I may not know the full answer to that yet, but I do have an idea.

I just prayed with one of the nurses here in my room, asking God to give her and her husband wisdom to know how to proceed with their adopted daughter. Nine years ago, a little girl was brought into their home who had horrific baggage (later learned) and tendencies. So violent was her Type 2 bi-polar disorder (the worst classification) their own daughter had to sleep with two locks on her door, as she seems to be the burning core of Cassie’s (not her real name) hatred.

This morning, Cassie bounded down the steps of their home walked straight up to her mother, and threw her arms around my nurse friend and told her she loved her. Totally unsolicited.

It had never happened before. In nine years.

This gallant adoptive mother broke down as she shared that, in her heart, she knew Cassie is experiencing a major breakthrough and on the road to healing. I could see years of fear, hysteria, hopelessness and exhaustion just melt away with those wracking sobs and a face that suddenly lost its lines and looked young again.

On this same day she found out that a Medicare-underwritten program has finally accepted their daughter after months of waiting and wringing of hands. After months of crying out for God to heal the pain in the home and torment in their daughter.

Then, this:

“I love you  Mom.”

Can you think of four better words?

So my friend is torn. What if this is God’s witness to her that their daughter, after endless therapy and new medicine–not to mention the steady stream of prayers–is showing a monumental turnaround? What would it mean for them to put her in the program?

If they do not drive Cassie the hundred miles to a new rehabilitation center, they will receive no financial assistance for any of their daughter’s future therapy.

I didn’t have a word for my friend, but instead turned to the Word on behalf of my friend. “Dear God, you promised that if we lack wisdom, we can ask of You, and we have the assurance that You will pour out such wisdom without restraint, without guilting us or remonstrating us for lack of faith…”

With heads bowed in this room, we agreed that the Father loves Cassie and has an incredible plan for not only her but for my friend, her husband and their other daughter. We prayed with boldness knowing that God would lift whatever fog or gauzy mist shielded the Johnson’s (not their real name) eyes that they might see He who is true Wisdom, Jesus the Christ.

She wiped her eyes and hugged me and told me her dad had phoned her this morning and used the promise of James 1:5 for those who lack wisdom in their conversation also. The Word had given His word after all. Her eyes were wide with expectation, relief and settled confidence that all would be well.

As I finished that last sentence, my nurse friend just passed my room with a beaming smile. This is why Jesus has come into the world, to set captives (like Cassie—and hurting families) free.

Several years ago amidst another health crisis, I jokingly stated that our lives read like the movie titles:  “There Will Be Blood”, “There Will Be Blood, Part Two”, “Hamburger Hill”,  and now, “It’s Complicated”!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ( I will be glad to elaborate on those if you need me to)

Thank you, thank you, thank you for your prayers.  They carried the day.  What an amazing thing it is to be a part of something God is doing and watching when “man” can’t fix the problem.  I was reminded that Scott has been in the AMA’s medical journals before when he was first injured 30 years ago.  We are revisiting that again.

Today was a dual consult with Scott’s orthopaedic surgeon and plastic surgeon.  They said that (and I quote) “you are a complicated mess and we both need to meet with you and discuss options for proceeding.”  Soooo, we have been waiting since the beginning of July to get the required x-rays, CT scans, and MRI’s required to look at the problems from every angle.  We had been sent the findings on the CT scans and the MRI’s and after a vocabulary lesson from my dearest friend Karen Beard, we could begin to see this was not going to be an easy fix, but we felt God was working and we have had an extraordinary peace.  Although, there have been a few days when I got tired of waiting….my motto is find the problem, get a working plan, fix the problem. It has been neat to see the Lord rein me back in with His quiet voice and say, “Don’t you trust my timing, my plan for Scott and you?”

All of what we are facing today is a result of a continuing infection that had engulfed his entire body in 2009-10 when he spent 3 months in the hospital.  The plan then was to shoot the works at him and localize and find the original culprit.  They eventually said in the pelvic region.  He had abscesses (and still does) which ruptured and went everywhere in his body (bone, blood, muscle, tissue, organs).  Last fall, his leg began to swell and then opened up with a tunnel to the hip/pelvis area and he had surgery to clean out and totally rebuild his leg because of the destruction of the infection.  He got new blood, muscle, tissue, and a gorgeous scar.

