LifeVesting » Tense Truths

Oh Baby It’s Cold Inside!

Andy Wood — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 16:38:42 +0000

It usually starts in the fingers and toes. Then blitzes the middle of the back, radiating out from there.

It’s cold. Oh baby, it’s cold. And those extremities start to go into rebellion. They just…don’t… want… to… moooove.

Do you know what I’m talking about? Throw on the socks, wrap up in the blankie, and you’re still shivering. Body parts you usually ignore are sending you a signal – Do something now! Your ears – normally quite the lady or gentleman – are getting a bit irritate with all this. Your already-cold nose starts running – for cover.

Oh baby, it’s cold.

For relief, you look outside for some sunny encouragement. What you find are swelled up birds, vapor-blowing animals, and icicles on your icicles. The ground is so frozen that even with the howling wind (was that a chill that just ran up your back?), nothing moves.

And then, there are the joints. Oh my, the joints. Hip – snap. Knees – crackle. Ankles – pop. As you trudge along outside, you’re a walking bowl of cereal, only this one hurts.

And the eyes! How easily and readily they water to protect themselves from the raw, frigid air – air it seems you could cut with a knife, if only you could move your arms to make it happen.

Oh baby, it’s cold.

There’s a place on the back of your neck – just at the hairline – that refuses to be comforted. Scarves or coats are well-intentioned, but just don’t get it done. You can feel that, can’t you?

Would you believe that some people build houses out of ice – to keep them from freezing to death? Now that’s cold. So cold that to inhale deeply without some sort of protection would literally scar your throat. So cold that people can actually lose fingers or toes and not feel them right away.

And nothing commands silence like the cold. Ever notice how – like now maybe – you instinctively open and close your jaw and mouth just to make sure it can still operate? And when you do try to talk, the ch-ch-chills m-m-make it s-s-so hard to g-g-g-get the words out right. Your lips feel like popcicles in pain.

Oh baby, it’s cold.

So, just out of curiosity, what’s your chilliest member right now? Your toes? Your right foot? Ears? Neck? Shoulders? Left knee? Back? (Was that another chill that raced up your spine?) Are your eyes watering? Is your breath shortened, even though you’re probably reading this in a heated room?

How about your heart?

Ever hear someone describe a cold-hearted person?

Unfeeling… unbending… unyielding… uncaring.

Eyes that cut through you like an arctic wind. A tongue that bites as cruelly as the worst ice storm. A jaw frozen into the shape of an angry corpse.

The cold heart has a memory that never forgets the slightest offense, and never forgives the humblest offender. One that dismisses the “good times” and “good old days” as never having happened.

Without a shred of compassion, a cold heart stares blankly at the suffering of others – or worse, finds pleasure or entertainment in it.

Sometimes depressed, the frozen rage of the cold heart lives in a world that is hopeless to change and is unmoved by cheery platitudes that everything is going to get better.

The cold heart lives on this side of a vow that no one or nothing will ever cause it pain again. It expertly raises the hopes and desires of others – even children – only to crush them again and again with no sign of remorse.

(Does this remind you of anyone?)

The cold heart is motionless. Immovable in the worst sort of way. Stubbornly dug in, or violently opposed – to you, to the world around them, even to God.

And that…

That…

…is how the Lord Jesus would prefer your heart to be…

…compared to one that is comfortably lukewarm.

I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either cold or hot! So because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I am going to vomit you out of my mouth! (Revelation 3:15-16, NET).

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Rush and Hush

Andy Wood — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 06:44:50 +0000

‘Tis the season to rush and hush. Hurry up and wait. Get rowdy, then reflective.

Yep, it’s Christmas. Number 54 for me; you do your own math. And without fail, the previous 53 brought the same curious mixture of busy-ness and stillness. No reason to expect anything different this year. Not sure I’d want to if I could.

No doubt about it, we’re in a hurry. Rush to the shopping center. Rush to the party (ahem, “fellowship”). Rush to the gift wrap. Rush to the country to see Grandma. Rush to do the normal stuff like school and work and church so we can rush to some other activity. We’re in such a hurry for Christmas, my Thanksgiving turkey got run over by a reindeer!

All the while we keep on fussing about being so busy and hurried. But I’ve decided the hustle is as traditional as visions of sugarplums and lights on the trees.

As long as I can remember, newspapers have reminded us how many shopping days we have left. The not-so-hidden message: hurry up! And despite our complaints, we oblige. After all, do YOU want to be the one that tells your kid that Santa ran out of Rock Me Elmos or Nerf Vortex Nitrons to shoot him with? Do YOU want to be the one who tells your little girl that she’s the only female on the street who doesn’t have the latest Lalaloopsy Silly Hair Doll? Who cares if the leaves are still on the trees and the World Series isn’t over? Who cares if there are four – count ‘em – four parties on one night? If you hurry, you can make ‘em all. And chances are, you’ll do just that.

Hush. What’s that silence I hear? Is anything quieter than Christmas Eve at midnight? The busy sidewalks, city sidewalks, dressed in holiday style, are abandoned. The familiar lights in town are dark; no Big Macs or movies tonight. Boy, is it quiet! Even noisy children are practically breathless, waiting for the sound of you-know-who.

