Author: danefowlkes

As far back as I can remember, I’ve felt special, due in no part to anything about me; instead, that impression has everything to do with my mother and father. My earliest memory of conversation with them goes something like this, “Son, you’re special because we chose you.” I didn’t comprehend at the time, and they may not have fully understood it themselves, but Henry and Lois were establishing a sure foundation from which to embrace the reality of being an adopted child. Being adopted was better, in my undeveloped mind, than having been their natural born son, although I secretly wished that I had inherited my dad’s height, his James Dean good looks, and his deep bass singing voice. It was masterful child psychology coming from a boilermaker and a church librarian, mainly because it was heartfelt and honest. They were unable to have children of their own, so they chose to lavish their love on someone else’s miscalculation, redeeming both child and themselves in the process. They believed adoption to be the will of God for them, and, truth be known, it was for my sister and me as well.

I wish that every child could develop according to the strong impression that she or he is special and chosen for greatness. As Buechner writes: “The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It’s for you I created the universe. I love you.” The truth is, life is special and you are too. The Father says to each of us, “You’re special, because I chose you.”

“God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure.” (Ephesians 1:5, New Living Translation)

“But you are not like that, for you are a chosen people. You are royal priests, a holy nation, God’s very own possession. As a result, you can show others the goodness of God, for he called you out of the darkness into his wonderful light.” (1 Peter 2:9, New Living Translation)

Solitude is a state of mind, not merely the absence of noise, and it forms a fitting backdrop for recognizing and connecting with Almighty God. Just last week my wife summoned me to our back porch in order to witness the spectacle of a swarm of migrating hummingbirds, a myriad of Ruby Throated and Black Chins, diving and dueling, making quite a clatter in the process. Jo and I understood that we had just been granted ringside seats to a rare and powerful display, and in that moment solitude ran rampant over us as we witnessed the handiwork of God. Anyone who stands out-of-doors long enough after sunset encounters the night symphony of the Creator. Nature does not make noise; nature produces music. Insomniac insects fill the night with music and there is a primal rhythm to it. Each scratch or thrush or squeal or hum is not out of place. In fact, such nocturnal sounds define life as consistent, patterned, purposeful. God is speaking if we take the time to listen.

Solitude, then, is the attitude of heart that allows space to discern the Creator, and, in time, ourselves. A great example is as near as a discerning look at the Old Testament. I like the way Barbara Brown Taylor supposes Moses’s two-fold discovery:

“Moses’s life changed one day while he was tending his father- in-law’s sheep. According to the storyteller, he had led the flock beyond the wilderness to Horeb, the mountain of God, when an angel of God appeared to him in a burning bush…. The bush required Moses to take a time-out, at least if he wanted to do more than glance at it. He could have done that. He could have seen the flash of red out of the corner of his eye, said, ‘Oh, how pretty,’ and kept right on driving the sheep. He did not know that it was an angel in the bush, after all. Only the storyteller knew that. Moses could have decided that he would come back tomorrow to see if the bush was still burning, when he had a little more time, only then he would not have been Moses. He would just have been a guy who got away with murder, without ever discovering what else his life might have been about” (Barbara Brown Taylor, “An Altar in the World”).

“Now Moses kept the flock of Jethro his father in law, the priest of Midian: and he led the flock to the backside of the desert, and came to the mountain of God, even to Horeb. And the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush: and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed. And Moses said, ‘I will now turn aside, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burnt.’ And when the Lord saw that he turned aside to see, God called unto him out of the midst of the bush, and said, ‘Moses, Moses.’ And he said, ‘Here am I.'”(Exodus 3:1-4, KJV)

“I’ve been thinking….” How many times have I said that to myself or others, without pausing to consider the import of the thought? Much of what constitutes life is conducted in our minds and every meaningful thought is predicated on honesty. There can be no deep reflection, no positive change without intellectual honesty. All other mental activity is smoke and mirrors, void of lasting meaning. Dishonest thought is nothing more than senseless mental chatter. “What deadens us most to God’s presence within us, I think, is the inner dialogue that we are continuously engaged in with ourselves, the endless chatter of human thought. I suspect that there is nothing more crucial to true spiritual comfort . . . than being able from time to time to stop that chatter” (Buechner, “Whistling in the Dark”). Unseen, our thought life reflects who we are and determines the people we become. “As a man thinketh …” (Proverbs 23:7); “When I was a child I thought like a child …” (1 Corinthians 13:11). What am I doing to promote the spiritual discipline of rigorous and honest contemplation?

“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee. Trust ye in the Lord for ever: for in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength.

