freedom

 Eighty-four years since Pearl Harbor, and hardly a mention of it this year.  The real definition of ‘freedom’ is passing away.  If you talk about it, especially around subsequent generations, you quietly get ‘cancelled,’ as it is being called today.  They may still allow you around in their presence, but you’re labeled a preacher, an agitator, a relic.  In their mind when they see you, they see a walking, talking embodiment of non sequitur – illogical, unconnected, irrelevant.   To be fair, it is what every generation has done to the one preceding in varying degree.  But it feels like those degrees are sharper.

 Freedom on its face is “anything goes.”  That is such an ignorant, low-born understanding of the word.  I used to think freedom was anything untethered from responsibility.  Generally, the younger the population, the more this definition is in play.  But when you are young, you are ignorant and foolish, and think you are enlightened and pure.  Many are old and still think this way.  What a disastrous combination, and disaster is the only antidote for that condition.  When, at last, you realize you are no longer young, you finally understand how very little you know.  

For many, their ill-understanding of freedom has ravaged their finances, their occupations, their bodies, even their sanity.  I watched a group of several thousand such-minded people at an epic rock concert in 1988.  Being present for the musical performances of those bands was watching Rock history happen, and it was an act of my foolish definition of freedom at the time.  Once there, illicit drug and alcohol abuse, prostitution, etc., was everywhere.  There were people who never made it to the concert for over-dosing, and alcohol poisoning-unpleasant pictures to look upon.  There were fights getting into the concert, during the concert, people getting trampled, cut, beaten.  Mauling, writhing hordes trying to reach the front of the stage caused many injuries.  A few even lost their lives. 

Looking back almost forty years, I am amazed at the ignorance, arrogance, and fatalism that drove that crowd.  It was a microcosm of what Hell must be like.  I didn’t make it all the way through the concert.  Too much to drink, not enough to eat, and a little smashed up, I finished up on top of the van we rented to get there because falling asleep on the ground meant getting robbed, and possibly worse.  But I can say I was at the original Monsters of Rock at Candlestick Park in San Francisco, California in the summer of 1988.  How very little that really means to me, anymore.

True freedom, oddly enough, comes with strings attached.  It is not free.  To live in true freedom there are some things you have to know and a lot you have to do.  You have to know who you are.  You have to know Who’s you are.  You have to have experienced enough of life to realize you have to guide your desires and dreams.  Not everything you want is good for you, and those things set you up for getting robbed of freedom.  True freedom builds.  It builds you as a person.  Made in God’s image and likeness, you are His original idea.  The things you accel at are His clues pointing you toward true freedom.  Spending time and resources getting even better at those things is the path to true freedom in this life. 

Embracing those challenging situations, those challenging people, in constant conversation with the Father, God, is how we learn about ourselves, our weak points, our strengths.  It is how we grow.  Failure is one of the greatest teachers.  Success is not defined as reaching our goals, it is learning how to navigate the tough spots.  Fail forward.  Failure is ok.  And quitting, for a time to regather yourself, is ok, too, as long as you quit quitting and relaunch into the fray.  And keep doing it.  Keep trying, failing, succeeding, keep doing it.  When you come to a place your thoughts are not dominated by worry of the next challenge because you know you can handle it, you have stepped inside the borderlands of true freedom.  If it sounds like a lot of work, it is.  At times true freedom is excruciatingly laborious.

If you decide to screw it all, you have just held your hands out to be chained.  Ignorance of how amazing you are, giving in to negative thoughts and base desires, refusing to see from a different perspective, and laziness will shackle you to depression, poverty, and nothingness.  I have been there.  I have lived there for a time.  It is hell without the flames.  If you cannot see a better time, if you have no hope, no love, no faith, you are already bound.  What can possibly lift you out of that hellish place? 

