Author: danefowlkes

“Fear not, thou worm Jacob, and ye men of Israel; I will help thee, saith the LORD, and thy redeemer, the Holy One of Israel. Behold, I will make thee a new sharp threshing instrument having teeth: thou shalt thresh the mountains, and beat them small, and shalt make the hills as chaff.” (Isaiah 41:14-15 | KJV)

Could any two things be in greater contrast than a worm and an instrument with teeth? The worm is delicate, bruised by a stone, crushed beneath the passing wheel; an instrument with teeth can break and not be broken; it can grave its mark upon the rock. And the mighty God can convert the one into the other. He can take a man or a nation, who has all the impotence of the worm, and by the invigoration of His own Spirit, He can endow with strength by which a noble mark is left upon the history of the time.

And so the “worm” may take heart. The mighty God can make us stronger than our circumstances. He can bend them all to our good. In God’s strength we can make them all pay tribute to our souls. We can even take hold of a black disappointment, break it open, and extract some jewel of grace. When God gives us wills like iron, we can drive through difficulties as the iron share cuts through the toughest soil. “I will make thee,” and shall He not do it?

Christ is building His kingdom with earth’s broken things.(Streams in the Desert)

If you grew up in a Baptist church like I did, you gleaned much of your theology from the Baptist Hymnal. Contemporary choruses and praise tunes have largely replaced hymns in church, but I keep a couple of old copies near my Bible and incorporate into private worship and study. I learned this from A. W. Tozer who writes:

“For purposes of inward devotion, there is only one book to be placed before the hymnal, and that of course is the Bible. I say without qualification, after the Sacred Scriptures, the next best companion for the soul is a good hymnal. . . . After the Bible, the hymn book is next. And remember, I do not say a songbook or a book of gospel songs, but a real hymnal containing the cream of the great Christian hymns left to us by the ages.”

I am old enough to have used The Broadman Hymnal, and have sung my way through three newer editions. Some improvements have been made in the later versions, but I will never forget a change I encountered when singing

“Alas, and Did My Saviour Bleed” in the 1975 revised edition. Perhaps you recall that old hymn. One line was as follows:

”Alas! and did my Saviour bleed,

And did my Sovereign die?

Would he devote that sacred Head

For such a worm as I?”

In today’s hymnals, it reads “For sinners such as I.” This appears a subtle attempt to water down harsh wording by replacing it with a more palatable substitute. More contemporary hymnals have weakened it even further by altering the line to read “for such a one as I.” I do not know the minds of the editors, but I do know that I do not need any help softening the blow of disobedience in my own mind. I am adept at minimizing the seriousness of my own sin; therefore, what I need most is a strong dose of honesty. The truth is that I am a worm, but therein lies the glory of the Gospel. Christ accepts me as I am, not to keep me there, but to transform me into what I could never be on my own.

“The people kept their distance, but Moses drew near the thick darkness where God was.” Exodus 20:21

God has still His hidden secrets, hidden from the wise and prudent. Do not fear them; be content to accept things that you cannot understand; wait patiently. Presently He will reveal to you the treasures of darkness, the riches of the glory of the mystery. Mystery is only the veil of God’s face.

Do not be afraid to enter the cloud that is settling down on your life. God is in it. The other side is radiant with His glory. “Think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you; but rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ’s sufferings.” When you seem loneliest and most forsaken, God is nigh. He is in the dark cloud. Plunge into the blackness of its darkness without flinching; under the shrouding curtain of His pavilion you will find God awaiting you. (Streams in the Desert)

“We worship God through our questions.” ~Abraham Joshua Heschel

I enjoy waking early, but rarely do much more with the stillness than accompany morning coffee with meditation. These are not moments for doing so much as being; reflection fuels response. One particular winter morning not long after Popi was released from his confused confines of clay, I shoved aside the sermon that insisted on intruding and allowed myself to settle on daydreaming about heaven. It feels somehow natural to think about death while peering through glazed windows at weighted skies and naked trees. A gray and barren horizon makes it suddenly a strain to remember warmth and light and hope, as recent as the day before. What complicates such mornings for me is that considering the endlessness of days creates honest inner turmoil hastened by a barbed question—will life end with death? Years ago, as a young pastor, I meticulously recorded funerals officiated in a massive blank-lined volume bound for such a purpose (perhaps thinking that by writing names in a book, I might grant them immortality), but I have long since abandoned the practice. I have lost count of how many times I have stood behind podiums or beside coffins pronouncing hope that we are presiding not over an end, but an endless beginning. Reciting dog-eared scriptures for the comfort of those lagging behind in the run to see Jesus, I sincerely deliver discourses on the eternal, but always with a twinge of wonder. Can such platinum hope prove true? Will I one day blink in death only to find myself transfigured? Is it possible that my own gray horizon might yield to light grander than anything I’ve read about or imagined? Mystery invokes exploration. Do not consider me a skeptic; instead, number me among those who cannot honestly declare we have no questions, but journey with confidence that we are embraced by the Answer. (Excerpt from Ordinary Glory: Finding Grace in the Commonplace, by Dane Fowlkes)

