Author: danefowlkes

“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.

“For we are made partakers of Christ, if we hold the beginning of our confidence stedfast unto the end.” Hebrews 3:14 | KJV

It is the last step that wins; and there is no place in the pilgrim’s progress where so many dangers lurk as the region that lies hard by the portals of the Celestial City. It was there that Doubting Castle stood. It was there that the enchanted ground lured the tired traveler to fatal slumber. It is when Heaven’s heights are full in view that hell’s gate is most persistent and full of deadly peril. “Let us not be weary in well doing, for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” “So run, that ye may obtain.”

The problem of getting great things from God is being able to hold on for the last half hour. (Streams in the Desert)

None of us fully understand death until we die, and then it is too late to do anything about it, but what we can say is that what matters most is what we do before the end comes. Who did we love? How did we love? What difference did it make? Who will continue to tell our tale, and what will its color be? For better or worse, our story never ends with us.

Fortunately for many of us, the way we finish will be the way we are remembered. We want our children and grandchildren to get off to a strong start and we pour ourselves into them to that end; our parents and others likely did the same for us. I know that Henry and Lois did for me. But life has a way of throwing us off course, often of our own choosing. Headstrong and heart-hard we march smugly away from our upbringing and stumble onto treacherous trails that steal pieces of our heart on our way down. The Father waits at the end of each wayward road to set us back on course when we come to ourselves and the end of our pride. That moment of reckoning begins the best and most fruitful period of life, regardless of how heavily the scale of time tips toward what went before. What matters for eternity is what I do with the days that remain. It is never too late to begin living well. I have told my wife on more than one occasion that I request only three words engraved beneath my name on my cement headstone, if she can honestly say them when my end comes: “He finished well.”

“Followers of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises.” Hebrews 6:12

They (heroes of faith) are calling to us from the heights that they have won, and telling us that what man once did man can do again. Not only do they remind us of the necessity of faith, but also of that patience by which faith has its perfect work. Let us fear to take ourselves out of the hands of our heavenly Guide or to miss a single lesson of His loving discipline by discouragement or doubt. (Streams in the Desert)

The old black Bible has seen better days. Its cowhide cover is in decent condition apart from a few ragged edges, but inside things deteriorate rapidly. I received the Bible on occasion of my ordination, February 15, 1981, shortly after being called to my first pastorate at Midyett Baptist Church in DeBerry, Texas. I was twenty years old. I preached from this Bible until leaving for East Africa under appointment by the Foreign Mission Board some thirteen years later, but somehow it was misplaced and left behind in my parents’ storage building for the many years I served in Kenya and India. I rediscovered it while rummaging through boxes left behind.

Incredibly, the cover and pages were intact and undamaged for the most part, but the end papers bore the brunt of weather, time, and other deterioration inflicted by unwelcome pests. The most upsetting part for me is that those tattered leaves bear the autographs of heroes of the faith—preachers who still leave their mark on me—along with quotes from others I jotted down along the way. Were you to peer over my shoulder right now you would read a handwritten quote from Jeremiah 20:9; “Then I said, I will not make mention of him, nor speak anymore in his name. But his Word was in my heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I could not stay.” You would read the commitment of missionary David Livingstone: “I will place no value on anything I have or may possess except in relation to the kingdom of Christ.” And you would find my own thoughts recorded on August 8, 1986: “Words are the key to either success in life or destruction, be it immediate or gradual.”

Our heroes of the faith past and present call us upward to life on a higher plane. Read them. Take advantage of what they learned in classroom of service and sacrifice. Emulate them, but forge your own faith on the anvil of their testimony. Discover for yourself what others before you knew by experience and passed on to inform and inspire.

“And the spirit cried, and rent him sore, and came out of him.” Mark 9:26

Evil never surrenders its hold without a sore fight. We never pass into any spiritual inheritance through the delightful exercises of a picnic, but always through the grim contentions of the battle field. It is so in the secret realm of the soul. Every faculty which wins its spiritual freedom does so at the price of blood. Apollyon is not put to flight by a courteous request; he straddles across the full breadth of the way, and our progress has to be registered in blood and tears. This we must remember or we shall add to all the other burdens of life the gall of misinterpretation. We are not “born again” into soft and protected nurseries, but in the open country where we suck strength from the very terror of the tempest. “We must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God.” (Streams in the Desert)

The evil running amuck in this world that concerns me most, is that which originates within me. It remains a mystery, but regenerated hearts still sin; holiness requires constant vigilance. It is a spiritual given, the moment I lower my guard the enemy attacks, hence the admonition to “work out your own salvation in fear and trembling” (Philippians 2:12). Profession of faith is pledge of allegiance to the death, not club membership with valet privileges. Do not abuse grace. Grace is robust and relentless, yet we bruise divine mercy each time we willfully stray. A step into sin is a step away from the Father.