After a month in the hospital and a month home, the leg opened again because the abscess did not get totally pulverized again (I digress here to say that they have thrown everything that they know and have available at these fellas, and they keep coming back AGAIN and AGAIN).  The problem we have is that added on top of this is Scott’s bones have been compromised.

Today, Dr. Murray said that there is chronic osteomyelitis (infection in the bone), but that the spine and sacrum have disconnected and that his spine from L-5 to S-1 is totally dissolved.  It’s weird to have him put the x-ray up and then draw where his spine should be because there’s just blankness. The abscesses are all there, the bones are NOT, and Dr. Murray has NEVER faced a situation like this before.  He has not been torturing us by making us wait, he has been trying to find a solution.  He says the problems make surgery IMPOSSIBLE.  And I again am using his words.

The surgery that he and Dr. Simon would pioneer would “kill” Scott (literally, once again, his words which he also repeated twice for emphasis).  So, he says the problem is huge and “surgically inaccessible.”  He has an idea to consult with a surgeon at Emory Hospital who does tumor re-sections.  He wants to see if he’ll take this on.  He only knows of one other case like this and that patient had to be sent to Johns Hopkins.  The only other option is to once again use radiologically placed drains (like catheters) to drain this out of him and hope they get zapped.  Right now it’s all coming out his left thigh.  I won’t gross you out on the copious amounts of gook, but it is not pretty, but they are glad it’s getting out of him.

So, we are waiting to hear from this other surgeon (maybe one week).  Continue what we are doing, which is daily irrigating, and cleaning hole in his leg, oral antibiotics, and praying he doesn’t get sick.  I asked if it was possible to be like we were in ’09 and he said definitely.  So, keeping monitor on vitals, etc. must continue.  Holding patterns stink.  But, we are at peace and marvel at the way God takes care of us.  Our doctors are some of the very best, and they are sitting there shooting options and ideas and what-ifs because they so hate it that this is happening.  I just can’t wait to see what God is going to do with this.

I would like to add a sidebar, if I may.  Scott Mitchell is my hero.  For 30 years they poke, prod, cut open, cut out, set more limitations, curtail his activities & generally say, sorry, we can’t really help you.  He just smiles & says that’s ok, you’re doing your best, no worries.  I have lived in his back pocket & have continually been humbled by his love for, and his walk with God.   I just felt like that had to be said.  You cannot imagine the last two years especially.

Keep praying for him. Our love and gratitude, Sange and Scott.

I also have it on good authority that it will happen.

Ah, I know what some of you are thinking: the you who think you know me, that is. You’re thinking I already am one of most loving people you know, but the trouble is, you don’t know me, know me. You can fool some of the people some of the time…

And those of you who do know me, well, I see that knowing little smirk on your faces! I have glommed onto your thoughts like a blind man reading braille, also. Those smiles tell me that you’ve been waiting a long time for me to see the Light—that I am like the Frost poem, “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening” where the subject still has “miles to go…”

Yeah, I’m onto you.

But back to my stated position. I have it on good authority that what I seek will come to be, since I have come to understand prayer as more finding the will of God on a matter and praying that back to Him, rather than a monologue of wishes on a premeditated list. It’s clear to me that this salvation journey I am on includes His bringing me into fullness. Into glory. Or, as Paul put it to the Ephesians: ‘to grow me up to the Full Man, which is Christ’ (my paraphrase from 4:13).

That, o friends o’ mine, tells me that it is His intention that I live as He lived, walk as He walked, obey as He obeyed and love as He loved. And so, as I leeched onto His will for me, I decided to pray in expectation that He will do this thing in me. Granted, He’s got some work to do.

It’s a tall order, and I have fallen woefully short.

Granted.

But back to the premise. Er, the promise. When we “pray the prayer of the kingdom” (as Evan Roberts coined it), and learn the Father’s will, we can have the assurance that what we ask is truly from Him and our asking will lead to its doing (see Matt 6:10; Matt 18:18-20; Mark 11:22-24*).

So…I aimed for the fences with my asking.

I just said to myself: Why go little, when you can go TALL?