That you can have these thoughts, joy and sorrow, is a testimony that you were made for something more-true freedom.  If you were an accident, as most of our educational institutions declare, why would you feel deep joy or sorrow?  Why would you care at all, knowing that there could be a better situation, a better life?  Why would you feel the loss of something?  Why would you feel anything at all?  There is something in you that reaches out.  Something in you reaches out for something better, for meaning, for purpose.  Where does that come from? 

A man named Solomon, who is known as the wisest man on earth, after living a life without restraint, without morals, fulfilling every whim of his baseness, wrote these words in a summary of his experiences called the Book of Ecclesiastes:

“God has made everything beautiful for its own time.  He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end.”  Eccl 3.11 NLT  

That something inside you that reaches out is a part of Himself that God made you with.  There is forever in your heart.  Get to know Him, and you have begun down the path to being who you were made to be.  And I assure you, you were made for true freedom.  It can only be found on this path. 

The men who gave their lives during Pearl Harbor and the Second World War understood that freedom is not free.  Many years of brutal fighting, many lives perishing in that fight made it possible for the world to continue on, especially the U.S., in freedom, prosperity, and purpose.  In our pursuit of freedom, we will have to labor, sacrifice, and even die to the parts of ourselves that want to chain us.  Would you be free?  

Galatians 5.1, Ephesians 6.12, Mark 10.30

L. C. Lynch

     It was August, 1991. I sat on the picnic table under the awning on the front of the trailer I was renting, my roommates .38 in my hand, imagining what it would feel like for a bullet to go through my head. Voices were tornado-ing through my mind, “You’ll never amount to anything.” “You’re screwed up too much.” “You’re a coward, don’t even have the guts to rid this world of your sorry carcass.” “These girls that say they love you don’t know how much of nothing you have to offer.” “You’re too far gone.” They were relentless, day and night.  

     The really sad thing was I agreed. I had seen the look on the face of the man I called Dad, who had just made a visit after an absence of several years. Pity, disgust, abhorrence. I knew I was as lost as anyone could be, but that look, his manner. It confirmed what I knew in my heart to be true. Those voices persisted and crescendoed.

     But there was another voice. As I fingered the gun, I thought how this decision was not like all the other stupid ones I had made. There was no coming back from this one. It was permanent. Fourth generation pentecostal on three sides of my family, and the stepson of a Church of God pastor, I knew there was a devil’s hell on the other side, or was there? Maybe there was nothing. I could welcome that. Tears poured down on the hand holding the instrument of my imminent demise. The voices suddenly went silent. Through my choked sobs I heard, almost audibly, “What about Me? You haven’t given Me a real chance.”

     New Year’s eve night, 1990 going into ‘91, a friend and I had been to a party, drank our fill, got bored and decided to go joy riding. It was just above freezing, blustery and raining. With the toxic potion of Canadian Mist, Boone’s Farm, and Marlboro Red nicotine coursing through our veins, we sped through back country roads in a late 80’s Camaro. Bad Company, Guns n Roses, Poison, and other debauched bands pumped their melodic devastation at unsettling volume through the sound system. We were going nowhere in a consequences-be-damned hurry.

     On the backside of “lit” we rolled through a small town looking for a place to relieve ourselves. A little way out of town we pulled into what looked like a sort of tractor trail, it looked solid enough. We stumbled out, did our business, then discovered it was just an access to the side yard of a house. It was not that solid, and we found we could not back out. Rather than go for help, my friend, Franky, decided to try to shoot down the hill and get enough momentum to carry us to another road access a hundred feet away. No such luck. We were very stuck, wet, and inebriated.  

     Panic began to creep in. We both thought of who we could call for help. Franky had no one. I reached for my smokes in the pocket of my dampening jean jacket and a piece of paper with a number on it came out with the pack. I had forgotten about it, but it had been there for several weeks. It was the number for the residence of L.C. and Annette Lynch, youth pastor at Morlan Park Church of God.  

