Author: danefowlkes

“But the dove found no rest for or the sole of her foot, and she returned unto him… And the dove came in to him in the evening; and, lo, in her mouth was an olive leaf.” Genesis 8:9-12

“God knows just when to withhold from us any visible sign of encouragement, and when to grant us such a sign. How good it is that we may trust Him anyway! When all visible evidences that He is remembering us are withheld, that is best; He wants us to realize that His Word, His promise of remembrance, is more substantial and dependable than any evidence of our senses. When He sends the visible evidence, that is well also; we appreciate it all the more after we have trusted Him without it. Those who are readiest to trust God without other evidence than His Word always receive the greatest number of visible evidences of His love.” (Streams in the Desert)

The sandal’s leather sole slipped, and for an agonizing moment he feared his climb would end in rough descent back down the steep grade. In response, his staff, carved years ago from an ashur tree, bit hard between two large rocks, enabling the other sandal to find purchase on the mountain’s demanding surface. Age was not the culprit; in fact, at one hundred and twenty years old he could still outlast most of the younger men when it came to grueling treks through uninhabitable wilderness. He had proven as much over the past forty odd years. It was anticipation of what lay ahead that pushed him upward at a pace that strained muscle and sinew to the breaking point. There was no time to waste. If this was to be the end, he intended to make the most of it. The others did not know, else they would have attempted to dissuade him from the climb and convince that he had heard wrongly. Perhaps he had misunderstood. After all he had done, it couldn’t end this way. He had to admit the disappointment threatened to squeeze every last ounce of joy from his heart like the boulders he had seen crush everything in their path during a rockslide.

He paused and fought to regain his breath against the drain of ascent and altitude; it was then that he realized he had reached his goal. Atop Pisgah, the horizon spread before him in panoramic fashion—from Gilead to Dan, all of Naphtali, the territory of Ephraim and Manasseh, the Negev and the whole region from the Valley of Jericho. He could see all the land of Judah as far as the Mediterranean. Then he heard a familiar voice. At times it had sounded to him like the cataracts of the Nile; in other moments he strained to recognize it, not unlike a child pausing and leaning into the wind to detect a parent’s distant call. “This is the land I promised on oath to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob when I said, ‘I will give it to your descendants.’ I have let you see it with your eyes, but you will not cross over into it.” A lesser man would have cowered and pleaded, but he was prepared for just such a time as this. In the place of resignation, he found resolve; instead of fear, he knew rest. The quest would not end with him; he had equipped a younger and more gifted man to lead in his stead.

There is a sense in which each of us sees but never crosses over. We cannot finish what we start, others must do it for us. Each of us is expected to entrust our stories to those we leave behind, those who will imitate us, follow us, exceed us.

“Now Joshua son of Nun was filled with the spirit of wisdom because Moses had laid his hands on him” (Deu 34:9).

There was nothing magical about this transference. It was not mystical or supernatural. Joshua was filled with wisdom exactly because Moses had poured into him all that he had learned from the school of hard knocks and all he had received by means of divine revelation. The aged prophet knew that eventually his end would come, and the future of God’s people hung on what he left behind. We all reach a point when nothing remains for us in this life. The future of our people hangs on what we leave behind.

“Why standest thou afar off, O Lord?” Psalms 10:1

“God is ‘a very present help in trouble.’ But He permits trouble to pursue us, as though He were indifferent to its overwhelming pressure, that we may be brought to the end of ourselves, and led to discover the treasure of darkness, the unmeasurable gains of tribulation.

We may be sure that He who permits the suffering is with us in it. It may be that we shall see Him only when the trial is passing; but we must dare to believe that He never leaves the crucible. Our eyes are holden; and we cannot behold Him whom our soul loveth. It is dark—the bandages blind us so that we cannot see the form of our High Priest; but He is there, deeply touched. Let us not rely on feeling, but on faith in His unswerving fidelity; and though we see Him not, let us talk to Him. Directly we begin to speak to Jesus, as being literally present, though His presence is veiled, there comes an answering voice which shows that He is in the shadow, keeping watch upon His own. Your Father is as near when you journey through the dark tunnel as when under the open heaven!” (Streams in the Desert)

We do not fully reach the heart of the Father until we come to the end of ourselves. Evan Roberts entered the Welsh coal mines as a young man as most other young men in Wales did at the time. On September 29, 1904, 26-year-old Evan went to a Meeting where Seth Joshua was preaching, and he heard the evangelist pray “Lord Bend us.” It seemed as if the Holy Spirit was telling Evan, “That’s what you need.” He fell on his knees with his arms over the seat in front of him and cried out, “Bend me, Bend me!” Joshua had been praying that God would raise up a man from the coal mines or fields to bring revival to the churches of Wales. God chose to use Evan. The meetings soon moved to wherever Evan felt led to go, and what is now termed the Welsh Revival of 1904-1905 swept across that land. The revival brought an estimated 100,000 converts into churches and sent spiritual shockwaves throughout Britain and even as far as Los Angeles. Evan Roberts’ simple prayer, “Oh Lord, Bend me,” blossomed into the theme of the revival: “Bend the church and save the world.” Brokenness always precedes renewal. The hope for the world is a broken believer fully bent to the will of the Father.