Here’s what my journal said just the other day:

“Father, You know what I ask for me: I desire to have all envy, jealousy, bitterness, forgiveness, vengeance and offense redeemed out of me! I desire to be the most loving person people will ever meet—whether they like me or not. Whether persecuted, I bless. Ignored, I rejoice. Overlooked or bypassed, I praise. Despised, I love. Hurt, I forgive. Treated discourteously, I return kindness. Belittled (even in attitude), I submit. Forsaken, I triumph.

“Lord Jesus, I trust You to save me from myself. Your work is finished, which is my set hope for my “finished” course. I turn to You to do the impossible. With God, all things are possible. Even these hopeless, endemic, pandemic issues in my flesh.

“You will answer this prayer of mine because I know I pray Your will. You will bring me all the way into glory, victoriously, not by the skin of my teeth…”

It occurs to me that my birthday is in four days. Hint, hint. I pretty much know what I want and I have stated it here. There is no hope it will be done by September 3rd (did I mention that was my birthday?), but I have every hope it will be done in time to see Christ Jesus, for “when I see Him, I will be like Him, for I shall see Him as He is.” (1 John 3:2)

I just want a head start.

*These each presume the pray-er has already learned the will of God

This is my third installment of various quotes I’ve run across in the world of Twitter that are robust for life and living. I pray they will properly kick-start your week in the Lord and provide Spirit-induced fuel in the coming days:

• “When God closes a door, don’t look for a window. Maybe just look for a couch and sit down for a few days.”
  Jason Upton
• “When my church grows at your church’s expense, that’s not growth, it’s swelling.”
  Rick Warren, via @RonJacobs_
• “We must move people from Come and See to Come and Die.”
  Rick Warren, via @RonJacobs_
• “We pass on our convictions to our children by the things we tolerate.”
  Amish Proverb, via @LifeVerse
• “A little thing is just a little thing, but faithfulness in a little thing is a great thing.”
  Hudson Taylor
• “The art of being wise is the art of knowing what to overlook.”
  William James
• “Take comfort in this: when you are persecuted for righteousness, Jesus takes it personally.”
  Billy Humphrey, Atlanta IHOP
• “On the power of words: for every word in Hitler’s Mein Kampf 125 persons lost their lives in WWII.”
  David P. Craig, via @LifeCoach4God
• “The purpose of prayer is not to get man’s will done in heaven but God’s will done on earth.”
  Warren Wiersbe, via @LifeCoach4God
• “God invisible work in you prepares you for God’s visible works through you.”
  Steven Furtick, via @WhiteKn1ght
• “The Christian does not think God will love us because we are good, but that God will make us good because He loves us.”
  C.S. Lewis, via @jimbotts
• “Forgiveness is me giving up my right to hurt you because you hurt me.”
  Khamneithang Vaiphei
• “When I am in the cellar of affliction, I look for the Lord’s choicest wines.”
  Samuel Rutherford, via @desiringgod
• “The whole earth has been lied to and it is the church’s responsibility to bring truth to it.”
  Terry Virgo

The following response was  sent exactly one week—to the day—I entered one of the darkest times of my life, a period in which I would need to draw on God’s love and wisdom as never before. (I have written extensively on this shadowed valley of death; you can find it here.) It seems our Lord was preparing me to learn even more intimately on the subject, so what you read here is “in  part” but tested and true nonetheless.

I hope this encourages you today and gives you a passion to spend time in His presence. At the end, I will provide you with one of the best resources I can think of on the matter of hearing God.

______________, bless you, man! I am truly humbled by your words here and thankful I can offer some things for you, o passionate seeker! I have hesitated writing only because the way I hear God is so ‘simplistic’ and probably not far from what others would say, but there are a couple of things that MUST be repeated and reinforced. There is no formula for hearing God per se, it requires being quiet enough to listen and obedience without negotiation to say “amen, Lord.”

For years, the primary way I have heard God is to give hours to Him on a matter. Sure there have been plenty of times He’s spoken to me on the fly, but there is nothing He loves more than to know I am going to sit and stay awhile. Before I do anything, I pull out my journal and just begin writing out a lengthy prayer…oftentimes I see my prayer change before my very eyes, getting more in line with what is on His heart, but He is always gracious and patient to listen to what is on mine.

