DANE FOWLKES

“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 . . .”

January 14

“He putteth forth his own sheep.” John 10:4

“Oh, this is bitter work for Him and us—bitter for us to go, but equally bitter for Him to cause us pain; yet it must be done. It would not be conducive to our true welfare to stay always in one happy and comfortable lot. He therefore puts us forth. The fold is deserted, that the sheep may wander over the bracing mountain slope. The laborers must be thrust out into the harvest, else the golden grain would spoil. Take heart! it could not be better to stay when He determines otherwise; and if the loving hand of our Lord puts us forth, it must be well. On, in His name, to green pastures and still waters and mountain heights! He goeth before thee. Whatever awaits us is encountered first by Him. Faith’s eye can always discern His majestic presence in front; and when that cannot be seen, it is dangerous to move forward. Bind this comfort to your heart, that the Savior has tried for Himself all the experiences through which He asks you to pass; and He would not ask you to pass through them unless He was sure that they were not too difficult for your feet, or too trying for your strength. This is the Blessed Life—not anxious to see far in front, nor careful about the next step, not eager to choose the path, nor weighted with the heavy responsibilities of the future, but quietly following behind the Shepherd, one step at a time. (Streams in the Desert)

It is awe inspiring, but frankly not all that difficult to look back and detect divine grace in a sequence of events. The difficulty is anticipating divine presence moving steadily out front, beckoning us to follow. We tend to designate future events the great unknown, when in reality our Father has mapped it out and knows every nook and cranny. God is always previous. We will never venture a step on virgin soil; Father’s footprints are there if we search with our heart as well as our eyes. Do not allow the unknown to paralyze with fear. Question if you must—our questions even more than our answers validate that there’s more to this life than meets the eye—but do not hesitate. Do not waste time waiting on Déjà vu. Many endure each day attempting to recover something that was lost, the problem being we can’t determine exactly what it is that’s missing. Plunge headlong into what Father has prepared knowing that our God whose nature is love, will never allow that which is not best for us.

“In all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.” Romans 8:37

“This is more than victory. This is a triumph so complete that we have not only escaped defeat and destruction, but we have destroyed our enemies and won a spoil so rich and valuable that we can thank God that the battle ever came. How can we be “more than conquerors”? We can get out of the conflict a spiritual discipline that will greatly strengthen our faith and establish our spiritual character. Temptation is necessary to settle and confirm us in the spiritual life. It is like the fire which burns in the colors of mineral painting, or like winds that cause the mighty cedars of the mountain to strike more deeply into the soil. Our spiritual conflicts are among our choicest blessings, and our great adversary is used to train us for his ultimate defeat. . . Just as the wise sailor can use a head wind to carry him forward by tacking and taking advantage of its impelling force; so it is possible for us in our spiritual life through the victorious grace of God to turn to account the things that seem most unfriendly and unfavorable, and to be able to say continually, ‘The things that were against me have happened to the furtherance of the Gospel.’” (Streams in the Desert)

The setting was familiar—a small church on a quiet street in an urban neighborhood, family members assembled along with friends of the deceased as well as the decedent’s family, and a sampling of ministers that know by heart the ins and outs of just such moments in time. Most gathered to remember a long life well lived. I joined them in order to honor a friend who was also the son of the woman that had passed. Somewhere in the mix of singing and testifying and Scripture reading came the prayer for comfort by one of the clergy present, evidently chosen for the task because he had known the woman for many years. He spoke as much to the family as he did to God, but he said a curious thing in the portion of his prayer addressed to the Father: “If you drop something and break it, you meant to break it, because you can surely drop it without breaking it.”

Broken on purpose or broken for a purpose, we are all damaged goods; the critical decision of life surrounds who we allow to put us back together and according to what pattern. It is good to think about our own raggedness, not just in broad strokes that we are accustomed to doing on the rare occasion when something rattles us about ourselves, but in exhausting detail like an archeologist dusting off and tagging ancient artifacts rescued from a dig. Like detecting dirt hiding in folds of skin that are prominent but no longer useful, we approach our task of remembering so that we may relinquish all our broken pieces, not in the effort to become a different person but to morph back into the individual we were created to be in the first place. Brokenness is a gift. Fermentation is a process of quiet turmoil; chaos appears to rule in-between the crushing and leavening, but the outcome when guided by a master vintner can be beautiful. This is especially difficult for those (like myself) who abhor chaos, preferring sameness, routine, predictability. I actually apologize frequently to my wife for being so boring. She smiles, assures me I’m not, and I go on being dull—Jan Karon’s Father Tim in real life. The joy of living is risking confession, acknowledging in honest detail the cracks in our pots and then allowing the Potter to recast us into what he had in mind to begin with.