     For a year or more I had shown up there, intermittently, to youth meetings and sometimes Sunday school. It was a church I had attended as a child. The music lady pastor’s wife invited me to play my trumpet with the music team, and as I liked playing, knew the songs, and was taught to “use it or lose it,” I obliged. I was a holy terror to L.C. in the youth services and Sunday School classes. I used my knowledge of scripture and history like a foil to thrust, perry, and lunge, disrupting the lessons, which were really more like guided conversations. My underlying disdain for all things church was thrust mainly upon him, and he dealt with it so graciously, many times picking me up for church and taking me home. He would listen to my griefs, complaints, and hangups. He never responded in anger or even pressed the authority he so clearly had. He had scribbled his number down on this piece of paper and told me that if I ever got in a spot where I didn’t know who to call, to call him, any time, day or night. And he put his big rough stone mason hand gently on my shoulder, looked me in the eye, and said, “I mean it, Aubrey, day or night.” I knew he meant it.

   Franky and I walked into town and found a pay phone and made the call. It was two-thirty a.m. L.C. answered, I told him of our plight, expecting a negative reaction or a lecture. He just said, “Alright. I know the spot. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” His arrival was concurrent with ours, and we quickly got to work pulling the car out of the muck and back onto the road. No sooner was that accomplished than a couple of town policemen rolled in. Franky and I looked at each other knowingly. We were dead caught.

     Before the lawmen stopped, L.C. directed me into the cab of his truck, and continued unhooking the car from the wench with Franky. My view of the interactions was limited, but I saw what I could see in the side view mirrors. L.C. was talking to the cops. Franky, who had practiced doing sobriety checks while in the cups, was performing beautifully. I do not know what was said, but I saw the cops talking and smiling with L.C. Strange. Then they shook hands with L.C. as Franky got into the Camaro. L.C. climbed into the truck. By this time early morning was rolling in, light rain still falling. I directed L.C. to my abode, Franky following in the Camaro. Otherwise it was quiet in the cab.  

     I kept my head down, expecting the explosion of grief and disgust at any second. Nothing. Not a word until he stopped in front of my place. Then he turned to me and said, “Hey, you guys have work in a few hours, so get some rest. We’ll talk about this later.” I thanked him rather profusely, climbed out with big eyes, and met Franky at the door going in.

     Franky was grinning. “Dude, they knew him. He talked them out of taking us in.” Apparently, L.C. was sort of a football hero in high school in this town, and had used his clout to smooth things. That was sort of a miracle in my mind, and I took a serious mental note. Still, my life experience kept alive the expectation of some sort of retribution. We owed him hugely, no doubts there.  

    The next time I saw L.C. was at church. He just smiled warmly, shook my hand, and asked if I was doing alright, just like any other Sunday. I was tentative, waiting for the hammer to drop. After service I saw him coming my direction and I figured it was coming now. Instead, he asked me if I’d be interested in going to Winterfest in Gatlinburg with the youth group at the end of the month. I told him I didn’t have the funds. He just smiled, and said, “I got you. And I’ll give you some spending cash while you’re there. You don’t have to pay me back. Let me do this.” I was so bumfuzzled all I could do was nod and say OK.

     Nothing really amazing happened at Winterfest, except that I was on my best behavior for the first time, probably in my life. Nothing changed in my life. I worked, I drank, I partied like I always had. But a seed had been planted with much trouble on L.C.’s account. The demons I had been fighting with seemed to up their game. I remember a time in those months between New Years and sitting on that porch when I lay in my bed thinking life was always going to be like this, depressing. I felt like nothing would ever change. I felt locked into this trip to nowhere.  