I stay on a systematic reading schedule of the scriptures because His word is alive and He can speak directly to me from anywhere in the scriptures. I can truly say it is more rare for me NOT to get a direct response from the scriptures after I have spent time through journaling and worship! It is uncanny! The Word speaks to exactly what I have poured out my heart about in my journaling. Every time.

I ran across this article and I’ll give the link to it here. Maybe it will add some helpful light to your journey.  http://chicagoblogpage2.blogspot.com/2009/10/how-does-god-speak-to-you.html

Most guys I know do not like to journal but I think it is the most consistent tool we can use to access the mind and heart of God. Maybe you already do it. If you don’t, start with a paragraph a day, then work up to pages down the road…God knows the intent of your heart and will bless you in your efforts. It’s also VERY important to not assume that every thought you have in such a season in His Presence is your own.

God be gracious to you, beloved brother. Stay hungry. You are loved.

If you want to learn more on this subject, I recommend Peter Lord’s book “Hearing God” for solid biblical instruction, clarity and amazing practicality.

Remember, what kind of Father would never want to speak to His kids? Thankfully, our Father is perfect, not aloof, and speaks clearly and relevantly into our space and time. You’ve been given ears…do they work?

…and yet…lest I forget…

…there is the Accessible Man, Christ Jesus, full of grace and glory, the Son of Man (the last Adam, hooray!) and He has shown Himself to me. I leave the burning bush for a moment and am transported to a beach where a Man sits on a seashore cooking breakfast. He. Just. Sits. There. Food is sizzling and aroma is rising, and He waits for company. An earlier time, this Same Man swings in alongside a funeral procession and catches up to the casket. Another occasion, this Highly Accessible and Available Man pats his leg and a child jumps up into His lap and bounces, or plays with His fingers, or whatever. Remarkable.

Remarkable that this Man happens to be God-Who-Came-Down because we were too hard-hearted, stiff-necked, stubborn and rebellious to go up. Inconceivable that this One is the same One who had Face-to-Fire encounters with Moses while lightning flashed, thunder growled and a whole lot of people ran for cover, frightened out of their gourds.

The God who must be approached shoeless and the Lord on the shore waiting a table for a group of longshoremen are One and the Same. The Rumbling God at Sinai and the Whispering God on Zion’s Hill share the same space. The One Who cannot be looked upon, also offers His lap to be sat upon. He is Father and Mother. Fire and Cloud. Wrath and Mercy. Lion and Lamb. A Raging River and Redemption Drawn Nigh (see Isa 59:19,20).

The Great Equalizer is Jesus, and it is in Him that “mercy and truth have met together” and “righteousness and peace have kissed” and “from His fullness we have received grace upon grace” (John 1:16). Because of Jesus, Scary Mountains turn into Peaceful Pastures and “goodness and mercy follow me all the days of my life“.”

Grace upon grace.

Grace following grace.

By Christ, I gain entrance into Eternity’s Oval Office, not outside the fence on Pennsylvania Avenue snapping pictures of the White House. And, amazingly, again because of Christ, I not only get access to the most sacred places of all, but I can venture behind the massive desk and—being a son—can jump up into the lap of the Leader of the Freed world, who also happens to be my Father!

This is “grace following grace”. Such grace gets me to God, through the narrow gate, down the path and right inside the Inner Sanctum.

By entering the veil of Christ’s flesh, I now have “confidence” to stand before God, immune to the accuser’s charges against my being there, or cowering from the blinding Glory that pulsates and emblazons one end of Eternity to the other. I, indeed, have security clearance and an all-access badge that gets me inside the Throne Room where a scepter is extended to me, for I, too, am a son of the Eternal Creator God and the Only Begotten Jesus is my Big Brother.

So why do I spend so much time milling about on the South Lawn or even the Rose Garden? Why would I want a summary of Your doings in the Press Room when I can have a Private Audience with the Ruler-Who-Is-My-Father? I don’t want to hear about You…I don’t even want to talk about You like You’re not in the room; I want to look right at You, I want to sing right to You…

When I was a Prodigal, road-weary and bedraggled, You flew off Your front porch and met me with a prodigious bear-hug, so why would my expectation be any different as I make my way down the hallways to Your chambers? Will You not still meet me on the way, cheerfully and scandalously as a nobleman running in public?