“Reckon it nothing but joy… whenever you find yourself hedged in by the various trials, be assured that the testing of your faith leads to power of endurance.” (James 1:2,3) Weymouth

“God hedges in His own that He may preserve them, but oftentimes they only see the wrong side of the hedge, and so misunderstand His dealings. It was so with Job (Job 3:23). Ah, but Satan knew the value of that hedge! See his testimony in Job 1:10. Through the leaves of every trial there are chinks of light to shine through. Thorns do not prick you unless you lean against them, and not one touches without His knowledge. The words that hurt you, the letter which gave you pain, the cruel wound of your dearest friend, shortness of money– are all known to Him, who sympathizes as none else can and watches to see, if, through all, you will dare to trust Him wholly.” (Streams in the Desert)

The harsh reality is that we are not living a fairy tale, and faith is required to navigate thorns. Faith is largely a matter of one’s chosen vantage point. The more I concentrate on immediate discomfort, the less aware I will be of any pattern behind it. This obsession comes largely as the result of keeping Jesus fashionably at arm’s length rather than allowing him to hug me close, shattering personal space until His space becomes mine and vice versa. Christ is unconcerned with convention while statedly passionate about intimacy. Do I turn to him on occasion at my convenience, or cling to him constantly as life and breath? Is He on the periphery or at the Center? Run headlong into His embrace. Christ is not an imaginary friend; He is Creator, eternal God, reality comes into focus when I lean into Him.

“Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God.” Isaiah 40:11

“Store up comfort. This was the prophet’s mission. The world is full of comfortless hearts, and ere thou art sufficient for this lofty ministry, thou must be trained. And thy training is costly in the extreme; for, to render it perfect, thou too must pass through the same afflictions as are wringing countless hearts of tears and blood. Thus thy own life becomes the hospital ward where thou art taught the Divine art of comfort. Thou art wounded, that in the binding up of thy wounds by the Great Physician, thou mayest learn how to render first aid to the wounded everywhere. Dost thou wonder why thou art passing through some special sorrow? Wait till ten years are passed, and thou wilt find many others afflicted as thou art. Thou wilt tell them how thou hast suffered and hast been comforted; then as the tale is unfolded, and the anodynes applied which once thy God wrapped around thee, in the eager look and the gleam of hope that shall chase the shadow of despair across the soul, thou shalt know why thou wast afflicted, and bless God for the discipline that stored thy life with such a fund of experience and helpfulness.” (Streams in the Desert)

“God does not comfort us to make us comfortable, but to make us comforters.”

~Dr. Jowett

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

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

“They were forbidden of the Holy Ghost to preach the Word in Asia.” Acts 16:6

“It is interesting to study the methods of His guidance as it was extended towards these early heralds of the Cross. It consisted largely in prohibitions, when they attempted to take another course than the right. When they would turn to the left, to Asia, He stayed them. When they sought to turn to the right, to Bithynia, again He stayed them. In after years Paul would do some of the greatest work of his life in that very region; but just now the door was closed against him by the Holy Spirit. The time was not yet ripe for the attack on these apparently impregnable bastions of the kingdom of Satan. Apollos must come there for pioneer work. Paul and Barnabas are needed yet more urgently elsewhere, and must receive further training before undertaking this responsible task. Beloved, whenever you are doubtful as to your course, submit your judgment absolutely to the Spirit of God, and ask Him to shut against you every door but the right one. Say, ‘Blessed Spirit, I cast on Thee the entire responsibility of closing against my steps any and every course which is not of God. Let me hear Thy voice behind me whenever I turn to the right hand or the left.’” (Streams in the Desert)

God’s ways are not my ways, but that’s not the problem. The serious issue at hand is that my ways are not His ways.

“Dear God, I am so afraid to open my clenched fists! Who will I be when I have nothing left to hold on to? Who will I be when I stand before you with empty hands? Please help me to gradually open my hands and to discover that I am not what I own, but what you want to give me.” ~ Henri Nouwen

Awakening is solely the work of the Spirit. I can no more hasten this transformation than a raccoon can become a mountain lion. What I am charged with is far more excruciating—surrender is solely my responsibility. While I cannot quicken my spirit to the Spirit of God, I can and must relinquish all control to Sovereign Father. I dare not trust my emotions—they are far too fickle than to instill confidence. Instead, I fling myself at the feet of One who knows me as well as he knows tomorrow. He alone is in position to shape and use me for purposes higher than my own inclination. I am fighting to prevent a diminished version of myself from taking center stage. “Father, do not give me the desires of my heart unless they have been filtered and rerouted by grace.”

