I clicked on the link July 2013 and found this post. It was written on a very hot day, most unlike this very chilly late November afternoon. Interestingly, though, I am having a repair done this week on the very same car I spoke about in this post. The car is now certifiably elderly, in car years even older than I am. Tomorrow it will be getting a repair that I assume is even more costly than the one I mentioned here five and a half years ago.
The fact that I am still repairing this old tool of mine is a bad news/good news story. Bad because, well, "normal" people just go buy a new car; but good because this is a tool the Lord has somehow helped me keep going. Also because there have been many times when this repair would have been impossible. Right now it's simply one of several large obstacles, which is a very different thing.
Lord, I love You.
This past week, there was a sweltering heat wave here. The mean daytime temperature in my house (downstairs) was 31 Celsius, not including humidity, and that was with the ceiling fan going. Relief finally arrived late last night -- today feels like heaven. I had a very restless night on Thursday. Not only from the build-up of stifling heat, but from concerns about the unexpected expenses I've had this summer. The most recent one was a car repair I wasn't anticipating -- another large car repair is due before winter, so I was hoping this bill would be more manageable. It wasn't. The bill came to exactly $100 more than I had been told, so either the person read me the number wrong when I called to double-check the amount, or I heard it wrong. I wrote it down very carefully, but who knows -- maybe my ears played a trick on me. ...I tried sleeping downstairs, where it was slightly cooler. Eventually I abandoned that plan and came back upstairs. I slept a while, then got up and drenched myself in cool water and returned to bed. This helped, but not enough. I came downstairs and sat in a chair, sipping ice water until my body temperature began to return to normal. By this time it was around dawn. At some point, either at dawn or at another restless interval in the night, the Lord led me to open His word to Deuteronomy 33, where Moses blesses the sons of Israel. He drew my eyes to the blessing of Benjamin, which I don't recall ever noticing before. The words felt like a cool embrace. "May the beloved of the Lord dwell in security by Him, Who shields him all the day, And he dwells between His shoulders." Deuteronomy 33:12b I thought for a moment about this picture. To dwell between His shoulders could mean either being carried on His back, or being held close to His chest, with His arms wrapped around us. Or it could mean both. Sometimes He carries us, but more often He allows us to walk through difficult things, but shields us tightly in His arms. Our God is an intimate God -- not a far-away power who watches us dispassionately. To be God's beloved is to be given His promise of security. Not a promise that all troubles will instantly fade, but a promise of His cool embrace on a fiery summer night, or His warm embrace when winter blizzards pound the windows. To dwell in His security is a promise, but it's also a lesson. We have to learn it. I am learning it, although slowly. When we declare to Him, "I have decided to trust You," the things that happen next may challenge our resolve. Things like an unexpected car repair, or a bill that's higher than expected. Or who knows what. Is God less able to handle certain things than others? As many of God's beloved ones can testify, surviving a week of oppressive weather is nothing compared with carrying a heavy burden for a very, very long time. A burden that God has allowed -- but why? He doesn't have to answer that. It will all become clear one day. He may lift the burden suddenly, like a morning fog. But in the meantime, we are (if we are willing) shielded in His arms. Our address is this: between His shoulders. Sometimes carried, always embraced. I have decided to trust Him. He is God. The shoulders that embrace me are mighty, and they are gentle. I will dwell here. |