If I draw nigh to You, will You not draw even more nigh to me?

Phillip said,“Lord, show us the Father and we’ll be satisfied” but could not connect You and the Father as One. Moses cried, “Show me Thy Glory!” and he, undoubtedly saw You. And he never had to ask again.

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen His glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth…For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.”
(John 1:14,16-17, ESV)

“But the unique One, who is Himself God, is near to the Father’s heart. He has revealed God to us.”
(John 1:18, NLT)

So I am grateful today to take off my shoes on this hallowed ground and run like the dickens in bare feet toward Grace Itself, carried on the wind by Grace, with Grace close on my heels.

Selah.

Years, not degrees.

*sigh*

Please don’t misunderstand, that sigh was a good one. It was the satisfied sigh of someone watching a sunrise bloom over a resplendent mountain peak or holding their baby for the first time. Or akin to the musical hum of a soul in perfect alignment.

You see, I almost did not live to see this day.

But, praise be, I’m gloriously still here. And deliriously satisfied.

In the late spring of last year I desperately cried out to God for something I could not do for myself. When Jesus gave His blessing to those who “mourn” He used the strongest of the nine words for sorrow in the Greek New Testament. If I wasn’t in that category I was doubtlessly moving in its direction.

As the mucus seeped and tears leaked and it all seemed to catch in my throat, I pled through racking sobs for God to be my Health and Healer. The weight of my burden had so pinned me to the mat that I truly, at the risk of sounding too Paul-een, “despaired of life.” Twenty-six years of undisciplined living were stealing years from my life but I always managed to swat such thoughts away with a flippant “if I die, I’ll be with Jesus, which is far better” (here’s me, waxing Paul-een again) response. But that warm afternoon I decided I did not want to die after all. Oh, that’s hardly accurate! Actually, I cried up from the bellows of my heartsickness for God to add years to my life and life to my years!

And then, something shifted internally.

We’re talking seismic in scope here.

The Voice of Many Waters that thunders, quakes and flashes, shouted through an eternity of universes and struck against the bondage of years that were in me and freed me from my enslavement. The God who keeps covenant with them that fear Him—and turn to Him in their ‘cast-down-edness’—will with certainty be to them a Healer and Refuge.

“I have heard You, Scott. The life in your years that has been taken will be restored. I AM to you your Health and your Healer.”

Instantly, the mourning in me was transformed into soul-deep consolation and new, unbitter, tears began to flow.

“The means by which this Healing will be realized must be a very difficult path. Perhaps the hardest road you’ve ever traveled.”

I listened intently, but without fear.

“But I will be beside you in this journey and, in the end, you will look back with joy upon the road and praise Me for it.”

When God speaks, He acts.

When He acts, it is for keeps.

Over the next few weeks, I underwent a change in discipline of self and lost some weight. Nothing noticeable, almost imperceptible to others, but Sandy and I knew. And our hope grew. Then I had my September physical. Prostate, good. Blood pressure, good. Heart, good. Pulse rate, good.

“I’ll call you in the next 48 hours with the results of your blood work,” Dr. Kiley informed me.

I felt better. I was honoring the Lord with my day-to-day schedule, so I almost forgot about the follow-up call until the phone rang and I saw Dr. Kiley’s name on the caller screen.

“Everything looks normal, but there’s been a new development. You’ve become a diabetic since your last physical.”

The D-word. Type 2.

He gave me the name of a personal friend of his who practiced endocrinology and told me to make an appointment as soon as possible.

“Your A1c level is almost 12,” he warned me.

A1c? I had no clue what that was but I could tell the way his voice dropped when he said ‘12’ I was very sure that the number was way too high. Or way too low. Whichever, I made haste to call my new doctor.

When Dr. Wolffe saw me, he told me we could lick this thing but I would have to follow a strict diet and regimen of exercise. No problem, doc, already begun…

My blood sugar was in the upper 300s so he pulled out a syringe and told me the liquid inside was a kind of ‘booster’ to lower my sugar dramatically over the next 24 hours. Such a calm demeanor, but I was sure it was hiding a great deal of uncertainty as to where I might end up in all of this. His southern gentlemanly drawl warned me of blindness, sores that won’t heal requiring amputation, heart disease and stroke.