“You haven’t given me a real chance.” For the first time since I did not know when, the hateful voices had ceased. It was like I was in a rabid storm and it just stopped. My thoughts went back to the events of that cold rainy New Year’s night. In the middle of my thoughtless raging, the authentic, bald-faced love of Jesus had stepped boldly into the hell of my life, right into the middle of it, in the grace and generosity of a man that didn’t know me, had no claim on me. He was gentle, not harsh. And in a situation where, honestly, he owned me, he made no demands. He did not preach, lecture, or chastise me in any way. Just the opposite happened with his selfless gesture of an invitation to a weekend away from my drudgery. This, I thought, was the love I had been hearing about for twenty one years, but never had really seen until then. This was the "something to believe in” - words from Brett Michaels of the band Poison, and it found me despite my efforts to elude it. Jesus chased me. Jesus found me. Jesus would not let me go. It was not a Church of God thing or any kind of religious thing. It was the pure love of the One Who gave everything to redeem us in the shape of a big ol’ stone mason named L.C. Lynch.

   The next day was Sunday, and I walked into the church about the time the pastor was doing his welcome and announcements thing. I didn’t stop at the back pew as I usually did. I kept walking laser focused on that altar I had been raised at. Before I reached and fell down on it, the tears of years of hate, anger, hurt, and disappointment began falling, raining. Strong, rough hands rested on my shoulders. The music lady pastor’s wife Jimi began singing and praying. Other people, who maybe thought they were witnessing something very special, if not miraculous, began filling in the spaces between altar and pew, praying, worshipping, and repenting. I cried my face dry as I committed my way not to a ministry, or denomination, but the Christ of humanity.

     That was thirty-four years ago. I found a passion in youth ministry, and in ministry to people with disabilities. I have spoken at youth retreats, at camps for people with disabilities. And L.C. was a pivotal person in my life.  Since then, Jesus has put me in that same place several times. I have been married to the same woman for almost thirty-three years, another miracle. We have raised two amazing sons. I have screwed up from time to time, of course. My righteousness is not mine, but that of Jesus. But through it all, His grace and mercy has gone ahead and followed behind me all the way. If not for a vessel of God that decided to exercise aggressive grace, expelled condemnation, and poured out Jesus’ love, I know my life would be tragically different. God has used many other such vessels of grace to help me along. Looking back, I think you just never know when you might be the very life-line for a drowning soul. 

I Corinthians 1:27-31 NKJV

[27] But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to put to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to put to shame the things which are mighty; [28] and the base things of the world and the things which are despised God has chosen, and the things which are not, to bring to nothing the things that are, [29] that no flesh should glory in His presence. [30] But of Him you are in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God—and righteousness and sanctification and redemption— [31] that, as it is written, “He who glories, let him glory in the Lord."

1 Cor 1.27-31 NKJV

OBSCURITY

 OBSCONSEQUENTORPHISIOUS

Obscure, amorphis, inconsequential, paltry meaningless-adjectives that denote worthlessness

"If its in the Bible, God made it a point for it to be there." -Chuck Missler

Gen 1.1-2. Our earth is in a backwater solar system of an even more podunk galaxy called the Orion Arm. Our solar system is 26 thousand light years away from what we might understand to be the center of our galaxy. Our galaxy is a piece of chewed peanut floating in the far reaches of a Pacific Ocean of galaxies, nebulas, and superclusters. Our "place in this world" is so overwhelmingly obscure, inconsequential, amorphis, paltry, and meaningless we have never in the history of mankind been even indirectly contacted by any alien forms of life. In short, we are so far from the center of anything, we may as well not even exist. 

But we do.

1 Cor 1.27-29. Our podunk backwater sticks is exactly the kind of place God likes to do what He does. I Am. I Will. I Do. You see, in the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. And the earth was formless and void. Darkness was upon the face of the formless vacuous waters. But then something happened. The "I Will" of God came to just hover over those obsconsequentorphisious waters. The "I Will" could have only been sent by the "I Am," with the "I Do" waiting not more than a light year away for His part. I wonder what caught God's eye. Oh yeah, He must have been looking for the most nothing nothing, because that's where He showed up. Nothing good. Nothing beautiful. Nothing of value. A formless void. Less than nothing. Obscure, inconsequential, amorphis, paltry, meaninglessness. Just hovering... how long? Were there ripples generated by that hovering "I Will?" Stirrings on the deep's face? Was there an agitation on the surface? What did it mean? Was there desire? Was there survey? Appraisal? An extrappalation of an idea. Who can fathom the mind of God? Who can surmise the direction of the Holy Spirit? Who can foretell the explosive appearance of a new thing by the creative genius of the Son of God? I Am. I Will. I Do. 