“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.” 1 Peter 5:8

“Be ready in the morning, and come… present thyself there to me in the top of the mount. And no man shall come up with thee.” Exodus 34:2-3

The morning watch is essential. You must not face the day until you have faced God, nor look into the face of others until you have looked into His. You cannot expect to be victorious, if the day begins only in your own strength. Face the work of every day with the influence of a few thoughtful, quiet moments with your heart and God. Do not meet other people, even those of your own home, until you have first met the great Guest and honored Companion of your life—Jesus Christ.

Meet Him alone. Meet Him regularly. Meet Him with His open Book of counsel before you; and face the regular and the irregular duties of each day with the influence of His personality definitely controlling your every act. (Streams in the Desert)

“… in the morning will I direct my prayer unto Thee, and will look up.” Psalm 5:3

The Father intends to walk with us in constant communication. Just as every conversation needs someone who initiates dialogue, God begins each day beckoning us toward Himself. Drawing aside to start our morning is sacred duty, but it is far more than one of a long line of spiritual responsibilities. Quiet time is nothing less than communion with Holy God. A close friend calls this “a table for two”—responding to the invitation of Revelation 3:20 by opening our hearts to joy unspeakable as we get alone with the Master. As the Israelites gathered manna each morning to carry them through each dry dusty day in the wilderness, we turn to the One who matters most and bare our soul before Him.

I have heard about and read many different approaches to this morning watch. Some offer practical instruction such as: “First, be physically alert. Second, be mentally aware. And third, be morally pure and clean.” While there is nothing wrong with giving attention to such practicalities, the greater issue is our heart posture. A heart in love needs no prompting to act. We are motivated by the object of our affection. The greatest deterrent to the morning watch is not a hectic schedule, it is tepid love. Return to Him right now full on. Shove everything aside and declare your love, not for the Savior, but to the Savior. Turn your heart by setting your mind on Christ; transform your mind by turning your heart to Christ. Do this each morning, and you will find yourself operating throughout the day from the overflow that spills over into every ordinary moment.

“Consider the work of God: for who can make that straight, which he hath made crooked.” Ecclesiastes 7:13

Often God seems to place His children in positions of profound difficulty, leading them into a wedge from which there is no escape; contriving a situation which no human judgment would have permitted, had it been previously consulted. The very cloud conducts them thither. You may be thus involved at this very hour. It does seem perplexing and very serious to the last degree, but it is perfectly right. The issue will more than justify Him who has brought you hither. It is a platform for the display of His almighty grace and power. He will not only deliver you; but in doing so, He will give you a lesson that you will never forget, and to which, in many a psalm and song, in after days, you will revert. You will never be able to thank God enough for having done just as He has. (Streams in the Desert)

“But God is the God of the waves and the billows, and they are still His when they come over us; and again and again we have proved that the overwhelming thing does not overwhelm. Once more by His interposition deliverance came. We were cast down, but not destroyed.” ~Amy Carmichael

Once a household name among mission-literate believers the world over, relatively few today are familiar with Amy Wilson Carmichael, and we are the poorer for it. Amy was born in County Down, Ireland in 1867. In many ways she was an unlikely candidate for missionary work, suffering from neuralgia, a disease of the nerves that made her whole body weak and achy and often put her in bed for weeks on end. While attending the Keswick Convention of 1887, she heard J. Hudson Taylor, founder of the China Inland Mission speak about missionary life. Soon afterwards, she became convinced of her calling to missionary work, and applied to the China Inland Mission. She was ready to sail for Asia at one point, when it was determined that her health made her unfit for the work. She postponed her missionary career with the China Inland Mission and decided later to join the Church Missionary Society.

Initially, Carmichael traveled to Japan for fifteen months, but she became ill and returned home. Then, after a brief period of service in Ceylon (Sri Lanka), she went to Bangalore, India for her health and found her lifelong vocation. Carmichael’s most notable work was with girls and young women, some of whom were saved from customs that amounted to forced prostitution in which young girls were dedicated to the gods in Hindu temples, then forced into prostitution to earn money for the priests. Amy founded the Dohnavur Fellowship in 1901 to continue her work, transforming Dohnavur into a sanctuary for over one thousand children who would otherwise have faced a bleak future. Respecting Indian culture, members of the organization wore Indian dress and gave the rescued children Indian names. Carmichael herself dressed in Indian clothes, dyed her skin with dark coffee, and often traveled long distances to save just one child from suffering.