And I feared not one whit.

By God’s grace I knew when I saw Dr. Wolffe again, there would be a much different scenario.

So I went home with my new glucose meter, test strips, lancets and prescription of metformin (My doctor told me the latter would also cause weight loss. Hooray!) and thus began my journey with diabetes.

When I began crying out to the Lord for His power and might to transform me a few months prior, I added that I needed a few months away from ministry and more ordered days for my lifestyle to have even a remote shot at recovery. Well, now I had it. I had preached my final sermon as pastor of my little flock in Douglasville and the calendar was ceremoniously clean and sterile. As such, I could attack this little issue free of any other expectations and tug-o-wars. God was proving faithful yet again.

The day after my ‘booster shot’ my blood sugar fell below 100 but the next day it rebounded to the mid-300s. A call to my doctor assured me this was expected. Void of alarm, his soothing tone could calm a coon dog bawling at his treed prey!

The next couple of weeks proved to be the proverbial calm before the storm. Sange and I were positively giddy about the coming holiday weeks. She had taken two vacation weeks in November around Thanksgiving and the first weekend of November we were being treated to a freebie weekend at a 5-star hotel in Huntsville, one of our favorite cities in the southeast.

Under such warm and oozy feelings, we piled into the van on October 31^st and made for a special night out, not wanting to be around the house for the evening’s inevitable trick-or-treaters. We both love Italian and while we have other more favorite Italian restaurants, the Italian Oven on the East-West Connector, a half hour from our house, isn’t bad.

We were served that night by a “witch” complete with black fingernails, lipstick and eye-dark. Gratefully, she wasn’t practicing but just dressing for the occasion. Even still, well…just, even still.

I ordered the lasagna, or as I like to say: “lazzag-na” (pretending to be a redneck; Sange just loves when I do that), and several bites in, lost my appetite. I knew that my stomach had shrunk because the Lord had given me grace to push away from the table the previous months, but this was different. I literally quit after about three bites. Sandy was not alarmed as she had been “proud” of me for aggressively competing against my hypothalamus and chalked it up to discipline.

As we climbed back into the van, my precious asked me to take her to the Hobby Lobby craft store behind the restaurant so she could see if there might be new stock for the upcoming holidays. I elected to stay in the van and listen to the Georgia Bulldog game on the radio.

“How long do I have?” Sandy asked as she jumped out of the van.

“As long as you need, baby,” I told her. She waved and smiled and I turned on the radio.

The radio did not stay on long as Florida was rolling up the points and hammering my ‘Dawgs to the ever-loving turf. ‘Nuff of that. The sky turned granite-gray and there was only a slight chill in the air. Very slight. But I suddenly got a little frigid inside the van. I started the engine and turned on the heater full-blast. It helped, but then the symptoms of a urinary tract infection began following one after another like cars on a choo-choo train.

My head began to turn ill and “sparkly” (kind of like being dizzy).

I started to dry-heave.

Feverish.

Chills.

Clammy sweat.

I reached for my cell phone and dialed Sandy. She had only been in the store for about a half hour but when I told her I was feeling very ill and we may need to head home, she left her purchases behind and was out the door. She is my angel.

We mercifully got home and I made a beeline for the bedroom. It was Saturday, so I’d have to wait 36 hours before I could get in touch with my doctor. The best thing I could do now was get in bed, take some flu medicine and sleep. Sometimes when I get hit with it, I could be better by the next morning. Other times, a few days.

When I laid my sick body (I didn’t have a clue how sick) on my low-air loss mattress, I had no inkling that I would not leave it until the next Sunday—and then in an ambulance.

I would not eat another meal for the next eight weeks.

There was no way I could have known then, but the road—the real road prescribed for me—had just gotten a whole lot harder.

And deadlier.

May You, O God, shepherd me to Your private pastures, with cooling waters and fresh, vital springs…draw me into Your Life and introduce me to the reality of practicing Your presence. I ask for Your baptism to flow down over me and drown me in grace. I know well that there is “more” and I aim to go after it. As the deer pants for the waterbrooks, I want my soul to pant after You. Not just words, here, but heart and passion and desire. Rush to me, O God. Call me away. My spirit accepts the invitation to Rise Up and Come Away!