“They sang the song of Moses the servant of God and the song of the Lamb: “Great and astounding are your deeds, Lord God, the All-Powerful! Just and true are your ways, King over the nations!” Revelation 15:3

The following incident is related by Mrs. Charles Spurgeon, who was a great sufferer for more than a quarter of a century:

“At the close of a dark and gloomy day, I lay resting on my couch as the deeper night drew on; and though all was bright within my cozy room, some of the external darkness seemed to have entered into my soul and obscured its spiritual vision. Vainly I tried to see the Hand which I knew held mine, and guided my fog-enveloped feet along a steep and slippery path of suffering. In sorrow of heart I asked,

“’Why does my Lord thus deal with His child? Why does He so often send sharp and bitter pain to visit me? Why does He permit lingering weakness to hinder the sweet service I long to render to His poor servants?’

“These fretful questions were quickly answered, and through a strange language; no interpreter was needed save the conscious whisper of my heart.

“For a while silence reigned in the little room, broken only by the crackling of the oak log burning in the fireplace. Suddenly I heard a sweet, soft sound, a little, clear, musical note, like the tender trill of a robin beneath my window.

“’What can it be? surely no bird can be singing out there at this time of the year and night.’

“Again came the faint, plaintive notes, so sweet, so melodious, yet mysterious enough to provoke our wonder. My friend exclaimed, “‘It comes from the log on the fire!’ The fire was letting loose the imprisoned music from the old oak’s inmost heart!

“Perchance he had garnered up this song in the days when all was well with him, when birds twittered merrily on his branches, and the soft sunlight flecked his tender leaves with gold. But he had grown old since then, and hardened; ring after ring of knotty growth had sealed up the long-forgotten melody, until the fierce tongues of the flames came to consume his callousness, and the vehement heart of the fire wrung from him at once a song and a sacrifice. ’Ah,’ thought I, ’when the fire of affliction draws songs of praise from us, then indeed we are purified, and our God is glorified!’

“Perhaps some of us are like this old oak log, cold, hard, insensible; we should give forth no melodious sounds, were it not for the fire which kindles around us, and releases notes of trust in Him, and cheerful compliance with His will.

“’As I mused the fire burned,’ and my soul found sweet comfort in the parable so strangely set forth before me.

“Singing in the fire! Yes, God helping us, if that is the only way to get harmony out of these hard apathetic hearts, let the furnace be heated seven times hotter than before.” (Streams in the Desert)

Home renovation shows are quite popular on television, and I confess my wife and I enjoy them. Our favorite is one filmed in our home town by a couple who often take on projects others would consider hopeless. At the end of each program they pull back large screens to reveal the finished product, a stunning climax of unexpected proportion. The more dire the structure’s original condition, the more pronounced is the transformation that follows. Neglected and abused dwellings become surprising showcases of creativity and ingenuity.

No one but a misguided ascetic seeks out pain and hardship, yet trials have potential for calling forth the best in us. Adversity is the grand reveal; suffering discloses the heart in a way nothing else can. May the next fire I encounter or ignite release imprisoned music from this old oak’s inmost heart!

“So Moses extended his staff over the land of Egypt, and then the Lord brought an east wind on the land all that day and all night. The morning came, and the east wind had brought up the locusts! and the Lord turned a very strong west wind, and it picked up the locusts and blew them into the Red Sea. Not one locust remained in all the territory of Egypt.” Exodus 10:13,19

See how in the olden times, when the Lord fought for Israel against the cruel Pharaoh, the stormy winds wrought out their deliverance; and yet again, in that grandest display of power—the last blow that God struck at the proud defiance of Egypt. A strange, almost cruel thing it must have seemed to Israel to he hemmed in by such a host of dangers—in front the wild sea defying them, on either hand the rocky heights cutting off all hope of escape, the night of hurricane gathering over them. It was as if that first deliverance had come only to hand them over to more certain death. Completing the terror there rang out the cry: “The Egyptians are upon us!”

