What Happens When God’s Late?

By Jennifer Slattery –

Have you ever felt like God forgot about you? Maybe you’re caught in an impossible situation with nowhere to go, searching for the lifeline that never seems to come. Perhaps your rope got stuck in the parcel post or passed through one too many hands along the way. But it doesn’t matter. You’re in a bind and you need God. Now. But then, when you least expect it, God does show up, and contrary to your panicked thoughts, the world doesn’t end. In fact, once the storm passes and you take a step back, you realize God was there all the time. And He really did know what He was doing.

I’m always in a hurry—on constant overdrive. Not because I’m terribly ambitious, but because I can’t let go of the reigns. I expect things to get done a certain way and in a certain period of time. When they don’t, I’m tempted to panic. And I could rationalize it a million ways, but ultimately it comes down to lack of trust. It’s like I forget that God is bigger than His creation, which includes my tiny little role in it.

Which is why I love the Bible passage about Martha and Lazarus. Martha and I would have been great friends, or at least a highly efficient team. Although I suspect our anxious thoughts and frantic behaviors would have given us both a migraine.

In John chapter eleven, we are told that Martha’s brother is sick. And what did you do in first century Palestine when someone you loved fell ill? You sought out the Healer, of course. I imagine if He was a close family friend, as Jesus was to Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, you’d expect a rather quick response. But what did Jesus do when he learns of Lazarus’ illness? He tarried, on purpose. Didn’t He love Lazarus? Verses five and six say He did. “So although Jesus loved Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, He stayed where He was for the next two days.”

When He finally arrives at Lazarus’ home in Bethany, it’s too late. Lazarus is dead. Martha is distraught, and even accusatory.

John 11:21, “Martha said to Jesus, ‘Lord, if only You had been here, my brother would not have died.’”

Translation: God, You’re too late.

Lazarus had been dead for three days. Martha’s faith and hope had come and gone. She’d gone from fervent prayers to mourning.

Jesus’ response? I’m bigger than that, Martha.

John 11:25, “I am the resurrection and the life.”

Many of us know the rest of the story. Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead and God’s power was revealed. I’m sure when it was done Martha felt silly for her lack of faith. Just like I frequently do after a premature pity-party But the account of Lazarus has a way of bringing me back to reality. The God that made me, saved me, is bigger than anything I could face. And His timing is always perfect.

So what happens when God is late? Now that is a question without a logical answer, my friend. The more rational question would be—when is God late? And my response would be never, even if it appears things have regressed to the point of decay.

Enough

By Jane Thornton –

Locker doors clanked shut. Occasional spurts of laughter rose above the hum and bustle of a hundred students shuffling along the hallway. My thirteen-year-old heart fluttered as my eyes tracked Victor’s passage.

Oblivious of my gaze, the lanky athlete swiped hair off his brow and grinned at a buddy’s comment.

Sigh.

Tearing my attention from his broad shoulders and silky locks, I turned to Susan and breathed, “Did you get it?”

She waved a scruffy red spiral under my nose. “Right here.”

Nerves aquiver, I fingered the cover of the slang book. AKA, slam book. Breath held for courage, I flipped to the first page—“Sign in.”

Susan traced her hand over the second column of names. “Here he is. Number sixteen.”
We scanned the pages. What is your favorite subject? P.E.

“No duh.” Susan rolled her eyes.

I smacked her arm playfully. “Be nice.”

What is your favorite color? Brown.

Well, yuck, but good to know. File for future reference.

What do you think of Brian L.? Best friend.

Knew that.

“Hurry. We have to get to class.” Susan flipped the pages faster.

Paper brushed paper and crackled at our speed. “There. Stop!”

What do you think of Jane Hines?

I skimmed over Susan’s: Smart, funny, best friend with a distracted quirk of my lips. “Thanks.”

I found it. Sprawled across the bottom corner: N.N. No nothing.

The world blurred. Susan’s reassurances faded away. Hope died.

Cold, hard fact. Not everyone likes us as much as we like them. And it hurts.

Of course, not everyone is as cruel as a junior high boy. Thank God. But even the gentlest rejections make our hearts ache. Unfortunately, people rarely tender rebuffs tenderly.

When I was a teenager, I took a teen counseling course. For a symbolic exercise, we each had an IALAC sign—I am lovable and capable—and as the session continued, various people tore pieces off our sign until we were left with a ragged scrap.

A school essay is returned with a failing grade. Snip.

After a woman has been talking ten minutes, her husband looks up from the TV, “What did you say?” Rip.

A man follows up on a job application. “Sorry, you don’t have the experience we’re looking for.” Tear.

A mother says to her daughter, “You’re going out wearing that?” Slash.

A guy leaves several messages, trying to hook up with an old friend. The calls are never returned. Shred.

Sometimes we can’t even get angry about being spurned. Can other people help it if they just don’t find us appealing? We spiral into discouragement.

Look to the answer Paul received from God, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (II Corinthians 12:9a NIV). We often seem to take God’s love for granted, echoing our children, “You have to say that; you’re my mother.”

No, He is not required to say He loves us…but He does.

“And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God” (Ephesians 3:17b-19 NIV).

He doesn’t just love us; he delights in us (Psalm 18:19), and that is more than enough.

Comment prompt: What comforts you during times of rejection?

Your Undercarriage Will Sparkle

By Liz Cowen Furman –

After the tragic events of 9-11, I felt compelled to show my patriotism in some way. It seemed most everybody in the area had the same thought. By the time I got to the store, there wasn’t a single flag remaining. So for the first time in my life, I ventured bravely into cyberspace to search for and buy a magnetic flag to display on our van. I accomplished this feat in record time and when the much-sought-after purchase arrived, I was thrilled. Emblazoned across the magnetic sign was the American flag and underneath were the words “God Bless America.” Perfect.