“He withdrew… to a solitary place.” Matthew 14:13

“There is no music during a musical rest, but the rest is part of the making of the music. In the melody of our life, the music is separated here and there by rests. During those rests, we foolisly believe we have come to the end of the song. God sends us time of forced leisure by allowing sickness, disappointed plans, and frustrated efforts. He brings a sudden pause in the choral hymns of our lives, and we lament that our voices must be silent. We grieve that our part is missing in the music that continually rises to the ear of our Creator. Yet how does a musician read the rest? He counts the break with unwavering precision and plays his next note with confidence, as if no pause were ever there.” (Streams in the Desert)

Leaf raking is sacred activity. It takes a higher toll on my body these days than when I was a younger man, but the pain is worth the payoff. The glory of God abounds in the most common occurrence if we look long and hard enough to see it. I may groan inwardly when the accumulated effect demands the raking of leaves and trimming of bushes so we can see the sidewalk and remember grass is under there somewhere, but deep down I don’t mind fallen leaves. Most of the ones I’m gathering turned color before turning loose their grip on branches overhead. I love seasons, largely because growing up in Port Arthur we only experienced two of them—hot and hotter. Autumn brings out the artist in us all. There is something magical about leaf snow and branches that become paintbrushes. Fall is as colorful as spring, but the palette is different. Muted tones of bronze, sienna, and ochre poised overhead await the inevitable.

I am sensitive to seasons more now than ever before because I have entered the autumn of my own experience. It may be winter and I just don’t know it, but at least, on average, I have time for a slow fade before sunset hastens behind the horizon. The challenge is not the fading of the light, it is mustering the courage to enjoy what’s left of it. What might I learn of my Creator and myself if I refuse frenetic activity and walk rather than run into winter? I want more than to stop and smell the roses, I want to know their names and to distinguish between tea roses, Floribundas and Grandifloras. Look deep into every moment and you will find enough of the Almighty to set you daydreaming of eternity. Autumn turns our attention toward winter and leaves us longing for spring, but be careful not to squander the journey home.

“None of these things move me.” Acts 20:24

“Tribulation is the way to triumph. The valley-way opens into the highway. Tribulation’s imprint is on all great things. Crowns are cast in crucibles. Chains of character that wind about the feet of God are forged in earthly flames. No man is greatest victor till he has trodden the winepress of woe. With seams of anguish deep in His brow, the ‘Man of Sorrows’ said, ‘In the world ye shall have tribulation’—but after this sob comes the psalm of promise, ‘Be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.’ The footprints are traceable everywhere. Bloodmarks stain the steps that lead to thrones. Sears are the price of scepters. Our crowns will be wrested from the giants we conquer. Grief has always been the lot of greatness. It is an open secret.” (Streams in the Desert)

Do not lead a sloppy private life. Avoid carelessness in your hidden moments because all future public battles hang in the balance. Disciples are termed such because they stay at the learning regardless of popularity or pain. Christ-followers enjoy a rigorous regimen of self-control and surrender; these are not conflicting actions. Self-control allows me to have something worth surrendering to Father. Grief, grace, consternation, endurance, and a measure of innocence are necessary for a life that triumphs in the end.

“Sorrow is better than laughter; for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better.” Ecclesiastes 7:3

“When sorrow comes under the power of Divine grace, it works out a manifold ministry in our lives. Sorrow reveals unknown depths in the soul, and unknown capabilities of experience and service. Gay, trifling people are always shallow, and never suspect the little meannesses in their nature. Sorrow is God’s plowshare that turns up and subsoils the depths of the soul, that it may yield richer harvests. If we had never fallen, or were in a glorified state, then the strong torrents of Divine joy would be the normal force to open up all our souls’ capacities; but in a fallen world, sorrow, with despair taken out of it, is the chosen power to reveal ourselves to ourselves. Hence it is sorrow that makes us think deeply, long, and soberly. Sorrow makes us go slower and more considerately, and introspect our motives and dispositions. It is sorrow that opens up within us the capacities of the heavenly life, and it is sorrow that makes us willing to launch our capacities on a boundless sea of service for God and our fellows. . . . Every person and every nation must take lessons in God’s school of adversity.” (Streams in the Desert)

Do not confuse inconvenience with suffering. Most days include a nuisance here or there—traffic delays, inclement weather, and the like. “It is extraordinary what an enormous power there is in simple things to distract our attention from God” (Oswald Chambers). Minor irritations and frustrations may at times reveal cracks in our character, but seldom alter the core of who we are. Sorrow does. Suffering changes the way I view myself and those around me; more importantly, it transforms my understanding of God. Sorrow demands a deeper dependence on the Father, and mines the depths of our own hearts. Distinguish between disappointment and sorrow, then relinquish your hurt and your heart to the Father who cares about both.