“For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.” Romans 8:18

“Our Father’s love is too true to be weak. Because He loves His children, He chastises them that they may be partakers of His holiness. With this glorious end in view, He spares not for their crying. Made perfect through sufferings, as the Elder Brother was, the sons of God are trained up to obedience and brought to glory through much tribulation.” (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 visited northern Iraq, but did have the honor of interacting with a few individuals who are enduring immense suffering and persecution for their active faith in Christ. I felt inadequate when worshipping years ago with Indian believers who had sacrificed much to identify publicly with Jesus Christ, and felt the same 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.

Our calling is to allow Christ to show through us, but the inescapable reality is that anything passing through us will be either slightly or greatly distorted. That need not be entirely undesirable, if indeed it is negative at all. God intends to use flawed human beings in showing himself to the world. Just like vintage glass, we add texture to the light that passes through us. We may distort his image slightly, but Christ must sound and look something like us in order for people to understand him at all. Without us as a filter, God remains an abstract thought, a truth to which we give assent but never know.

“Let but thy heart become a valley low,

And God will rain on it till it will overflow.”

“Thou, O Lord, canst transform my thorn into a flower. And I want my thorn transformed into a flower. Job got the sunshine after the rain, but has the rain been all waste? Job wants to know, I want to know, if the shower had nothing to do with the shining. And Thou canst tell me—Thy Cross can tell me. Thou hast crowned Thy sorrow. Be this my crown, O Lord. I only triumph in Thee when I have learned the radiance of the rain. . . The fruitful life seeks showers as well as sunshine.” (Streams in the Desert)

More years ago than I care to remember, my best friend and I embarked on an epic journey. Fresh out of high school and sporting my own set of wheels, I somehow convinced my friend’s naïve parents to trust him into my care for a road trip from Port Arthur to Mississippi and back. My ace in the hole was that our destination was a church camp and that the purpose of this extended soirée was spiritual growth. They consented and we departed. Oh, the feeling of youthful independence, conquering asphalt in a rust red tank officially identified as a ’65 Ford Galaxy, heating pork and beans for dinner at roadside parks, and singing off key at the tops of our lungs to music blasting from state-of-the-art 8-track.

Dark-thirty in some obscure-to-me portion of Mississippi, radio blaring to stay awake behind the wheel, we navigated a blind curve without noticing an unlighted Rail Road crossing warning. Neither of us saw the sign in the dark because we were too busy talking to pay attention, so we emerged from the bend just as a train approached the intersection from the west. The train’s horn roared, I stomped the accelerator, and somehow we crossed the tracks just ahead of the train, feeling its draft as we plunged past. Stunned into silence, I pulled the car to a stop on the side of the road to allow time to collect what remained of our nerves, and to talk about what just almost happened. As we debriefed, we were convinced that God had rescued us from ourselves and decided that it was as good a time as any to prepare to die. We hastily scribbled a note to the effect that if anyone found us dead, they were to rest assured that we knew the Lord and that we wished the same for them. To cap it all off, we laid awake long enough that night to commit to memory what has become my life verse–Galatians 2:20. For the first time in my life, I had a glimpse of the truth that no one is ready to live unless they’ve tasted death in themselves.

“I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.”

“I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.” Philippians 4:11

“They who are God’s without reserve, are in every state content; for they will only what He wills, and desire to do for Him whatever He desires them to do; they strip themselves of everything, and in this nakedness find all things restored an hundredfold.” (Streams in the Desert)

“Many people lose the small joys in the hope for the big happiness.”~Pearl S. Buck

I am satisfied with my life. That may not strike as much of a confession, but it is the grandest expression of living I’ve ever known. While some may see in satisfaction resignation, an acceptance that life will probably never get better—just glad it isn’t as bad as it once was, I see it as the highest possible attainment. No longer my own worst enemy, life has ceased turning in on itself. As the Apostle remarked, “godliness with contentment is great gain.” To be satisfied is to be free from regret and unbothered by uncertainty, far removed from fatalistic acceptance and more akin to the secure confidence a child finds in a parent’s arms. I am not implying that nothing remains to be done or that I have no room for improvement—far from it. Grace is not an end, but a beginning. What I am stating is that contentment is a pleasant vantage point from which to embrace and enjoy all possible vistas.