So when the crown of His creation was drowning in the sin that it made, He already had a plan.  There was a tree, a forbidden fruit, a serpent, and a woman who was being ignored by her husband...  there was a curse on the serpent, a curse on the ground, and a promise of redemption which was planned before there was anything.  We messed up, we are victims of our own sin, of evil men.  God saw it all longer than all the ages ago.  He saw the thing we did in secret, the anger, the greed, the lust in us all and already had a plan to bring us back to Him.  In a backwater, nothing little sheep-stinking town called Bethlehem, there was a stirring, a woman in labor, an infant's first breath, a baby crying in a cave for animals... Luke 2 is His Masterpiece.

If you are breathing, He has His eye on YOU!  On YOU!  NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR YAHWEH!!!  And you are the apple of His eye.

God the Father: Source, Sustainer, Sovereign

God the Holy Spirit: Preparer, Reasonator, Motivator

Jesus, God the Son: Actuator, Redeemer, Friend

Uncle Donnie

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs; who comes short again and again; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” -Theodore Roosevelt

Donald Harlow Burke has achieved his victory. When I think of my experience with the original idea of God I know as Uncle Donnie, boundless, fun loving, and gracious are adjectives that come immediately to mind. I did not get to spend as much time with him as I would have liked, but the time I got was exciting, world view expanding, and even life altering. He introduced me to moose burgers, float planes, and king salmon fishing in Alaska in the summer of 1990. We camped on an island-first and only time for me, very far from anything sedate or civil. I can still hear him hollering my name as I stepped off the boat into what I thought was knee deep water after an hour of pulling in my first salmon, a meager 45 lbs. The water was deeper than I was tall, and when I came up still holding the rod, fish hooked, I saw his laughing face and felt his pride that I had held on. He caught the very next fish, a 90 lb king- Vintage Uncle Donnie.

     Whether far out in the wild places, in his shop learning to bend and cut metal into ductwork, hiking a mountain, doing roof work on a giant building in downtown Knoxville, or just hanging out on the front porch listening to the cicadas, he just made you feel good about yourself. That was his super power. And if everything was going awry and panic was on the prowl, he stayed calm, cool, and collected, took another cast with the fishing rod of his imagination, and tried to hook another idea from a different perspective. Looking back, we did not have fun, he just was fun. He brought his infectious, easy-going determination and excitement into every venture, whether finding a way to clean up oil spills or going for a burger and a shake.  

     He was an example of tenacity, ideas, and grace under fire. His faith in God was unshakable. Not perfect and admitting it, Uncle Donnie is a man who wrestled with himself and with God and made a brilliant impact on my relationship with Jesus Christ. He is a hero to me, and in my memory will always remain the man in the arena.

idol 2 (Presence Series)

I was fourteen years old.  Mom and Dad were off on a trip somewhere far away.  It was a few days before they were to return, and out of boredom, I decided to take one of the trucks for a spin.  When I returned and parked the truck, I realized I had parked it in the wrong place.  I had parked it on some deep gravel on a slope, and instead of just driving forward down the hill, I put it in reverse and got the drive tires buried in the gravel.  So, I ran to the shed, grabbed two 2x6 boards and shoved them under the tires.  It worked.  The disaster happened when I forgot to shut the driver-side door.  Heedless of the tall pine in the path of it I got the truck out of the gravel, but the door was laying on the ground!  I put the truck back in the correct place. With the help of a rubber mallet, I was able to get most of the metal back in the right place and jammed the door back on the truck so that it looked like everything was fine.  And it was fine, until the next Monday morning when one of Dad's workers opened the door and it fell.  Dad met me in the yard as I was walking up from the bus stop that afternoon.  I deflected, I lied, and for three days Dad mulled over firing his worker, who had been truthful in saying he had no idea how the door fell off.  Finally, Dad cornered me and told me he was getting ready to fire someone, if I could not tell him what happened to the door.  I finally 'fessed up.