“Men ought always to pray and not to faint.” Luke 18:1

“Prayer which takes the fact that past prayers have not been answered as a reason for languor, has already ceased to be the prayer of faith. To the prayer of faith the fact that prayers remain unanswered is only evidence that the moment of the answer is so much nearer. From first to last, the lessons and examples of our Lord all tell us that prayer which cannot persevere and urge its plea importunately, and renew, and renew itself again, and gather strength from every past petition, is not the prayer that will prevail. . . .The motto of David Livingstone was in these words, ‘I determined never to stop until I had come to the end and achieved my purpose.’ By unfaltering persistence and faith in God he conquered.” (Streams in the Desert)

If not careful, prayer becomes one of the most self-centered parts of my day. I address Father, but my attention turns inward as I seek divine assistance for what matters most to me at the moment. Although Jesus promises each of us his pardon, presence, and provision, I waste precious time rehearsing past failure and missed opportunity, somehow relishing the pain dragged up by a litany of sin. Confession is good for the soul, self-pity not so much. When I muster the courage to get over myself and get on to intercession, I discover that prayer changes me the way I wanted in the first place. My mind and heart take on that of the Father, and this world loses its grip as I plead for salvation, deliverance and restoration in others. The prayer closet was never intended to be a confessional; it is a battle station.

Merciful Lord,
You not only hold all things together; You are Everything. All of life finds its meaning and purpose in You. You alone define joy; hope is the inevitable consequence of abiding in You. Unveil the mystery of union with Christ in quiet moments of reflection and raucous action benefitting the hurting and at risk in my sphere of influence. Create in me not only a clean heart, but a thirsty one that will not be satisfied with alluring substitutes. I do not seek to be successful but to remain faithful. I will not fall prey to the temptation of expedience; my mind finds peace in knowing You and learning to detect You in the commonplace. Transform routine into reverence and the familiar into worship. And should You so choose, find rest in me as I rest resolutely in You.

“Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in Christ.” 2 Corinthians 2:14

“God gets His greatest victories out of apparent defeats. Very often the enemy seems to triumph for a little, and God lets it be so; but then He comes in and upsets all the work of the enemy, overthrows the apparent victory, and as the Bible says, ‘turns the way of the wicked upside down.’ Thus He gives a great deal larger victory than we would have known if He had not allowed the enemy, seemingly, to triumph in the first place. . . . If there is a great trial in your life today, do not own it as a defeat, but continue, by faith, to claim the victory through Him who is able to make you more than conqueror, and a glorious victory will soon be apparent. Let us learn that in all the hard places God brings us into, He is making opportunities for us to exercise such faith in Him as will bring about blessed results and greatly glorify His name.” (Streams in the Desert)

Our current understanding of “trial” is from Middle English in the 1570s when it came to mean “examining and deciding of the issues between parties in a court of law.” It was not long before it was extended to describe any ordeal. The phrase “trial balloon” translates the French ballon d’essai, and was used in 1826 to designate a small balloon sent up immediately before a manned ascent to determine the direction and tendency of winds in the upper air. My response to adversity says less about me, and far more about my Father. Each time I encounter great difficulty someone goes on trial, but contrary to popular opinion, I am the star witness, not the defendant. I take the witness stand as I endure hardship; testimony comes less from what I say and more from what I do. Whether they will admit it or not, both acquaintances and strangers judge the direction and tendency of the Father by what I reveal when put to the test. My responsibility and opportunity in adversity is to testify well the grace and glory of God.

“O Daniel, servant of the living God, is thy God whom thou servest continually, able to deliver thee?” Daniel 6:20

“How many times we find this expression in the Scriptures, and yet it is just this very thing that we are so prone to lose sight of. We know it is written ‘the living God’; but in our daily life there is scarcely anything we practically so much lose sight of as the fact that God is the living God . . . .”

“‘One day I came to know Dr. John Douglas Adam,’ writes C. G. Trumbull. ‘I learned from him that what he counted his greatest spiritual asset was his unvarying consciousness of the actual presence of Jesus. Nothing bore him up so, he said, as the realization that Jesus was always with him in actual presence; and that this was so independent of his own feelings, dependent of his deserts, and independent of his own notions as to how Jesus would manifest His presence.

