response, he wrote, “Multitudes sit at ease and give themselves no concern about the far greater part of their fellow sinners, who to this day, are lost in ignorance and idolatry.” Not one to sit himself, at the age of thirty-one he organized a missionary society, and at its inaugural meeting preached the now famous sermon, “Expect great things from God; attempt great things for God!” He soon travelled to India where he spent the remainder of his life.

In December 1800, after seven years of missionary labor, Carey baptized his first convert, Krishna Pal, and two months later, published his first New Testament in the Bengali language. Carey continued to attempt and expect great things; over the next 28 years, he and his fellow workers translated the entire Bible into India’s major languages: Bengali, Oriya, Marathi, Hindi, Assamese, and Sanskrit, as well as parts of 209 other languages and dialects. He also worked tirelessly for social reform in India, including the abolition of infanticide, widow burning (sati), and assisted suicide. He founded Serampore College in 1818, a divinity school for Indians, which today offers theological and liberal arts education for some 2,500 students.

By the time Carey died at seventy-three years young, he had spent forty one years in India without a furlough. These efforts cost him dearly and his mission could count only about seven hundred converts in a nation of millions, but he had laid a crucial foundation of Bible translations, education, and social reform. His greatest legacy was in the global missions movement of the nineteenth century that he inspired. Thousands were impressed by Carey’s example, and moved by his words “Expect great things; attempt great things.” What are you expecting God to do, and what are you willing to attempt in light of that expectation?

“I do not count the sufferings of our present life worthy of mention when compared with the glory that is to be revealed and bestowed upon us” (Rom. 8:18, 20th Century Trans.).

A remarkable incident occurred at a wedding in England. A young man of large wealth and high social position, who had been blinded by an accident when he was ten years old, and who won University honors in spite of his blindness, had won a beautiful bride, though he had never looked upon her face. A little while before his marriage, he submitted to a course of treatment by experts, and the climax came on the day of his wedding.

The day came, and the presents, and guests. There were present cabinet ministers and generals arid bishops and learned men and women. The bridegroom, dressed for the wedding, his eyes still shrouded in linen, drove to the church with his father, and the famous oculist met them in the vestry.

The bride entered the church on the arm of her white-haired father. So moved was she that she could hardly speak. Was her lover at last to see her face that others admired, but which he knew only through his delicate finger tips?

As she neared the altar, while the soft strains of the wedding march floated through the church, her eyes fell on a strange group. The father stood there with his son. Before the latter was the great oculist in the act of cutting away the last bandage.

The bridegroom took a step forward, with the spasmodic uncertainty of one who cannot believe that he is awake. A beam of rose-colored light from a pane in the chancel window fell across his face, but he did not seem to see it.

Did he see anything? Yes! Recovering in an instant his steadiness of mien, and with a dignity and joy never before seen in his face, he went forward to meet his bride. They looked into each other’s eyes, and one would have thought that his eyes would never wander from her face.

“At last!” she said. “At last!” he echoed solemnly, bowing his head. That was a: scene of great dramatic power, and no doubt of great joy, and is but a mere suggestion of what will actually take place in Heaven when the Christian who has been walking through this world of trial and sorrow, shall see Him face to face. (Streams in the Desert)

It was one of those probing theological talks one only has with preschoolers. She looked up with eyes that melt my heart and asked, “What does God look like Papa? Does He look like you?” I’m not sure why or how she included me in the question, but I was taken aback on both counts. What does God look like to a preschooler or anyone else for that matter? The best I could muster was to gesture toward brilliant sunset hues filtered through tree limbs on the horizon to our west and say, “God is more beautiful than that.”

My wife shared an old Dennis the Menace cartoon that bears the same sentiment. Dennis looks up, points to the sky and says, “If Heaven is that pretty on the bottom, think how it must look on top!” The best we can do here and now is appreciate God by comparison. One day, oh glorious day, we shall see Him and all else will pale in comparison.

“Look from the place where thou art, northward, and southward, and eastward, and westward: for all the land which thou seest, to thee will I give it.” Genesis 13:14-15

All you can apprehend in the vision of faith is your own. Look as far as you can, for it is all yours. All that you long to be as a Christian, all that you long to do for God, are within the possibilities of faith. Then come, still closer, and with your Bible before you, and your soul open to all the influences of the Spirit, let your whole being receive the baptism of His presence; and as He opens your understanding to see all His fulness, believe He has it all for you. Accept for yourself all the promises of His word, all the desires He awakens within you, all the possibilities of what you may be as a follower of Jesus. All the land you see is given to you. (Streams in the Desert)

Our family gathered to lend support. The least likely of our grandchildren was slated to sing a solo during his church’s Palm Sunday choir program. He will soon be nine-years-old, and to say he is a handful would be an understatement. We have attended such occasions before, only to witness fear silence him or cause other odd reactions. Suffice to say I was not expecting much this time around, but not long into the program I was struck by a surprising change in his demeanor. He knew the words to the songs, and facial expression matched the lyrical moment in a soulful way. He sang with his heart.

The second song of the set was his solo. By this time, I strained forward in the pew, eyes and ears tuned to his unmistakable voice and priceless expression. He closed his eyes, opened his throat, and belted out the folk spiritual, “Wade in the Water.” I could hardly believe it was him. Involuntarily, I wiped away years of fear and concern, washed clean by a pure heart expressing simple love. He carried me on the faith journey with him—at that moment it became easy to believe anything is possible. Never underestimate what God wants and is able to do in someone, including yourself. The Father delights to reward generous, selfless faith.

Wade in the water,

Wade in the water children.

Wade in the water,

God’s gonna trouble the water.

You don’t believe I’ve been redeemed,

Wade in the water.

Just so the whole lake goes looking for me

God’s gonna trouble the water.