When it seemed they were trapped for the foe, then came the glorious triumph. Forth swept the stormy wind and beat back the waves, and the hosts of Israel marched forward, down into the path of the great deep—a way arched over with God’s protecting love. On either hand were the crystal walls glowing in the light of the glory of the Lord; and high above them swept the thunder of the storm. So on through all that night; and when, at dawn of the next day, the last of Israel’s host set foot upon the other shore, the work of the stormy wind was done. Then sang Israel unto the Lord the song of the “stormy wind fulfilling his word.”

Now you see only the mystery of this great sorrow; then you shall see how the threatening enemy was swept away in the wild night of fear and grief. Now you look only at the loss; then you shall see how it struck at the evil that had begun to rivet its fetters upon you. Now you shrink from the howling winds and muttering thunders; then you shall see how they beat back the waters of destruction, and opened up your way to the goodly land of promise. (Streams in the Desert)

I confess I am terminally near-sighted. I largely view circumstance through the rose colored lenses of self-preservation; what hurts or disappoints at this moment supersedes consideration of any higher purpose or good. Immediate thought of personal comfort and reputation disavows Providence, and leaves me hollow and more self-absorbed than before, but when I alter the order to consider first what God is saying or doing, my horizon expands and I recognize God at work.

I read this morning that in North Korea, believers can be banished to labor camps where prisoners are forced to stand on their toes for twenty-four hours in tanks filled with water up to their noses. They are stripped and hanged upside down while being beaten. Food rations leave inmates on the brink of starvation, so many prisoners hunt rats, snakes, and frogs for protein. Has God forsaken them, or is He at work even now to reflect in them His glory? Would I be able to look beyond the hurting winds to see what God is doing in me? I cannot explain God’s sovereignty or grace, but cling to both for strength for today and hope for tomorrow.

“After Moses the Lord’s servant died, the Lord said to Joshua son of Nun, Moses’ assistant: “Moses my servant is dead. Get ready! Cross the Jordan River! Lead these people into the land which I am ready to hand over to them.” Joshua 1:1-2

Sorrow came to you yesterday, and emptied your home. Your first impulse now is to give up, and sit down in despair amid the wrecks of your hopes. But you dare not do it. You are in the line of battle, and the crisis is at hand. To falter a moment would be to imperil some holy interest. Other lives would be harmed by your pausing, holy interests would suffer, should your hands be folded. You must not linger even to indulge your grief. (Streams in the Desert)

Most complications result from unforced errors on my part, but from time-to-time adversity affects me that is beyond even my ability to orchestrate. When problems materialize, be they health or relationship related, the most natural response is to question, “Why?”—an endless rabbit hole that rarely leads to any beneficial conclusion. The better response to adversity is “What now?” Without minimizing the suffering I feel and fear that may continue, I turn resolutely to the Father. What should I do? Should I do anything at all? I will not waste my life wandering the wilderness of regret; I choose to move toward the light my Father shines on the next step.

“But my righteous one will live by faith, and if he shrinks back, I take no pleasure in him.” Hebrews 10:38

Seemings and feelings are often substituted for faith. Pleasurable emotions and deep satisfying experiences are part of the Christian life, but they are not all of it. Trials, conflicts, battles and testings lie along the way, and are not to be counted as misfortunes, but rather as part of our necessary discipline. In all these varying experiences we are to reckon on Christ as dwelling in the heart, regardless of our feelings if we are walking obediently before Him. Here is where many get into trouble; they try to walk by feeling rather than faith.

One of the saints tells us that it seemed as though God had withdrawn Himself from her. His mercy seemed clean gone. For six weeks her desolation lasted, and then the Heavenly Lover seemed to say:

“Catherine, thou hast looked for Me without in the world of sense, but all the while I have been within waiting for thee; meet Me in the inner chamber of thy spirit, for I am there.”