‘Moreover, he said that Christ was the home of his thoughts. Whenever his mind was free from other matters it would turn to Christ; and he would talk aloud to Christ when he was alone—on the street, anywhere—as easily and naturally as to a human friend. So real to him was Jesus’ actual presence.’” (Streams in the Desert)

Sudden insight is, generally, not so sudden after all. Instances of recognition stand atop a mountain of accumulated experience. Rarely is triumph devoid of discipline. When all we celebrate is occasional ecstasy, we fail to recognize and appreciate what brought us to that point; we rob ourselves of the deeper truths and abiding confidence that comes from practicing the presence of something or someone. Some lean so strongly into tomorrow that they weaken their ability to stand and face today with any measure of satisfaction. There is joy available for this day and this moment. Practice the presence of God by recognizing the Father in all your ordinary moments, and you will no longer be surprised by what others declare as extraordinary.

“And there arose a great storm.” Mark 4:37

“Some of the storms of life come suddenly: a great sorrow, a bitter disappointment, a crushing defeat. Some come slowly. They appear upon the ragged edges of the horizon no larger than a man’s hand, but, trouble that seems so insignificant spreads until it covers the sky and overwhelms us.

Yet it is in the storm that God equips us for service. When God wants an oak He plants it on the moor where the storms will shake it and the rains will beat down upon it, and it is in the midnight battle with elements that the oak wins its rugged fibre and becomes the king of the forest. When God wants to make a man He puts him into some storm. The history of manhood is always rough and rugged. No man is made until he has been out into the surge of the storm and found the sublime fulfillment of the prayer: ‘O God, take me, break me, make me.’ The beauties of nature come after the storm. The rugged beauty of the mountain is born in a storm, and the heroes of life are the storm-swept and the battle-scarred.”(Streams in the Desert)

My mother received her copy of Streams in the Desert from my father in 1966. She wrote notes sparingly in the margins, so I pay particular attention to those I find on the yellow tinged pages. To the left of the heading for the January 16 selection, she wrote: “First bombing of Baghdad.” Just after the date she added: “1991.” The event was significant enough to merit notating in her favored devotional book. I cannot recreate what she thought that morning all those years ago, but I can imagine the solace she felt when she read about the value of the struggle while menacing clouds of war hung low overhead that wintery morning. Storms threaten us; they never intimidate God. The prescription for surviving any tempest is seeking our one true Refuge. Squalls, no matter their intensity, are temporary; God’s love is enduring. The desired outcome of any storm is not safety, it is deeper intimacy with the Shepherd of our Souls.

“And the Lord appeared unto Isaac the same night.” Genesis 26:24

“’Appeared the same night,’ the night on which he went to Beer-sheba. Do you think this revelation was an accident? Do you think the time of it was an accident? Do you think it could have happened on any other night as well as this? If so, you are grievously mistaken. Why did it come to Isaac in the night on which he reached Beer-sheba? Because that was the night on which he reached rest. In his old locality, he had been tormented. . . He determined to leave. He sought change of scene. He pitched his tent away from the place of former strife. That very night the revelation came. God spoke when there was no inward storm. He could not speak when the mind was fretted; His voice demands the silence of the soul. Only in the hush of the spirit could Isaac hear the garments of his God sweep by. His still night was his starry night.” Streams in the Desert

We are acquainted with the Western version that peace is the absence of conflict, but the biblical portrayal is quite different. Shalom is the Hebrew word. In English, the word “peace” conjures up a passive picture, one revealing an absence of civil disturbance or hostilities, or a personality free from internal and external strife. The biblical concept of peace is larger than that and means “to be complete” or “to be sound.” Instead of something vacating, it is an ushering in of something greater, more desireable. The noun had many nuances, but can be grouped into four categories: shalom as wholeness of life or body (i.e., health); as right relationship or harmony between two parties or people, often established by a covenant; prosperity, success, or fulfillment; and victory over one’s enemies resulting in the cessation of conflict. Shalom was used in both greetings and farewells and was meant to act as a blessing on the one to whom it was spoken: “May your life be filled with health, prosperity, and victory.”

Shalom is not the absence of something, but is instead its preferred replacement. Peace is not absence of fear, conflict, violence, anxiety, etc.; it is the presence of someone who brings with her or him positive reinforcements—confidence, joy, resolution, love. Shalom and surrender are necessary companions. For the Christ-follower, experiencing Peace is experiencing a Person. Peace enters as we relinquish fear, anxiety, and anything else that scratches and claws at our heart, and recognize the resilient presence of One who whispers: “Peace I give you. Peace I leave with you. Let not your hearts be troubled . . .”