After all the hullabaloo the next morning, it gets quiet again. After all the “Thank you’s,” “It’s beautiful’s,” and “Just what I wanted’s,” there is time to think. Time to appreciate the special people in your life. Time to miss those you’ve said, “Good-bye” to. Time to ask again, “What’s it all about?” You can’t do that with a lot of noise around. You need stillness. You need the hush.

Nazareth, about 5 B.C. Hurry up, Joseph! Get to Bethlehem. That kid’ll be born any minute, and like it or not, you’ve got taxes to pay.

Hurry up, star gazers! Something miraculous is going down, and you’ve seen the sign.

Hurry up, shepherds! It’s not every night you get a shout-out and a birth announcement from a Heavenly Host. Then hurry out and tell everybody what you’ve seen.

Hush. He’s sleeping.

Be still. His exhausted but grateful mother is looking at him with wonder.

Stand in awe. Heaven has invaded earth with the innocence of a baby. It’s a miracle, and you are its witness.

Bring Him your gifts, then wait and worship for a while. Life will get noisy again, and you’ll return to the sheep or the stars or the carpenter’s shop soon enough. But for now, it’s Christmas. You’ve hurried enough.

Hush now.

You see, the more things change, the more they stay the same. So hurry up and have a wonderful Christmas. Just remember, it’s the hush that makes it meaningful.

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The Cry of the Wounded

Andy Wood — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 16:23:15 +0000

He was careless in the conflict, and a bit presumptuous in the battle. Unaware of the schemes or the true power of his enemies – unaware at times of who his enemies actually were – he went down, wounded in the battle.

This is not your typical military operation. This is a spiritual battlefield, known for its invisible armies and stealth weapons. Known also for its enormous array of spectators – some cheering you on from heaven, others just watching a battle they themselves should be engaged in.

Lying there, ashamed, in pain, and afraid, it’s easy for discouragement and fear to have the final word. But deep in his spirit another wounded soldier’s testimony from long ago begins to stir his broken courage and will:

Do not rejoice over me, my enemy;

When I fall, I will arise;

When I sit in darkness,

The Lord will be a light to me.

I will bear the indignation of the Lord,

Because I have sinned against Him,

Until He pleads my case

And executes justice for me.

He will bring me forth to the light;

I will see His righteousness (Micah 7:8-9, NKJV).

And there, against his fear and humiliation, his soul begins to awaken to The Cry of the Wounded.

I’m gonna get up when I get knocked down.

I’m gonna be led when I cannot see.

I’m gonna face up to the way I’ve sinned.

And the Lord’s gonna win the fight for me.

I’m gonna get up when I get knocked down.

Sorry if I’m the first to break this to you, but don’t be surprised by the fact that you – yes, you – could possibly fail. Micah didn’t say, “If I fall,” but “When.”

And since I’m in heartbreaker mode, let me break this to you as well: Don’t be surprised that you have enemies! I know you try to be everybody’s friend, and people think you’re awesome and all that. But when you’re wounded and bleeding on the battlefield, you will find out pretty quickly that you have enemies. They’re easy to recognize – just look at those verses again.

Enemies kick you when you’re down. They rejoice when you fall. Enemies abandon you when you are in darkness. And they accuse you when you’re guilty (they love to point out the obvious).

I don’t care if they appear to be an angel from God or a demon from hell, when someone acts like an enemy it’s because they’ve positioned themselves as one.

Proverbs 24:16 says, “A righteous man falls seven times, and rises again.” That’s the measure of righteousness – not whether you get knocked down, but whether you get up. And if it’s you I’m talking to, please don’t just lie there, wounded and bleeding. Get up!

I’m gonna be led when I cannot see!

Micah’s declaration shows three images of failure for a Christian. Falling suggests something you didn’t set out to do – something unintended and unnatural. Darkness suggests a complete loss of direction, where you are totally confused and blind to your surroundings (can you relate?). Sitting is being in a completely defenseless position, vulnerable and not moving.

Memo to the spectators: Just like on a physical battlefield, whatever else a person like that needs, he or she needs to be taken to a place of safety. Like your church! It’s a healing place for broken people, isn’t it? Isn’t it?

Memo to the wounded: You don’t have the luxury of waiting for fellow soldiers who may or may not “get it.” Ultimately in your life, do you know who meets that need? “When I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me,” Micah says. Listen for His voice. Watch for Him to lead you to a safe place where the healing can begin. He didn’t stop leading you, even when you quit following Him.

I’m gonna face up to the way I’ve sinned.

Some of the most spiritually refreshing words you can say are, “I have sinned. I blew it. Nobody’s fault but mine.” The kind of person God can use is not necessarily the one who has never failed, but the one who can look his failure in the eye and call it what it is. Stop blaming the economy or your mama or the devil or your bad habit or addiction. You did it. And there is great power in owning that.

If I were to tell you that wherever you are right now, God could heal you, use you again, get you battle ready and back out there, would you be willing to admit you have sinned? Would you be willing to call your failure what it is? Would you be willing to bear your responsibility?

But aren’t there consequences? Yes.

Doesn’t he say “I will bear the indignation of the Lord?” Uh huh.