Amy received a letter from a young lady who was considering life as a missionary. She asked Amy, “What is missionary life like?” Amy wrote back saying simply, “Missionary life is simply a chance to die.” A fall in 1931 severely injured Carmichael, and she remained bedridden for much of her final two decades; however, it did not stop her from writing. Biographers differ on the number of her published works, which may have reached 35 or as many as six dozen, although only a few remain in print today. Despite frequent pain and constant hardship, Amy Carmichael served in India for 55 years without furlough. She died in India in 1951 at the age of 83. She asked that no stone be put over her grave at Dohnavur; instead, the children she had cared for put a bird bath over it with the single inscription “Amma”, which means “mother” in the Tamil language.

Hardship is not indication of God’s disfavor or abandonment. Those who push through discover divine intimacy reserved for those who turn toward the Father rather than away from Him while suffering.

“Let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually.” Hebrews 13:15

Remember Luther on his sick-bed. Between his groans he managed to preach on this wise: “These pains and trouble here are like the type which the printers set; as they look now, we have to read them backwards, and they seem to have no sense or meaning in them; but up yonder, when the Lord God prints us off in the life to come, we shall find they make brave reading.” Only we do not need to wait till then. Remember Paul walking the hurricane deck amid a boiling sea, bidding the frightened crew “Be of good cheer,” Luther—all of them human sunflowers. (Streams in the Desert)

My wife and I took our oldest grandson to find a pair of track shoes since he has outgrown his from last season. The reality is, he has grown out of just about everything he wears. I cannot quite get accustomed to looking up to this fourteen-year-old who now stands at least two inches taller than me. We enjoy his company, especially when he is in a talkative mood, and on this occasion, he couldn’t wait to tell us about the day’s ordeal. As is true for many teenagers these days, his cell phone holds paramount importance. At some point earlier in the day, he reached in his backpack for the phone but couldn’t find it. He mentally retraced his steps, asked a friend to call his number, thought it must be in the pocket of his jacket he had loaned to his girlfriend, but the phone was nowhere to be found. Quite by chance, he went back to his athletic locker and a faint reflection caught his eye. The black cell phone was nearly imperceptible against the shadows and dark metal backdrop, but light reflecting from the screen was enough to guide him to the phone. We laughed to tears as he described in detail the enormous relief he experienced in that moment; he obviously was still enjoying the ecstasy of recovering the phone and not needing to explain its loss to his parents.

We generally find what we are looking for. If we spend our days ferreting out trouble, we will likely find it. If we meditate on the dark side of life, the color drains out of even the brightest moments. If we look for good in ourselves and others, the search may take a bit longer, but we will come upon an encouraging note eventually. Scripture admonishes, “set your minds on things above.” We do so by turning problems into prayer, and grace into worship. Finding evidence of God’s handiwork in difficulty is not naive or escapism; it is choosing by faith to stake your life on the sovereignty and goodness of God. Look for the Father and you will find Him. He is always at work on your behalf, orchestrating even the most arduous experiences into a tapestry of faith and perseverance.

“And Jacob was left alone; and there wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day.” Genesis 32:24

Left alone! What different sensations those words conjure up to each of us. To some they spell loneliness and desolation, to others rest and quiet. To be left alone without God, would be too awful for words, but to be left alone with Him is a foretaste of Heaven! If His followers spent more time alone with Him, we should have spiritual giants again.

The Master set us an example. Note how often He went to be alone with God; and He had a mighty purpose behind the command, “When thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray.” The greatest miracles of Elijah and Elisha took place when they were alone with God. It was alone with God that Jacob became a prince; and just there that we, too, may become princes—“men (aye, and women too!) wondered at” (Zech. 3:8). Joshua was alone when the Lord came to him. (Josh. 1:1) Gideon and Jephthah were by themselves when commissioned to save Israel (Judges 6:11 and 11:29). Moses was by himself at the wilderness bush (Exodus 3:1-5). Cornelius was praying by himself when the angel came to him (Acts 10:2). No one was with Peter on the house top, when he was instructed to go to the Gentiles (Acts 10:9). John the Baptist was alone in the wilderness (Luke 1:90), and John the Beloved alone in Patmos, when nearest God (Rev. 1:9).