Lord, show me the deepest things, the deepest parts of You. Take me there and may the five sanctified senses in me experience You to the fullest. I yearn to hunger for Your Word again! To meet with You in the closet at our daily appointed time where we can embrace and linger in the air of closeness.

Take me higher! Make my feet as hinds’ feet and walk me upon the craggy heights! Take me from the congregation and draw me to the pinnacle of Your desire for me. All that You have for me is my desire. You are most glorified when I am most satisfied in You and I want and wish to glorify You. May this life hold no attraction for me; I pull from it even if its talons hold on for dear life and rip me apart. May the claim of my life become: “the world is crucified to me and I to the world!”

Put a holy dissatisfaction in me for the things of this world. I do not desire its accolades and acceptance but Yours alone. This is the cry of my spirit! My soul follows far behind at times and has for a long time, but I cannot go on in complacency and indifference. Stir me, Lord. Stir my heart for the things that matter to You and may the crevasse that I have allowed to come between us be bridged by Your gracious invitation to come along and follow hard on Your heels.

I pray for a heart of integrity, hands of skill, a voice of impact, the eyes of Elisha, the baptism of the Spirit and the tongue of the learned. For an inoffensible spirit, unconditional love and the fear of God and not man.

In Jesus’ dear Name, Amen.

The point was, of course, to show that Verizon had more coverage than any other competitor and one would have to be, say, underwater so as to not be able to complete a connection.

I know of One whose coverage is so Sprint-pin-drop-clear and Verizon-wide (times eternity) that the sharpness and clarity of the “Let there be Light!” that thundered into time and space many millennia ago is still explicitly articulate today. Same Voice. Ageless. Commanding. Clear.

I recall sitting in my junior high school speech class in 1973 and hearing my teacher say that every word that has ever been spoken is still trapped in our atmosphere-Lincoln’s address at Gettysburg, John Adams’ fervent appeals at the First Continental Congress, or the cry of warning from a sailor aboard the Titanic. Trouble is, we haven’t the tools to capture them.

Ah, but the One Voice that trumps them all, we can hear. James tells us we have the tools to hear God with amazing clarity. The same James who grew up with Jesus and knew His Voice quite distinctly tells us we can hear His Voice.

Are you listening?

I want to hear God, you say. You hear of others speaking so freely about “God told me this…” “God spoke to me last night…” and your frustration level rises. Why can’t that be me? Why can’t I hear Him like that?

“Camel Knees” (a.k.a. James, because he spent so much time on his knees listening for his Elder Brother’s Voice) gives us a clue as subtle as a sledgehammer: “putting aside all filthiness and all that remains of wickedness, in humility receive the word implanted…” (James 1:21). The word translated “filthiness” is closely related to a word meaning ‘ear wax’! He is telling us that many cannot hear because of the ghastly buildup and the passageway is blocked. Let me illustrate.

I am in a wheelchair at present (duh).  Through my 27 years of disability I have been asked to come over to people’s homes countless times, and, many of those times have been hindered from going too far inside because of steps, rooms crowded with furniture, narrow doorways, what have you.  I believe we come to the Word in much the same way. “Come in, Lord. Speak to me.” Yet there is so much clutter, off-limits rooms, and, excuse me, wax buildup, that our Lord can get no further than the foyer of our hearts.

He’s always speaking. Am I listening? Can I hear?

In the same verse James tells us to “receive the Word with humility.” Guess what else hinders my hearing God? Selective hearing. When my agenda will overrule His Word to me, I will not hear. When I am already prejudiced against and deaf to Truth, He won’t waste words on me. But doers of the Word (v22) will have the blessing of a streaming dialogue with the Almighty!  

When the LORD called Abraham, He only had to say His name once and he said, “Here, LORD.” Such was the condition of the old patriarch’s heart. God knew His man had an abiding “yes” within and the two could share an ongoing conversation all his days. Guess they had Q-Tips back then, too.

Clean ears. Open hearts. Obedient lives. Want to hear God? Now you’re on the right frequency.

Go to this website for news concerning the tragic death of the Chapman’s daughter, Maria. You will also find a link on the page where you can view a touching video of Steven and Maria from two months ago.

Keep them all in your prayers during this painful time.