How long is that? Not nearly as long as the east is from the west, which is how far He has removed your guilt from you.

The Lord’s gonna win the fight for me.

When a soldier does down in battle someone has to take up the fight. Someone has to carry the banner, someone has to call in the reinforcements. Who does that for a wounded Christian?

Read this again:

I will bear the indignation of the Lord until He pleads my case and executes justice for me.

Who is it who holds the enemy back when you’re down?

Who is it that (literally) tells your critics and tormenters to shut the hell up?

Who is it that refuses to abandon you when the lights go out?

Who is it who rises to your defense against your accusers?

The same God whose indignation you bear! And the word for that is “grace.”

God is our Father, and He has the right to teach us, to correct us, and to discipline us. But He also rises to defend us against our accuser. Why? Because He has already carried your guilt to a cross and left it nailed there, once and for all.

Maybe you’re wounded, and your temptation is just to sit there and bleed.

Maybe you’re playing a game with yourself. You’re bleeding, but you don’t want anyone else to know it. So you just play the game and pretend everything’s OK when it isn’t.

Maybe you are in the darkness, and you’re confused and don’t know where to go.

But maybe your biggest battle isn’t with your enemies who are accusing you or with the wounds that are weakening you. Your battle is against your own distorted image of God.

Do you know what it’s like to be wounded? Do you know what it’s like to wonder if God will ever have any use for you again? Do you know what it’s like to sit there accused?

Learn the cry of the wounded. Quit playing the blame game. Quit sending out invitations to the pity party. Quit telling yourself that this is your third (or twelfth or twentieth) strike and you’re out.

For God’s sake… and yours… Get up!

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The Lesson of the Butterfly

Andy Wood — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 17:42:01 +0000

Jason meant well. But his efforts to help the butterfly-to-be only ended in disaster. For days he had watched the cocoon and wondered what it would produce. Finally he noticed a tiny opening in the cocoon’s wall. On the other side, the new life form was struggling furiously – desperately – to be free of its self-designed prison. Feeling compassion for the little creature, the boy found a sharp knife and carefully cut the cocoon’s wall in order to relieve it from its struggle.

The butterfly soon died. Its wings were grossly deformed, and it was unable to fly. What appeared to be a struggle was actually the process by which the animal’s wings are formed. Jason had short-circuited the process, and the results, though unintentional, were tragic.

You and I are very much like the butterfly. We are often wrapped up in our own kinds of cocoons – alone, stifled, limited, longing to be free. Sometimes these are prisons of our own doing – addictions, bondage to sin, broken relationships, stupid decisions. At other times our cocoons are thrust upon us in the form of disappointments, losses of loved ones, extended illnesses, or the abuse of others. Either way, the results are the same. Why do we feel so alone? What in the world is God up to? Where will we ever find relief? When will we be “free to fly” again? How will we make it through another day?

During our cocoon seasons, God often seems to be uninvolved and uncaring. Why doesn’t He get us out of this? If He can part the Red Sea, or split the sky for Elijah’s chariot, why can’t He cut a hole in this prison of mine and supernaturally get me out?

The answer is seen in the lesson of the butterfly. It is in the struggle that you develop your beauty. It is in the process of breaking through – with His help, in His timing – that you discover the true meaning of freedom. To seek relief from that struggle, as many often do, only leads to greater hardship.

Or another, tighter cocoon.

Or perhaps even to death.

There is a big difference between relief and freedom. There is an even bigger difference between relief and encouragement. Often in our efforts to help those we love, we only add to their bondage. How? By offering relief at just the point they were beginning to stretch their wings.

Parents do this with their children. (“Here, let me do it for you.” “It’s O.K. You can always come home.)

Spouses do it for one another. (“But I love her!” “Well, I’m different; I’m his wife.”)

Christians do it for one another. (“Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of it for you.” “Now don’t cry. You’ve got to be strong.”)

We mean well. But we short-circuit their growth.

“My grace is enough for you,” the Lord told Paul. “My strength is made perfect in weakness.” As long as we live in a fallen world, we will have our cocoons to fight through. And we will always desperately need the all-sufficient grace of God. But we will never discover His grace is enough until His grace is all we have.

Learn the lesson of the butterfly. For yourself. For those you love. Otherwise, the haunting words that describe the children of Israel might also be said of you: “And He gave them their request [their relief!], But sent leanness into their soul” (Psalm 106:15).

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Missing

Andy Wood — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 17:04:52 +0000

It all started with a dream last week,

About a friend I hadn’t seen in more than a decade,

And hadn’t talked to in six years.

Even though it had been so long

And so much life had passed us by,

I realized how important he still is to me.

My love for him and his family is as strong as ever.

And that dream made me take a look at the tapestry of my relationships

And realize somebody was missing.

I’ve been in and out of memory mode lately.

Reminders of things I used to do.

Of people who are now in heaven.

Of what rain looks like (if you have to ask, never mind).

Of former places of service and ministry.

Most of them are memories I’m very grateful for,

But can never re-live or recapture.

And in sizing up my heart, I’ve found myself trying to pretend

That I had forgotten it all and moved on without a care.