Distinguish between the fact of God’s presence, and the emotion of the fact. It is a happy thing when the soul seems desolate and deserted, if our faith can say, “I see Thee not. I feel Thee not, but Thou art certainly and graciously here, where I am as I am.” Say it again and again: “Thou art here: though the bush does not seem to burn with fire, it does burn. I will take the shoes from off my feet, for the place on which I stand is holy ground.” (Streams in the Desert)

“Now that I no longer desire all, I have it all without desire.”― St. John of the Cross

You may or may not have ever heard of St. John of the Cross, but what he wrote about you have no doubt experienced. John was a Spanish Carmelite monk who lived in the 16th Century. He is best known for writing “The Dark Night of the Soul” in which he describes a familiar experience—the loss of all pleasure associated with one’s spiritual experience. We may refer to it as a “dry spell”, but we all identify with periods in which we feel spiritually dry as toast, and would rather watch paint peel than read Scripture, pray, or suffer through another church service. John’s great gift to us is his reminder that these times are actually a gift from God, orchestrated to wrestle away control from us and lead us away from loving God for what we get out of it, and into a fuller and deeper relationship of loving God for who he is. The darker the night becomes, the more intense is our search for the only light that matters.

“Come with me from Lebanon, my bride, come with me from Lebanon. Descend from the crest of Amana, from the top of Senir, the summit of Hermon, from the lions’ dens and the mountain haunts of the leopards.” Song of Solomon 4:8

Crushing weights give the Christian wings. It seems like a contradiction in terms, but it is a blessed truth. David out of some bitter experience cried: “Oh, that I had wings like a dove! Then would I fly away, and be at rest” (Ps. 55:6). But before he finished this meditation he seems to have realized that his wish for wings was a realizable one. For he says, “Cast thy burden upon Jehovah, and he will sustain thee.”

The word “burden” is translated in the Bible margin, “what he (Jehovah) hath given thee.” The saints’ burdens are God-given; they lead him to “wait upon Jehovah,” and when that is done, in the magic of trust, the “burden” is metamorphosed into a pair of wings, and the weighted one “mounts up with wings as eagles. (Streams in the Desert)

Pay attention to the things that bring a tear to your eye or a lump in your throat because they are signs that the holy is drawing near. —Frederick Buechner

I like a party as much as the next guy, but confess that I wasn’t able to generate much enthusiasm for our staff Christmas party. No reflection on my colleagues or an indictment on me, but everything about it seemed out of sync for some reason. Perhaps I felt that way because my wife couldn’t come, or it may have been the seventy-degree temperatures with high humidity, which only felt like Christmas in that it reminded me of childhood Decembers on the Gulf Coast in Port Arthur. Regardless, I sat outside among several couples, alone with my thoughts, paper plate full of lasagna and french bread balanced on my legs, a cup of coffee at hand, situated near a propane heater that quietly effused warmth to the outdoor deck.

In an effort to be polite, I addressed the young man seated across from me. Intending to engage in nothing more than small talk, I asked casually about his work and family. His response arrested me from my party funk, and I sat spellbound for the next fifteen minutes as he narrated how life had changed for him since he and his wife almost lost their two-year-old son when he fell into a rural pond last year. His voice broke slightly as he ended the story by saying that the whole experience was a wound that held him nearer to the heart of God, and that he never wanted it to completely heal. He had tears in his eyes. I had a lump in my throat. We sat in silence; a simple candlelit patio transformed into sacred space by the reminder that we will never be like Christ without a wound. (Excerpt from Ordinary Glory: Finding Grace in the Commonplace by Dane Fowlkes, 2017)

“So now, O Lord, may the promise you made about your servant and his family become a permanent reality! Do as you promised, so it may become a reality and you may gain lasting fame, as people say, ‘The Lord who commands armies is the God of Israel.’ David’s dynasty will be established before you.” 1 Chronicles 17:23-24

Every promise of Scripture is a writing of God, which may be pleaded before Him with this reasonable request: “Do as Thou hast said.” The Creator will not cheat His creature who depends upon His truth; and far more, the Heavenly Father will not break His word to His own child. . . . It is the everlasting faithfulness of God that makes a Bible promise “exceeding great and precious.” Human promises are often worthless. Many a broken promise has left a broken heart. But since the world was made, God has never broken a single promise made to one of His trusting children. Oh, it is sad for a poor Christian to stand at the door of the promise, in the dark night of affliction, afraid to draw the latch, whereas he should then come boldly for shelter as a child into his father’s house.

Every promise is built upon four pillars: God’s justice and holiness, which will not suffer Him to deceive; His grace or goodness, which will not suffer Him to forget; His truth, which will not suffer Him to change, which makes Him able to accomplish. (Streams in the Desert)

I looked up to him in more ways than one. He stood six feet two inches tall, and had the looks to go along with his stature. Add to his physique a winsome personality, sense of humor, and musicality, and one might easily see why people were drawn to him. I admired him as much for the man he was as I did because he was my father. He was successful at teaching life lessons when you would least expect it, and I hold onto these in my later years like a thirsty man to a satisfying cup of water. Two things he taught me early in life by word and example were to always greet a man with a firm handshake—no limp wrist, “kitchen towel” handshakes for my dad—and do whatever it takes to keep your word. I never knew my father to break either mandate.