The way of the just is uprightness: thou, most upright, dost weigh the path of the just. Yea, in the way of thy judgments, O Lord, have we waited for thee; the desire of our soul is to thy name, and to the remembrance of thee. With my soul have I desired thee in the night; yea, with my spirit within me will I seek thee early: for when thy judgments are in the earth, the inhabitants of the world will learn righteousness.”(Isaiah 26:3-4, 7-9, KJV)

It’s officially fall and I’m celebrating by writing this while seated next to an amber fire in our fire pit just across the way from our pond. Autumn is my favorite time of year and has been for thirty six years. From the first fall season I spent away from the coast of my childhood I was hooked. I don’t remember knowing before then that leaves change colors before turning loose from their branches, and that sitting out of doors at night could ever be enjoyed without swarms of stinging mosquitoes as unwelcome companions. Autumn is a period of transition from summer’s blistering heat on the way to winter’s barren hibernation; or to state it another way, it’s a time of noticeable change. Most of these differences are positive ones for me — cooler temperatures, fleece blankets, hot chocolate, holiday mode– but there is another less than appealing emotional side to change. I can’t help but consider the way life has altered itself forever over the past few years: A robust neighbor that only a few years ago would be riding his John Deere and tossing fallen limbs into a small trailer, who is now only a memory of his former self, resting quietly in an Alzheimer’s unit; my dear mother who made her own transition three years ago from this earthbound existence to her heavenly home; my father-in-law who left us mentally a couple of years ago and physically back in February of this year; four new grandchildren born into the family within the past six years; a different job, a different church, a different body (with aches and limitations I never knew before); the list of vital differences marches on.

It is in these quiet moments of sober reflection that I find great solace in an unchanging God. My heart gravitates all the more toward a Father not in transition Himself, who is perfectly able to carry me through the transitions within myself. What would I do if forced to grapple on my own with the ebb and flow of personal experience? Praise God I’ll never know. I am the variable; He is the constant. No doubt I will continue to change as will everything surrounding me, but my heart has found its resting place: “Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever” (Hebrews 13:8, KJV).

“Great is Thy faithfulness,” O God my Father,
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not
As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.

“Great is Thy faithfulness!” “Great is Thy faithfulness!”
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—
“Great is Thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me!

Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Country music always reminds me of Yandall Woodfin. Don’t bother googling to find out what hits he had; he was a theologian, not a country singer. Woodfin was one of the brightest men to ever wear the label ‘Baptist.’ In addition to earning degrees from Baylor University, Southwestern Seminary, and the University of Edinburgh, he studied under C. S. Lewis at Cambridge. He taught philosophy for many years at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, and that’s where we met. I admit that I was anything but excited about taking the required course ‘Philosophy of Religion,’ and even less enthused when my schedule forced me to take it from the professor whose reputation preceded him–Yandall Woodfin. I’ll never forget his intimidating silence and glare at us wet-behind-the-ears ‘preacher boys’ on the first day of class, but over the next fifteen weeks something unexpected happened–I found myself hanging on every word. I read Dr. Woodfin’s textbook, “With All Your Mind,” like a starving soul savors the flavor of food, and devours it in small portions because of the rich content.

Woodfin shocked the class one day by stating that preachers should regularly listen to country music, reasoning that country music reveals what America is thinking. He believed that preaching is as much for the mind as it is the heart, and challenged us to unlatch our brains from autopilot and engage in serious cultural exegesis. This, he felt, was the great benefit of country music. All of this came back to me last night as my wife and I watched the second half of the CMA awards on ABC. If country music clues us into American thought as Yandall Woodfin taught, we have reason for concern about our culture. The big hits of last night included “Day Drinking,” “Smoking and Drinking,” and “Drunk on a Plane.” More cause for concern came as artist after artist then gave God credit for their success, leaving the impression that he places his stamp of approval on the whole ménage. At this point, Woodfin would have pushed us to draw our own cultural conclusions, and I leave it to you to do the same. As for me, “I Saw the Light,” so I’ll let “Jesus, Take the Wheel,” until I “Go Rest High on that Mountain.”

Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer. (‭Psalms‬ ‭19‬:‭14‬ KJV)

I’m thinking about rest because my wife and I are enjoying a week of vacation. I’m no expert on relaxing, but I am a willing apprentice. My work ethic stems naturally from an oil refinery boilermaker father and industrious mother. Both parents gave their best, saved what they could, and forged a safe place from which a son and daughter could try their wings. Life was framed by how one worked, but one thing Henry and Lois insisted upon was family vacation every summer, and to take it easy on Sunday’s. Without digging deep into the why of it, they went with the instinct that great effort can only be sustained if punctuated with a little down time.

Our Creator established the pattern of hard work and consistent rest, knowing that without periodic relaxation, stress takes its toll, leaving life ragged and in danger of unraveling. Take a deep breath. Hold it. Now, release it, slowly. Sometimes stress relief comes from intentional inactivity. Retreat. Renew. Refresh. At other times, intrepid action is required. Allow no bitter root to take hold of your heart. Resolve disputes. Apologize for hurt. Repair broken relationships. Restore what’s been taken or lost. Retreat from distraction, no matter how hard you have to work to get away. Rest is not for the faint of heart, but it does the heart more good than any medicine.

Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them. And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made; and he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had made. And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and made. (‭Genesis‬ ‭2‬:‭1-3‬ KJV)

Morning rituals are sacred. In our home, I deliver coffee to my wife in bed and remind her of what I told her the day before–that she is the most incredibly special and beautiful woman in the world. When business demands that I’m away from home, I make a point to phone, text or leave a note to that same effect. On occasion when we are traveling together, our daybreak tradition continues with the added twist that I go downstairs (we always ask for a room on the top floor of wherever we’re staying), scout what’s available for breakfast, and then retrieve for my wife what she chooses. Later, I go back down to have my own. This morning found us going through our well rehearsed routine in a Sleep Inn high up in Flagstaff, Arizona.

Hotel breakfast groups are typically memorable because travel tends to bring out whatever is down deep inside each of us. This morning’s gathering was stereotypically stereotypical: A couple sat together on the perimeter, the man lecturing his female companion on fine points of theology, with a little Greek thrown in to impress. Perched in the middle of the room, a massive man amassed a healthy mountain of fruit and then proceeded to eat most everything sweet in sight. A woman of significant girth working for the hotel stood in front of the breakfast buffet, straightening creamers and butter, causing everyone to go around her to score anything to eat. Opposite the religious couple, an elderly gentleman sat by himself and carried on a lucid conversation with no one in particular. Still another man sitting behind me grunted and sighed with every staccato motion of fork to mouth. All in all, a regular cirque du petit déjeuner.

What these two scenarios hold in common is the hope that we are each created in God’s image, and that whatever imago dei means, at the very least, it declares that something incredibly special resides within each of us. Hopefully, we see this in each other, and given time, we may even see it in ourselves.

And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them. (‭Genesis‬ ‭1‬:‭26-27‬ KJV)

It isn’t easy living the Christ life, but according to all available evidence it was never intended to be. “Think it not strange …” Quite honestly, I prefer things that come easily, and if I’m not careful I make that my criteria for judging something to be God’s will, as if friction and strain somehow invalidate God’s purposes. That would be American hermeneutics, not biblical interpretation. Rigorous discipline, challenge, struggle, hardship–I may not gravitate naturally toward these, but such harsh descriptors are not incompatible with divine guidance.

Although I’ve invoked it from time to time, I remain leery of the familiar Christian vocabulary of the “open door.” I find many more examples in Scripture of hardship to be overcome than I do of walking through open doors like the opening segment to the old Get Smart TV show with Don Adams walking down a corridor as various secure doors open before him in rapid succession. The story of Joseph in Genesis disquiets me more than all the others put together. His tale is replete with mistakes, misunderstanding, false accusation, imprisonment, abandonment, servitude — and all for a preferred son. The kicker is the commentary that comes at the end of the narrative: “But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people alive” (Genesis 50:20 KJV). Seriously? Or take Paul’s unwelcome thorn in the flesh. God was obviously not unaware, as he responds to Paul’s petition that divine grace is sufficient to carry him through the pain. Sounds good if you’re not the one with the thorn, likely malarial induced headaches that stabbed like a red hot poker running through his skull.

The point to all this rambling is simply a compassionate caution against adopting the fallacy of open door theology. Judge God’s will against his kingdom purposes, his Word, and his call on your life, rather than in light of the path of least resistance.

“Beloved, 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; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy. If ye be reproached for the name of Christ, happy are ye; for the spirit of glory and of God resteth upon you: on their part he is evil spoken of, but on your part he is glorified. But let none of you suffer as a murderer, or as a thief, or as an evildoer, or as a busybody in other men’s matters. Yet if any man suffer as a Christian, let him not be ashamed; but let him glorify God on this behalf. For the time is come that judgment must begin at the house of God: and if it first begin at us, what shall the end be of them that obey not the gospel of God? And if the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God commit the keeping of their souls to him in well doing, as unto a faithful Creator.” (1 Peter. 4:12-19, KJV )

I’m in constant danger of re-creating God according to my own image. A milquetoast deity fits the bill. When it comes to how God looks at me, I want Mister Rogers, not William Wallace (Braveheart); soft when it comes to my shortcomings, understanding when it comes to my errors, and tender when it comes to my failure. The last thing I want is a standard bearer, a strong and demanding Warrior Captain, a relentless Coach that will not settle for anything less than that for which I was created. I may be hard on myself, but God should take it easy on me.

There’s only one problem with this whole business–the Omnipotent One refuses to fit into molds of my own making. Our God is a God of grace, but his mercy is always in juxtaposition to relentless expectation. Remove the word “settle” from your Christian vocabulary–God grants unending grace, but he never settles for anything less than his plan for our lives.

“For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:8-10, KJV)