But in the sizing and pretending, I’ve found something missing.

It’s crazy to live as though we’re untouched by old friends.

It’s crazy to pretend that our days gone by

Have no value or relationship to our lives today.

And though He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows,

If you’re looking for a memory-free cave,

Where no one touches your life and you don’t touch anybody else’s,

You’re going to find… forever…

That something’s missing.

II.

I’ve seen a few reminders lately

That what’s expected of us is nothing short of perfection.

A holy God sits on His throne,

And His expectations are not watered down

By weakness or weariness or wicked companions.

And I looked at the best of my efforts

Against the flawless standards of righteousness,

And even on my best day, something was missing.

But I looked for the image of my life under judgment

And expected to see me sentenced to die.

But all I saw instead was the love shining in His eyes

As Jesus willingly, boldly, silently went

Like a sheep to the slaughter for me.

And as I looked at the place of the wages of sin,

Fully expecting to hear my name called,

Someone – namely I – was missing.

It’s crazy to expect that our own goodness has merit.

It’s crazy to dare to face judgment alone.

But because He was wounded for all our transgressions

And crushed for the little sins we tend to ignore,

We who have seen and believed can stand fully pardoned,

Completely redeemed from the curse of our sin.

And if you’re waiting to hear the accusations made against you,

You’re going to find… forever…

That something’s missing.

III.

I’ve been interrupted lately by a lifeless sensation

That God is at the mercy of public opinion.

His church powerless, His people purposeless,

I yearned again for the shout of victory

And evidence that He who is in me is greater than He who is in the world.

So in defeat I went back to that tomb,

Looking for proof that my fears were justified.

And as I looked for the corpse of the Hope of the Ages,

I found to my wonder and joy everlasting… something was missing.

So maybe it’s something in me, I thought.

Something in my performance.

Something in my ability to please others.

Something in my worth that robbed me of those once-magic feelings

And made the waiting harder and the world more hostile.

So I looked in earnest for all the reasons to feel worthless,

And all I could find was the light of eternity and the hope of His return.

And as I looked in vain for proof of my shame,

All I could see was, something’s missing.

It’s crazy to confuse God’s silence with His death.

It’s crazy to give heed to the shrill accusations of shame.

For though we like sheep have gone astray,

And each has turned to his own lifeless way,

The Lord has laid all our iniquity –

Including our powerless religion and hidden shame – on Him.

So if you’re looking for reasons to give up hope

Or to believe that your waiting is all in vain,

You’re going to find… forever…

That something’s missing.

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Eugene Has a Vision From God

Andy Wood — Fri, 24 Jun 2011 14:01:03 +0000

(The further adventures of Eugene Davis, Sophomore Christian)

“What would be s good time to come by your office?”

The voice on the other end of the phone was none other than Eugene Davis, Sophomore Christian and resident expert on all things spiritually enormous.

Normally Eugene would pop in, sort of like the Allies dropped by to pay the Germans a visit at Normandy. But this was different. It had the air of urgency. Eugene Davis was always serious and everything was important. But this was a step beyond. It was deliberate. Ruggedly precise. Appointment-worthy.

“I’m free about 3:00,” I said. ”What’s up?” (To this day I don’t like ambushes in meetings.)

“I think the Lord has given me a vision.”

“Well,” said I, ”I’ll be here. Come on by.”

Apparently I didn’t send the right signal. Didn’t catch the gravy of the situation. This was a vision. From God!

“Are you sure you’re not too busy?” he pressed.

“For you? Never. Can’t wait to hear what the Lord’s put on your heart.”

Eugene had this pensive, prayerful-but-cocky look on his face when he came in. Sorta like that guy on the GEICO Commercials who asks, “Can switching to GEICO really save you 15% on car insurance?”

He began: “Have you noticed that there’s nothing for teenagers to do in this town except get in trouble?”

“I hear that a lot,” I replied. “Last Saturday night I rode down Main and felt like I was cruising through a tailgating party.”

“I have a solution,” Eugene said, pulling out an impressive-looking proposal document. It had a professional cover, about 12 pages of linen text pages, and bold letters on the front that said The Nehemiah Center. Flipping through the proposal, I realized I was looking at a business plan. In Jesus’ name, of course. And it wasn’t just for our town. The last page suggested that God’s vision for Eugene would duplicate this plan throughout the state. And from there, God only knew.

“Soooo,” I started, “the vision is for a teen center?” (Confession: My unspoken, sarcastic cynical thought was, “Wow! Nobody’s ever thought of that before!”)

“That’s just for starters,” Eugene gushed. “We’ll build a multi-purpose facility with a gym, party room, game room, concession stand or coffee bar, and screening room for movies or videos. When we’re not doing our own programming, we can rent out the space for parties, receptions, and special events.”

“That’s pretty ambitious,” I said. “How do you plan to staff it? Labor can be pretty expensive.”

“That’s the beauty of it,” said Eugene. “The Lord will raise up volunteers to staff it so that we can run it with one paid director.”

“And that would be you?”

“Oh, no. I will be the chairman of the board and be involved in planning future facilities in other locations.

“And you have a plan to publicize this?”