He was not angry that I had taken the truck for a spin.  He was not so angry that I was responsible for the truck missing a door.  He was angry that I had lied and had almost made him a fool and cost one of his best workers a job.

Aaron, Moses' brother, decided to do what the people asked and made a golden calf to worship.  Moses had been gone up the mountain for a long time and they did not know when he would return.  When he did return, He heard the noise of the people worshipping and saw them dancing around.  Moses was so angry that he threw the tablets down that God had written the law on and they were broken.  Of course, Aaron deflected and said he just did what the mob of the people wanted for fear of his life.  Three thousand men died by the swords of the Levites.  Moses had to go back up the mountain to plead for the people and to receive another set of tablets of the God's law.

remember   The people of Israel had forgotten to remember.  They were bored of waiting and had chosen to forget that it was God Who heard their moaning for freedom.  They had chosen to forget that it was God Who called Moses to intercede for them.  They had chosen to forget that it was God Who brought them out of Egypt, the land of their slavery, and freed them from that tyrannical situation.  They had forgotten God.  The calf they made was not who they really worshipped when Moses came down.  The calf was the idol, a representation of the false god of self.  Moses reminded them of all that God had done and was still doing in their behalf.  He made them consecrate themselves to God and to His law before He would carry them on to the Promised Land.  They got a "whipping" for their sin, but God was merciful and fulfilled what He promised, but not without more episodes of the people forgetting to remember.

When we get bored, we forget to remember Who's we are, where He has brought us from, where He has promised to take us.  Our faith is discarded because we want what we think we need, and we want it now.  We tend to be stiff-necked toward waiting, acting like we should, living in a way that is pleasing to God which is always in our own best interest, because He knows what we really need.  

For the sin of worshipping my golden calf, a.k.a., me, I got a whipping and was put on severe restriction.  But Dad had mercy, too, because He saw that at least I was not willing to pass the recompense of my sin onto another person.  He knew that experience would teach me to remember that my actions, when they are what they should be, create harmony.  And when they are bad can affect people around me in ways I would not wish.  When we discard the One Who's idea we are, when we forget to remember, chaos always ensues.  Deuteronomy 6.4-15   

You are His idea.  He knew you before you were born.  He saw every day of your life before you had lived even one.  Whether you are religious or not, Elohim is God.  He is goodness.  He is mercy.  And as we live our days out, if we can continually remember what He wants for us, how He expects us to live, and live in worship to Him, He will lead us to the Promised Land.  Learn the inexplicable, totally amazing, audacious, and magnificent value of His Presence in your life.

idol 1 (Presence series)

 Exodus 33:15 NKJV

Then he said to Him, “If Your Presence does not go with us, do not bring us up from here.” 

I have roamed.  I have run.  I have blithely moved from place to place trying to find my place in this world, laboring to fulfill God’s idea of me.  I have dragged my wife and kids literally across the country and back many times.  I was thinking if I could just find that perfect situation where I’d fit and be at least allowed, if not supported to exercise my giftings and ideas… but I would not be content.  In truth, every situation was a perfect one.  I just couldn’t see it for my golden calf. 

Grateful  No, I did not ask to be born or come into existence.  No one did. The eternal material of my soul, the distinct machinations of my mind, the one-of-a-kind idiosyncrasies of my body, and that this idea of me comes from (what we think of as) nothing into this (what we think of as) empirical time/space continuum…  it was/is/will be God’s idea.  I know if I could just stick 100% to this juggernaut of knowledge in all my musings, decisions, actions, reactions, words, I would be in a perpetual state of serenity.  All would be well with my soul, continually. 