The first few times I drove around town with the sign on the car, I would look in my rearview mirror to see if the driver behind me noticed my cool magnet. I felt I was making a statement “I believe in this country and the freedom for which it stands!” However, the very first time I took the van through the “touch-free” carwash, I forgot to take my new flag off and it was washed away. UGH!

When I realized my show of patriotism had slipped off, I knew it had to be on the floor of the car wash. So the next morning, Micah, Matthew and I stopped by the car wash after we dropped Martin at choir just as it was starting to snow. As we pulled up a gentleman was about to enter and the door to the bay was slowly lifting.

Seizing the moment, I jumped from the van and dashed toward his window. I politely asked if I could sprint in ahead of him and retrieve my little flag. He waved me on enthusiastically. I waited for the door to open and entered the bay. As I entered, the little electric eye must have caught sight of me. In an instant the undercarriage wash came on with such startling force that I was airborne before I knew what had hit me. A flying leap took me through the spray and when I landed the pre-rinse immediately opened up, drenching me from head to toe. Without looking at the man in his car behind me, I escaped as fast as I could with no flag to show for my troubles.

The howls of laughter rocking my van told me that Matthew and Micah had witnessed the entire show. As I crawled behind the wheel of the van, icicles forming on my brow, I couldn’t help but share in the laughter. Despite my frozen exterior, joining in the hilarity with my boys warmed my heart. I’m not sure, however if the man who treated me to his car wash ever recovered.

The next Sunday morning as we passed by the car wash on our way to church, my husband, Dave slowed the car and said, “Hey Liz, if you need a shower we will wait.” And we laughed all over again. Times like this remind me that God has a great sense of humor, and we do well not to take ourselves too seriously.

“What Am I…”

By Elaine James –

“Chopped liver?” my husband questioned as I continued to feed dinner to a group of my teen daughter’s friends. My husband asked “Do you know what chopped liver is?” The girls all replied “Gross!”

Before I knew it I had given all the food away and there was none left for my husband. He was planning to eat before he left, but instead, he had to leave feeling disgruntled. I have to admit we laughed and ignored him. But I soon started to feel guilty, asking myself “What did you just do?”
I was out of order.

When I was a little girl my dad had this piece of paper in his wallet. On it he wrote:
1. God
2. Wife
3. Children
4. Work

After being in his wallet for years it was so dilapidated. According to Matthew 6:33 “Seek first the kingdom of heaven and his righteousness and all shall be added to you” (NIV). Funny how the Spirit of God can remind us of all I’m writing about in a flash. I am thankful for the Spirit because I really believe in this order and want to please God. The only way to rid myself of this yucky feeling was to ask God to forgive me.

Later I looked up on Wikipedia the phrase “What am I chopped liver?” It expresses that chopped liver traditionally is served as a side dish rather than a main course; therefore the phrase may have originally meant to express a feeling of being overlooked, as a “side dish.”

I’m wondering if God watches us asking that same thing at times. I won’t even eat chopped liver let alone want to treat someone like it!

What or who have you put first in your life over God? A boyfriend, friends, work, awards or dreams can all become American Idols. What steps can you take this week to put God first?

PRAYER: Father in Heaven, things have been out of order. Forgive me for_______________. Renew my Spirit with the desire to spend time with You first. Thank You for the help.

Bully Birds

By Stephanie Prichard –

My husband barely dared to breathe. He sat immobile at the picnic table on our Aussie host’s deck, surrounded by thirteen wild Sulphur-crested Cockatoos perched at one-foot intervals along the railing. The size of barnyard chickens, snowy white except for their black beaks and their yellow feathers crowning their heads, they didn’t move either. Aloof, regal, their agenda clear, they stared at him and waited.

Finally, my husband oh-so-slowly extended his right arm across the tabletop and deposited one sunflower seed after another toward him. The Hansel-and-Gretel trail ended with his hand as the gingerbread house. He opened it wide to reveal a tantalizing, come-hither pile of seeds.

Within seconds, a volunteer hopped from the railing to the table. Step by step, the cockatoo followed the trail, gobbling up the seeds until he was within a neck’s stretch of the gingerbread-house cache. He halted. Looked up at my husband. Looked down at the cache. Ever so slowly, he stretched his neck toward the pile of seeds. My husband’s lips quirked into a smile of victory. Then, with lightning speed, the cockatoo nipped my husband’s index finger and scurried backwards.

My husband’s smile disappeared, but he didn’t move. He pressed his hand all the firmer onto the tabletop and tightened his mouth into a straight line.

The cockatoo crept cautiously forward. He stretched his neck again and latched onto the same finger. This time he bit so hard an electric current of pain shot through my husband’s body. Suddenly it wasn’t so cute that he was surrounded by thirteen combat-ready, sharp-beaked aggressors who coveted his sunflower seeds. He dumped the pile onto the table and left. Chagrined, he stood beside me at the sliding glass door and watched the other twelve cockatoos swoop to the table to join in the feast.

That wasn’t the end of it. A few days later, at a small zoo of native Australian animals, we stopped at a cage labeled Cockatoos. My husband clutched the wire fence and peered inside. Immediately, a Sulfur-crested Cockatoo flew straight over to him. “Well,” my husband said, “at least there’s one friendly cockatoo in Australia.” He grinned as the bird replied with what sounded like a mighty affable “Aaaark.”

And with that, the cockatoo promptly reached over and bit the same sore finger the other bird had chomped. “Aaaark,” he squawked, and with a distinct Aussie accent said, “Good boy, good boy.”

Aren’t we just like those cockatoos? Territorial: “Hands off, God. This is my space. My life. Just dump what’s good on the tabletop and leave me alone.”

. . . Until something bad happens. And then guess Who gets questioned for His lack of goodness?

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