“Absolutely. Starting with word of mouth. But we’ll also do some other things to get the word out.”

“Okay, and the big question…”

“How will we pay for it?” Eugene interrupted.

“Yeah, that.”

“Donations. Individual, church, corporate. Major fund raising. When people catch the vision, the money will take care of itself.”

“You know,” I offered, “anytime somebody tells me ‘the money will take care of itself,’ the money always seems to have a way of misbehaving.”

“I’m telling you, I’ve heard from the Lord on this,” Eugene insisted, showing me the promise from the Lord he had received in Scripture:

“Behold I send My messenger ahead of you, and he shall prepare the way for you” (Matthew 11:10).

“Isn’t that about John the Baptist?” I asked.

“Yes, in that context. But the Lord showed me through this that he is sending a messenger before me, too.”

“I see. So what does your accountability group have to say about it?”

Eugene shook his head and frowned. “They don’t get it,” he replied. “They had a lot of the same kind of questions you did. A couple of them suggested I wait on the Lord for clearer direction and provision.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“These kids need something now. Plus, I heard that the Methodist church is thinking about a similar idea. I’ve got to move on this.”

I answered, “I heard somebody say once that if it’s God’s will today, it’ll still be God’s will tomorrow. Don’t you think they may be trying to protect you?”

“I don’t need their protection! I need their support!”

“And what does Alice say?”

“Oh, she gives me that amused ‘Whatever you day, dear’ line. She doesn’t really see the vision either.”

“And your home group? Let me guess – they don’t see the vision either.”

Eugene sidestepped the question. “Whatever happened to people wanting to do something big for God?” he exclaimed.

“Let me put it another way,” I pressed. “Who’s heart-deep with you on this?”

“Well, Amy loves the idea.”

“Amy’s eleven! She likes anything that sounds like fun.”

“Look, didn’t I hear you say the other day that even if we’re the only one obeying the Lord, we have to be willing to be the only one?” Eugene asked.

“Yep. But you do have to make sure it’s the Lord you’re obeying. Or that your ‘vision isn’t waiting for an appointed time,’ like Habakkuk said.”

“So you don’t see the vision either!” Eugene’s tone was rising to holy exasperation.

“I don’t have to. It’s not my vision. But I will tell you this – if the Lord brings all the pieces together and lines up the resources, I will have been there cheering you on from Day 1. But just remember, there really is safety in a multitude of counselors. And the greatest visionaries in the Bible waited months or sometimes up to 40 years before their dreams came true.”

I thought that word of encouragement would sow some wisdom into Eugene’s mind. But alas, he had already written me off as a dream stealer.

“I thought you might have been the one to prepare the way,” he said. “I guess I’ll keep looking.”

“Eugene, you know what’s tricky about having a vision from God?” I asked.

“What’s that?”

“It makes you think you’re really important.”

Eugene’s face turned even redder. I went on.

“Having a vision from the Lord is important. But it doesn’t make us important. In fact, it makes us rather ordinary. I worry about the guy that doesn’t have any vision at all. He’s important because he’s dangerous.”

Eugene was quiet, and quiet was good in his case. It meant he was actually thinking.

“Having a vision doesn’t separate you from people – it should bind you to them. And if it’s a God-sized vision it may involve some God-sized praying or, like in Nehemiah’s case, some months-long weeping to make it happen.”

More silence. Not so red a face.

“Oh, and how many times does having a ‘vision from the Lord’ involve making the visionary invisible or inconspicuous? Would you be as motivated if you had no guarantee of success? Or if you never impacted anybody outside of this town?”

“But if God is in it…” I didn’t let him finish.

“One other thought… What are their names?”

“Who? The investors and potential donors?”

“No. The teenagers you’re trying to reach.”

“Um…”

More silence. And a different kind of red.

Eugene had promised to give the idea some more thought and prayer when I convinced him I wasn’t against him or his vision. I waited until I saw his tail lights disappearing, then opened the cabinet door in my office. There, tucked back in the corner, was an aging, rolled-up set of drawings. I hadn’t looked at them in years.

The bold label at the top proclaimed, “The Living Room: A Place for Teenagers to Find Life.”

“Who knows?” I muttered to nobody with a smile and a sigh.

Keep dreaming, Eugene. Just give the rest of us time to dream with you.

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Father of Fathers, Lord of Laughers, God of Scoundrels

Andy Wood — Mon, 20 Jun 2011 16:04:05 +0000

Just in case you somehow thought that God was irrelevant and grace is for people who never really needed it…

Twelve times He said it. Twelve times he peeled back the veil and revealed very early something of His heart, passion, and grace.

And twelve times, I daresay, we have missed it.

In a gesture that can only be described as Covenant Love, the Creator of the Universe – the Holy Lord of Heaven – entered into a covenant relationship with three men we refer to today as Patriarchs. And in a stunning act of clarity and focus, the Lord changed their names – and His.

He gave them His name (Abram inserted the Hebrew name for God and became Abraham).

But He also took theirs. Thereafter He would refer to Himself as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

We all know what that means, right? He’s the God of three old guys whose pictures we put up on flannel boards in Sunday School. Three cardboard cutouts who never had to change their oil, replace a hard drive, or tweet their followers.