     “I AM THAT I AM” is the name God replied to Moses’ question on that plain with the burning bush.  “I am” is the very first name we call ourselves when first we become self-aware. Some people are born into this world with an inherent understanding of who they really are and WHO they come from. Some of us are just not bright enough to want to explore that inkling that the Apostle Paul calls “the measure of faith.”  And some reject it because they were offended by another who is following that path.  Some reject it outright, choosing to go along with the flow of the corrupted times they live in, so that they will not “stick out.” 

Whether we admit it or not, we have been chosen to be given a life, and that decision was not influenced a hair by us at all.  As “I am” is our declaration of existence, “we were not” is the accurate description of our influence on our existence.  God’s idea, distinct, original, piece of God’s immaculate creative genius, He put into a mortal, fallen body, that was introduced to this corrupted world by water, flesh, and blood.  As He is three in one, so we are 3 parts in one being-body, mind, spirit.  He has chosen you to have this amazing, incredible, astounding, phenomenal, odds-busting opportunity to live, to be as He is in a lesser way, “I am.”  With this knowledge we should never have cause to bemoan our life or regret that we live.  The only truly universally harmonious response, for this thing we didn’t ask for, is utter gratefulness to the Great I AM.

seen

    As we live each day our thoughts are filled with joyous moments of the past that make our days sweet and our living relevant. They also harbor the agony of our sins. Those scenes play over in our minds and we wish we could hide them, even kill them, so we could never see them again.  

     For Believers in Christ and His atoning work, we hold the hope for that day when He wipes every tear from our eyes and makes all things new. But until that day comes we bear, at least, the shadow of our sins, and depending on our focus it either propels us in that hope or drives us to despair.

     A long time ago there was a household worker, a slave, of a very rich man called Abram and his wife, Sarai (Genesis 16). She must have been a pleasing servant to her owners, because the wife proposed her as a solution to a quandry. The wife was barren, even after an amazing visit from an "angel" Who said Abram would have an heir that came from his own body. Ten years had gone by and no heir.  

     Sarai was getting up in years and thought something had to be done. So she gave her husband the faithful servant girl in hopes the heir would be produced through her. When the servant girl became pregnant, she became increasingly haughty, even rebellious toward her mistress, to the point where the mistress treated her roughly, and she ran away. 

    So far we can see the doubt, faithlessness, and manipulation for control of the couple of promise. We can also see the pride,  arrogance, and want of pre-imenence of a misused servant girl.

    Hagar, the servant girl had no one and no place to go. She was homeless, despondent, and despairing. At a lush watering hole in the wilderness is where she poured out her sorrow to a God she could not see. An "angel" came to her to minister to her seemingly impossibe situation, and told her to go back to her mistress, that it would be well.  Not only that, but she would be greatly blessed with nations of descendants.

     Hagar was astonished that this angel-like being would visit her, and realized that even in her misery, her caste, her smallness, God saw her. God saw her in her obedience, and her victimization, her plumeting attitude, and in her degradation. He saw it all. He saw the future of the nations she carried in her womb. He saw the evil that would be launched from her descendents generation after generation against the nation of promise yet to be born of her mistress, Sarai. He saw it all. Yet, He cared for her. She called Him the God Who sees.

  Thousands of years later, He is still the God Who sees.  He is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Like a good father, God allows us to choose, and does not desert us when we choose poorly.  He will not leave us, even long after we have departed from His idea of us.  If we are drawing breath we are a candidate for the tender loving care of a God Who sees. He sees our obedience, our disobedience, and the generations they will produce. He sees our best and our despicable worst. He sees what we wish to kill in ourselves. He sees our hopes and our impossible dreams. He sees, and He chooses to love us with an everlasting love. He chooses to make us new again.  

When peace like a river attendeth my way 

When sorrows like sea billows roll 

Whatever my lot thou hast taught me to say

It is well, it is well with my soul

My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought

My sin, not in part, but the whole

Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more

Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, oh my soul