Covet to get alone with God. If we neglect it, we not only rob ourselves, but others too, of blessing, since when we are blessed we are able to pass on blessing to others. It may mean less outside work; it must mean more depth and power, and the consequence, too, will be “they saw no man save Jesus only.” To be alone with God in prayer cannot be over-emphasized. (Streams in the Desert)

‘Alone together’ sound contradictory, when in reality they describe the greatest harmony possible. My favorite moments in life are when my wife and I successfully slip away together to enjoy a day, a weekend, or even longer. What we choose to do with the time is of little consequence; what matters immensely is that we are alone together. We are not escaping anything or anyone; instead, we are finding each other again. Solitary companionship refuels for the journey and challenges ahead. I relish seeing my wife smile, hearing her laugh, and learning the secrets of her heart. She is my delight.

When the Father is your delight, you do whatever is required to get alone with Him. Solitary companionship with God replenishes the heart and refuels for whatever lies ahead. ‘Alone together’ is foretaste of Heaven.

“But he said to me, “My grace is enough for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” So then, I will boast most gladly about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may reside in me.”

2 Corinthians 12:9

His grace is great enough to meet the great things
The crashing waves that overwhelm the soul,
The roaring winds that leave us stunned and breathless,
The sudden storm beyond our life’s control.

His grace is great enough to meet the small things
The little pin-prick troubles that annoy,
The insect worries, buzzing and persistent,
The squeaking wheels that grate upon our joy.

(Streams in the Desert)

I blew into Amarillo like a West Texas Scirocco, greeted by a sunset the color of a day old bruise spread wide and low across the horizon like a flattened sombrero. I checked into my hotel and promptly went in search of food since I had not eaten for nearly eight hours. The life of a road warrior is not all glitz and glamour, even if I do work for the most wonderful international relief organization in the world. Cafeteria food has always been a treat for me, probably because each foray down a serving line prompts memories of special Sunday childhood lunches after church at Luby’s Cafeteria in the Jefferson City Shopping Center in Port Arthur. A brightly lit neon sign indicated a Furr’s Cafeteria to my right, so I turned off Soncy Road, parked near the entrance, and walked inside. The young lady behind a counter near the entrance greeted me and informed me that this was a Furr’s all-you-can eat buffet. That wasn’t what I had in mind, so I asked if there was a true cafeteria nearby, and she directed me to the other Furr’s on Georgia Street, just off Interstate 40. Traffic was light, so I navigated seven miles to the cafeteria in about seven minutes, parked, and went inside. There was no other starving patrons in front of me, so I wasted no time in grabbing tray and linen wrapped utensils. I side-stepped to stand in front of the meat selections, and after an agonizing choice decided on fried chicken-dark meat. The man behind the counter in apron and paper beanie placed a diminutive thigh on a plate and shoved it my direction. I looked down at the meager portion, shrugged, and scooted left to the vegetable choices. I made the healthy choice of two starches-mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes, each consisting of one ice cream scoop sized dollop. Deciding that I had made a poor choice for this over priced meal, I limited myself to just the three items except to splurge on a wheat roll with butter. At the check out stand, the wiry aproned middle-aged employee rang up my bill, and as she delivered the paper verdict I told her that I didn’t want to be rude, but that these were the smallest portions I had ever seen at a cafeteria. She simply stared at me, shrugged, and said, “Most people start small.” I ignored her cryptic response, eased myself behind a table by a window, all the while chastising myself for wasting money and time on such a meager meal. A pleasant young lady who seemed out-of-place working for tips in a cafeteria stopped by my table a few minutes later to ask if I needed anything. Not wanting to be rude, I couldn’t help launching into the same expression of disappointment over the size of the portions. She said, “Well, sir, you can go back as many times as you want. We keep the portions small because most customers like to sample a number of different entrees.” I’m obviously not the brightest pea in the patch, but it slowly dawned on me that this, too, was an all-you-can eat buffet. I had been frugal for no reason. I ended up going back uncharacteristically through the line another two trips, ending my feeding frenzy by sitting back in my chair, sipping complimentary coffee, and forcing down a slice of lemon ice box pie.

On the short drive back to my hotel, I couldn’t shake my embarrassment, thinking how narrowly I had escaped a colossal blunder. How could I have been so blind? I had started through the cafeteria line like a pauper, while all the while a king’s table was spread before me. Ignorance is no excuse for missing out on serendipity. How often do I fail to recognize the heavenly blessings I am the earthly beneficiary of? Surrounded by glory, I opt for self imposed blinders that prevent me from detecting the lavish grace of a grand child’s reckless laughter, a daughter’s sterling respect, my wife’s long-suffering, a stranger’s need, or the intricate reflection of heaven found in rose petals or an asparagus fern. Truth be told, I am blessed beyond measure, and far beyond anything I deserve. The King of Glory spreads a veritable smorgasbord of grace in front of me; God forbid that I would settle for two dollops of potatoes and a thigh.