And yet, Jesus used this phrase – The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – to make the point that He is the Lord of the living, not the dead.

I’m thinking we may have missed something.

Laced throughout the stories of these extraordinary encounters is the story of a family who put the “fun” in dysfunctional. Factor in the cousins, spouses, and kids and you have a royal mess, complete with deceit, favoritism, war, rape, murder, divorce, shady business dealing, human trafficking, and a whole lot of money changing hands.

And into that royal mess walked the King of Heaven.

He never polished their resumes or spun their stories. But even in the brutal honesty of their stories, He called them to trust Him. To follow. To believe. And believe they did.

And in telling their stories and taking on their identities, He tells us something about Himself – and something about us. The Lord of the Living – the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – still has the grace necessary to enter into a covenant with the likes of you and me. See if you can find yourself below…

God of the Fathers

Abraham’s name means the “father of many nations.” In telling Abraham’s story, and saying that He is the God of Abraham, the Lord is revealing Himself as…

The Lord of the fathers – the patriarchs – who recognize that children are an often-long-awaited gift from God.
The God of the adventurer, who leaves the comfortable and familiar to follow Him in faith.
The God of the wanderer, who, except for promises, ever quite finds a permanent home.
The God of the restless, who have a hard time waiting and do foolish things to hurry up the process.
The Lord of the fearful, who misrepresent themselves in order to protect what is theirs.
The God of the aged, who have spent a lifetime waiting, working, serving, and wandering.
The God of the believing, who, at great risk to themselves and those they love, will take God at His word to do the ridiculously impossible.

Lord of the Laughers

Isaac’s name means “laughter.” He got it before he was born because his very old parents laughed out loud at the news that within a year they would have a son. Maybe they laughed in faith; maybe in ridicule. Either way, Isaac had his name prescribed. In telling Isaac’s story, for the Lord to say He is the God of Isaac, He is revealing Himself as…

The God of the laughers, who still know how to find the sublime in the ridiculous.
The Lord of the homeboys, who choose to stay close to the family business and the business of family.
The Master of the passive, who let others make most of their decisions for them.
The God of the gullible, who are easily fooled and ruled.
The Lord of the handicapped, who, in their weakness are dependent on the goodness of others.
The God of the favorites, who live their lives as chosen ones, often at the expense of being loved by siblings.
The God of the grieving, whose hearts still yearn for lost loved ones.

God of the Scoundrels

Hoo boy. So far, so OK. But what do you do with Jacob? His name means “supplanter.” Usurper. Con man. Jacob was the one who always seemed to get what he wanted, regardless of what it took. And in staying a step ahead of his avengers, Jacob found himself running smack dab into a relationship with God. In telling both the dark and the bright in Jacob’s story, for the Lord to say He is the God of Jacob, He is revealing Himself as…

The Master of the multiples, whose lives are forever identified as a twin or more.
The God of the runner, who always seems to stay a step ahead of trouble.
The Lord of the wise guy, who always seems to come out of every situation getting what he wanted.
The God of the hopeless romantic, who would go to ridiculous lengths to win the heart of his beloved.
The Master of the manipulator, who will twist the truth to serve his purposes.
The God of the broken, who, in facing down his greatest enemy – himself – walks with a limp the rest of his life.
The Savior of the scoundrel, whose only hope is in the grace of His God.

Nothing could be more relevant than the fact that this God of the nations would willingly enter into a relationship with Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and you.

And nothing could be more relevant than the price He paid and the lengths to which He went in Jesus to make it happen. He took on our identity so we could take His. Here’s how Paul put it:

“God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5:21).

If you’ve ever looked at your life and felt impossibly human, here’s the amazing news: You qualify. This Father of fathers, Lord of laughers and Savior of scoundrels has identified all who believe as the Righteousness of God. And the word for that is “grace.”

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I Choose the Offering

Andy Wood — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 17:53:43 +0000

It’s the creator’s fantasy…

…to use the tools of the trade – words or paint or dance or music – to design the ultimate masterpiece.

…to turn passion into such artistic cleverness and inspiration into such adoration that mountains move, easels grow dark, and all other voices remain silent, at least for a while.

…to write the song to end all songwriting, or the story that all other stories are compared to, or the verse that contains the finest content of the heart.

Never gonna happen.

The heart is too large to be reduced to words or rhymes or phrases or meter.

The soul is too powerfully changing to be framed by one snapshot of expression.

The imagination is too delighted in the dance of dreaming to stop with one image.

The inspiration is too elusive and awe-inspiring to ever satisfy the poet that his work is done.

The Creator whose image we bear is too interesting to be limited to our vision-of-the-moment.

So we have the choice…

Pull up and avoid embarrassment by just not trying…

Give up because the tools in our hands are so frustratingly limited…

Dry up by not giving expression to the music and dancing and wonder and imagination and passion and love and longing and fear and delight and gratitude and expectancy…

Or…

Open up our hearts boldly, knowing that some of what is there is only appreciated by those who love us unconditionally…

Lift up our arms and move our feet willingly in the dance of the ridiculous, knowing that some loves are worthy of being ridiculed for…

Offer up what we have faithfully, knowing there are other offerings to come.