Promises are not to be taken lightly, largely because character is proven by the measure to which we adhere to them. The Father always stands by His Word since His character is flawless. Determine that a Bible promise is yours to claim, then thank God and appropriate in faith what God assures will happen. Between now and then, seek to know the Father in deepening degree; your resolve strengthens or weakens in proportion to firsthand experience with God’s character.

“For even when we came into Macedonia, our body had no rest at all, but we were troubled in every way – struggles from the outside, fears from within.” 2 Corinthians 7:5

Why should God have to lead us thus, and allow the pressure to be so hard and constant? Well, in the first place, it shows His all-sufficient strength and grace much better than if we were exempt from pressure and trial. “The treasure is in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.” It makes us more conscious of our dependence upon Him. God is constantly trying to teach us our dependence, and to hold us absolutely in His hand and hanging upon His care.

This was the place where Jesus Himself stood and where He wants us to stand, not with self-constituted strength, but with a hand ever leaning upon His, and a trust that dare not take one step alone. It teaches us trust. There is no way of learning faith except by trial. It is God’s school of faith, and it is far better for us to learn to trust God than to enjoy life.

The lesson of faith once learned, is an everlasting acquisition and an eternal fortune made; and without trust even riches will leave us poor. (Streams in the Desert)

“When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” ~Dietrich Bonhoeffer

I did not meet many believers when I journeyed to northern Iraq, but I did have the honor of interacting with individuals who are enduring immense suffering and persecution. I felt inadequate when worshipping years ago with Indian believers who had sacrificed much to identify publicly with Jesus Christ, and I felt the same among the faithful in Iraq. My prayer for persecuted disciples is that God strengthens without hardening; a world of difference lies between firmness and callousness. My prayer for you and me is that when the inevitable crucible comes we find deeply rooted spiritual reserves upon which to call. It is not possible to endure and excel this moment and the next without previously ingrained disciplines that foster a hardy response to the fire. Today is the best opportunity to prepare my heart for what may threaten to crush it tomorrow.

“We trusted.” Luke 24:21

I have always felt so sorry that in that walk to Emmaus the disciples had not said to Jesus, “We still trust”; instead of “We trusted.” That is so sad—something that is all over. If they had only said, “Everything is against our hope; it looks as if our trust was vain, but we do not give up; we believe we shall see Him again.” But no, they walked by His side declaring their lost faith, and He had to say to them “O fools, and slow of heart to believe!”

Are we not in the same danger of having these words said to us? We can afford to lose anything and everything if we do not lose our faith in the God of truth and love. Let us never put our faith, as these disciples did, in a past tense—“We trusted.” But let us ever say, “I am trusting.” (Streams in the Desert)

“Not at every moment of our lives, Heaven knows, but at certain rare moments of greenness and stillness, we are shepherded by the knowledge that though all is far from right with any world you and I know anything about, all is right deep down. All will be right at last.” (F. Buechner)

I remember pulling to the shoulder of the Interstate overwhelmed by what I had just witnessed. It was the sort of thing that parents don’t prepare to see but all-too-often do. My daughter was hurting from the inside out, and what I saw on the outside threatened to crush the life from me. It left me too dizzy to think straight much less navigate a car down a busy highway, so I simply diverted to the shoulder and put the car in park. Toxic helplessness poisoned my thoughts, and I balled like a baby, succumbing to all the worst case scenarios I could muster. How could life ever right itself? How had I come so close to losing her, without recognizing the downward spiral? Was this one more in a long line of failures that rested squarely on my shoulders?

My response was not overtly spiritual, and certainly wasn’t commendable. I wish I had prayed with bold faith and confidently pulled back onto the road with a clear mind and confident spirit, but I did not. I sat and cried, and questioned, and doubted, until I finally prayed out loud, “Father, I don’t know what to do and, to be honest, I feel like there is nothing You can do. But I am desperate. There is no hope apart from You. Please save my child.” Praise God—He did.

Desperation is a solid foundation for trust. Trust admits we are helpless to alter the outcome, and gives God space to flex His muscles on our behalf. When we come to the end of ourselves the Father reassembles the broken pieces into a beautiful pattern we could not have conceived in our wildest imagination. Trust is the portal for transformation.