I choose the offering.

I hope I can make it better tomorrow.

I pray it can be more reflective of the beauty, truth, and images of wonder in my mind and heart as time goes by.

But on this day, I refuse to allow my limitations and imperfections to thwart the expressions of love and worship that still come calling. I will not allow the grandeur of the mountains to rob me of the satisfaction of the hill I am climbing. I will not allow the 23^rd Psalm or the Hallelujah Chorus to silence the unique song or expression that only I can design.

I choose the offering.

I will sing this day the song of the finite, and dance with joy the dance of futility, knowing it will never be enough to reflect all that needs to be said. But love so amazing and life so divine makes even the flawed and the clumsy a work of art when it comes from an adoring heart.

I choose the offering.

I hope you will join me.

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No Other Hope

Andy Wood — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 15:41:13 +0000

The path of the Christian is not always bright with sunshine; he has his seasons of darkness and of storm. . . The day of evil reveals to us the value of our glorious hope. (C. H. Spurgeon)

In East Tennessee a mother suffers a broken leg and a devastated heart as a tornado claims the life of her baby.

In West Alabama a couple hears a noise and opens the front door of their home. Seconds later, there is no more home, and no more couple.

123 tornadoes, so I hear, in one day. The death toll at this point: 319.

Meanwhile, on the same day, in East Texas a spiritual champion and one of the most respected leaders of his generation collides with destiny in the form of a tractor trailer.

And as the world reels and the grieving begins in earnest, a rude reminder comes collecting – the winds blow and the rains fall on the just and the unjust, and none of us has any guarantee of tomorrow.

Does that anger you? Me, too.

Does it seem unfair? I get that. Why do tornados never seem to level prisons?

We can huff on our high horse all we want, but guess what? Neither you nor I will change the fact that life is unfairly short and at times unbearably hard.

Is that God’s fault? I’m sure we’ll get our dose of that from the usual sources. How come nobody ever “blames” God when money’s in the bank, gas is cheap and the ocean is calm?

“My God said things like this would happen.”

You turn man to destruction,

And say,”Return, O children of men.”

For a thousand years in Your sight

Are like yesterday when it is past,

And like a watch in the night.

You carry them away like a flood;

They are like a sleep.

In the morning they are like grass which grows up:

In the morning it flourishes and grows up;

In the evening it is cut down and withers. Psalms 90:3-6 NKJ

Bible passages like this are dreary to read. Until you’re living in the wake of that kind of hurt. Then it’s surprisingly relevant.

When the tsunami roared across Indonesia and Thailand a few years ago and my wife led a team of people back for relief work, a surprising number of traditionally Muslim and Buddhist people were prepared to listen – and respond to – the claims of Jesus Christ. Why? First, because of the compassion of the Christians in providing hands-on care and helping restore businesses and homes.

Second, when still-grieving people were asking the predictable, understandable questions, Thai believers were able to open their Bibles and explain, “My God said that things like this would happen. But we can find our strength and hope in His love for us.”

In the one psalm attributed to Moses (who must have been having a really bad day when he wrote it), the man of God was struggling with these kinds of questions. God is from everlasting to everlasting, yet He gives us lives that feel like day-long grass. In the end, he concludes hopefully with this request:

So teach us to number our days,

That we may gain a heart of wisdom.

Return, O Lord!

How long?

And have compassion on Your servants.

Oh, satisfy us early with Your mercy,

That we may rejoice and be glad all our days!

Make us glad according to the days in which You have afflicted us,

The years in which we have seen evil.

Let Your work appear to Your servants,

And Your glory to their children.

And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us,

And establish the work of our hands for us;

Yes, establish the work of our hands (Psalms 90:12-17 NKJ).

There is wisdom here, when we’re ready to receive it – perspective from five simple requests from Moses (and us) to God:

1. Number my days.

We tend to use the wrong kind of clock to measure a life. We count birthdays we have experienced. And that makes sense, because we can actually calculate that. But in truth, your life right now is measured by the birthdays (and other days) you have remaining. We just don’t know what that figure is.

Wisdom comes when we learn to number our days as a countdown to destiny. You don’t have forever. You may not even have tomorrow. Life is priceless. For God’s sake (and yours), live like it.

2. Show me Your ways.

“Let your work appear to your servants,” he says. Translation: “We can’t see what you’re doing. But we want to know.”

Contrast that with the wags who come out of the woodwork with their philosophical questions about a cruel, or impotent, or nonexistent God.

Faith starts with a different perspective. It assumes that just because we don’t know God’s ways, that doesn’t mean He doesn’t have any. And it doesn’t mean we can’t ask to understand them.

In the words of a precious friend who was just told her daughter and grandson had been killed in a car accident, “The Lord visited this day long before I ever did.”

It’s OK to ask God why. While you’re at it, ask Him what He is doing and how He thinks. You may never get answers to satisfy your anger or unspeakable pain. Answers were never designed to do that. But you will experience a comfort and perspective you wouldn’t get any other way.

3. Beautify my life.

Life doesn’t have to be long to be full. But it does have to be beautiful. “Let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us,” Moses prays. Literally, the favor of God.

Would it surprise you to hear that God has a different beauty standard than the world? I doubt it. Ask any parent of a special needs child. Beauty is not defined by looks and circumstances, but by the love, joy and peace that are the product of the Holy Spirit’s work. When He paints your life with kindness, gentleness, patience and the like, the storms only serve to make that inward beauty brighter.

4. Establish my work.

Haunted by futility in the wake of the Fall, each of us longs for a legacy. We want our work to have significance and meaning and to last beyond our lifetimes. Chuck Swindoll explains this prayer this way:

Instead of my thinking of these days as just about as futile as emptying wastebaskets, help me to see the significance of them in light of Your plan. When God confirms the work of our hands, He helps us see the value of the routine, the importance of what we once considered mundane, humdrum, – the same ol’ thing.

5. Satisfy my soul.

If our only answers are limited to this world, then we sorrow as those with no hope. That’s why Moses prayed, “Oh, satisfy us early with Your mercy, That we may rejoice and be glad all our days!” “Mercy” means covenant love. It’s in covenant with God – made possible by the resurrection and death of His Son – that we find the deepest satisfaction we long for.

You could live to be 100 or more, and without that, live and die in torment. But in a covenant relationship with God, based on His mercy and kindness, you can say with Jeremiah on your darkest day, “You are my refuge in the day of disaster” (Jeremiah 17:17).

Nothing can frame this more beautifully than David Wilkerson’s last published words – published on his blog on the day of his death:

To those going through the valley and shadow of death, hear this word: Weeping will last through some dark, awful nights—and in that darkness you will soon hear the Father whisper, “I am with you. I cannot tell you why right now, but one day it will all make sense. You will see it was all part of my plan. It was no accident. It was no failure on your part. Hold fast. Let me embrace you in your hour of pain.”

Beloved, God has never failed to act but in goodness and love. When all means fail—his love prevails. Hold fast to your faith. Stand fast in his Word. There is no other hope in this world.

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Beautiful Justice, Scandalous Love

Andy Wood — Fri, 22 Apr 2011 06:27:56 +0000

A man was brought into court for trial and found guilty. The judge happened to be a close boyhood friend of the accused, although they had not seen each other for many years. Remaining impartial, the judge sentenced the defendant and levied a penalty – a fine – appropriate to his crime. The fine was so large that the accused could not pay it, so a jail sentence seemed to be the only alternative.

The judge then did a very unusual thing. Leaving the bench, he approached the convicted man, shook his hand, and announced, “I’m paying the fine for you.” There in the courtroom the law was satisfied, and so was love.

Beautiful justice. Scandalous love.

What a picture of the cross.

At the wonderful, tragic, mysterious tree

On that beautiful, scandalous night you and me

Were atoned by His blood and forever washed white

On that beautiful, scandalous night.

The ultimate intersection: two beams connected, the vertical and the horizontal. One pointed to God, one reached out to man. And there, suspended between heaven and earth, the Prince of Glory was judged in love.

The ultimate paradox: how could something so ugly be so beautiful?

The ultimate collision: sin met grace.

The ultimate demonstration: the love of God and the sin of man.

The ultimate betrayal: thirty stinking pieces of silver for the life of the Son of God.

The ultimate rejection: unconditional love, hammered through with nails.

The ultimate ransom: innocent blood for guilty humanity.

Beautiful justice. Scandalous love.

The Law Satisfied

Go on up to the mountain of mercy

To the crimson perpetual tide

Kneel down on the shore

Be thirsty no more

Go under and be purified.

We live in a generation that has a hard time relating to hard justice. This is the day of plea bargaining, paroling, and sliding by on technicalities. The average criminal, I’m afraid, commits his crime under the assumption that somehow the system itself will excuse him of his guilt.

Not so the law of God. “The soul that sins will surely die,” He said, and He meant it.

The painful truth is, you don’t break God’s law; you break yourself on it. The problem of our redemption from sin is that the sentence had to be executed. There was no plea bargain and no appeal; no time off for good behavior, no leniency for first-time offenders. The wages of sin demanded payment, and we had no recourse but to pay.

Love Satisfied.

Follow Christ to the holy mountain

Sinner sorry and wrecked by the fall

Cleanse your heart and your soul

In the fountain that flowed

For you and for me and for all.

Most judges hand down sentences based on their interpretation of the law, and then go home and forget about it. But when God set the penalty for sin as death, He was sentencing people He loved. How could He satisfy His own justice, while demonstrating His unceasing, unconditional love? There was only one way. The Sinless had to die for the sinful; the Innocent for the guilty. And the only place to find innocence and sinlessness was in the heart of God Himself.

So God became a man. How beautiful He was! How graceful! What love! What innocence! He revealed to us man as he was created to be. And right on cue, we revealed to Him man as he truly is: ugly, sinful, hateful, guilty.

On the hillside, you will be delivered

At the foot of the cross justified

And your spirit restored

By the river that poured

From our blessed Savior’s side.

There on a hill outside Jerusalem, our rejection met His embrace. There the Son of God “embraced the cross, despising the shame” for the joy that was set before Him.

Because He did, we can never question God’s beautiful justice.

And we can never deny His scandalous love.