doubt – A Life Overseas |

For the times when you ask, “What good is that?”

The feeding of the five thousand is such a familiar story to me, it seems like I’ve always known it.

Jesus sees a huge crowd of people coming to look for Him and asks Philip, “Where can we buy bread to feed all these people?” When Philip only answers that they don’t have enough money to purchase food for everyone, Andrew points out a young boy with five barley loaves and two fish. “But what good is that with this huge crowd?” Andrew asks.

But what good is that??

What good is that?

This is something I repeatedly say to God.

“I offer you this, God. My life, my heart, my all.”

And then I turn around and faithlessly say, “But what good is that, with 7 billion people on this planet?” It’s nothing, not good for anything. You’ll never do anything important or valuable with that, I tell Him.

But Jesus is never in a quandary about how to use His created resources. When He spoke to Philip, “He already knew what He was going to do.” He already knew He was going to provide for the people. He already knew He was going to use a small sack lunch to feed the hungry crowd. He already knew He was going to perform a miracle and blow their minds yet again.

He already knew.

He knew He didn’t need much from the boy, only a little bit. He knew only a meager offering was required, because God Himself would multiply it.

And after He multiplies it, and everyone has eaten as much as they wanted, Jesus instructs them to “gather the leftovers so nothing is wasted.”

So nothing is wasted.

First He takes next-to-nothing from one of His followers. Then He multiplies it, filling empty bellies. And then — oh then — He scoops up the leftover bits of His miracle-working, and He wastes none of it. Not a single scrap.

So when I mourn over my offering to God, grieving that it’s not enough, perhaps I should dry my eyes. Perhaps I should remember instead.

Remember that He is the One who gave me my loaves and fishes in the first place.

Remember that when I offer my daily bread back to Him, He will use it as He sees fit.

Remember that He is the One who will multiply my small sacrifices for His own glory.

Remember that He is the One who uses even the leftovers of His miracles.

Remember that He is the One who will never waste my worship.

So when I tell Him still one more time, “What good is that, God,” perhaps I would be better served simply to still my mouth, to quiet my questions, and to wait. To wait, and keep watch for Him to use even the crumbs of my life for Himself.

Which is all I really want anyway.

adapted from here

When God Won’t Give Me What I Want

Is he really a “good, good Father”? We sing it often enough, and truth be told, I really like singing and talking about the good character that our Abba Father indeed has.

But sometimes it sounds like we’re desperately trying to convince ourselves. Because sometimes we doubt. And no wonder.

Because sometimes we ask for things that we don’t get it. We ask for more support and we’re still blank. We ask for healing for ourselves or someone we love, and they stay sick. Or they die.

We brush up against storms and trauma and we see horrific things and we question him. Where are you? Why this? Why him or her?

And they’re good questions. They really are.

And it’s OK to ask them. People of faith can (and must) ask these questions.

But still, resonating deeply, we wonder, is he a good Father?

Have you ever asked for bread and felt like you were given a stone? Or maybe you asked for a fish and were pretty sure he delivered a snake?

You ever wanted to take your receipt to the Manager and demand he get your order right, at least this one time?!

Yeah, me too.

What then?

Maybe Jesus says it’s bread, maybe he says it’s nourishing and important, but maybe it looks an awful lot like a rock. Do we throw it back in his face, screaming?

We signed up for food, right? For bread and fish and nourishment. We demand, Feed Me!

But the gifts don’t come like we thought they would. The rewards of obedience seem delayed or even replaced with cheaper trinkets. We feel lied to.

What then? Do we chuck it all, sinking into depression or rising into anger? Perhaps both?

Or do we pause and listen for his voice? His voice that says,

Trust me. Look at the cross, look at the empty grave, and trust me. The cross is the proof. I chose it. For the Father’s glory and your salvation. Because I do indeed give good gifts. Namely, myself.

Can we stop and remember these truths? For we serve a good Father who says,

I don’t give rocks and I don’t give snakes.

In fact, I roll away rocks and I crush snakes.

Give me time. Perhaps give me eternity, and I will show you the extent of my love for you.

My child. My little one. Be still.

Rest.

I am here, and I give good gifts.

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Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who seeks, finds. And to everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.

You parents—if your children ask for a loaf of bread, do you give them a stone instead? Or if they ask for a fish, do you give them a snake? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him.

Matthew 7:7-11

Worthless

I feel worthless.

The feeling rises and crests like an impending wave barreling towards the surface of my heart. And with each wave of worthlessness comes an intense weariness of soul, a near drowning.

The breakers seem to rise from nowhere. I can’t predict them, and that makes me mad. They’re not tied to whether my work or ministry is going well or faltering. They don’t seem to be related to whether or not folks approve of (or agree with) me. They just come. And break.

I wonder if I’m alone. Am I?

I don’t know enough of this language.
I’ll never know enough of this language.

I don’t know what I’m doing.
I have fewer skills than I thought I had.
I have fewer skills than they think I have.
I wonder when they’ll find out.

I haven’t accomplished what I came here to do.
I’ll never accomplish what I came here to do.
What did I come here to do?

This country doesn’t need me.
There are a lot of workers here already.
What can I do?

My passport country doesn’t need me.
There are a lot of workers there already.
I have nothing to offer.
I am worthless.

And the waves of worthlessness crash. And then I crash.

Do you know the feeling? I wonder how many of us know the feeling. I wonder how many of us have drowned in this feeling.

So now, I want to speak to the drowning ones, those gulping for air under the waves. To you, and to myself, I say “Remember your God who descends.”

“I love the Lord because He hears my voice and my prayer for mercy.
Because He bends down to listen, I will pray as long as I have breath.”
Psalm 116:1-2

Allow these truths to wash over your soul:

God not only hears your prayer, He hears your voice. He hears you, not just some list of words strung together in the form of adoration or petition or whatever. He is near enough to hear your voice, and loving enough to care.

He descends. He bends down to listen, to hear you. He’s not a distant, aloof dad who requires his children to “speak up and for goodness sake enunciate.” He bends down to love you. This is your God.

He is not a God hidden away in a Holy Place, high on a hill. He is not sulking behind a giant curtain in a Temple, coldly demanding allegiance “or else.” He is a God who takes that Temple curtain, that holiness, and wraps it around His own flesh and blood and bones and joins you. And wonder of wonders, He wraps you up in His holiness, covering your worthlessness, calling you worthy.

Worthy of His affection.

Worthy of His love.

Even worthy of His dance.

So if you find yourself drowning in worthlessness, remember. Remember the King who descends. Remember the Father who sings. Remember that He loved you before you even accomplished breathing.

So let go my soul and trust in Him
The waves and wind still know His name
It is well with my soul.

More thoughts from the dark:
Demon & Divine

The Ignorant Bliss of a Know-It-All

When we stomped off to mission school we knew we were headed to Bolivia. We knew the five-fold reach of our ministry would be: churches, bible schools, social outreaches, Bolivian missionaries sent out, and mass media productions. Our shiny vision statement listed everything in plural with big numbers. We knew that we knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, as they say, what our next few decades, heck, what the rest of our lives looked like.

Or so I thought.

The Ignorant Bliss of a Know It All darkened valley.docx

This November 1^st marks 13 years in Bolivia. So much has changed in that relatively short span of time. I miss the ignorant bliss of being a know-it-all.

Right now as I walk through the valley-of-the-shadow one of the few certainties I have is the shadow of doubt.

See if you can identify a pattern as I share some of our journey.

We were pastors of a local church for 8 years. We are no longer the pastors.

From that church Bolivian missionaries have been sent out. The congregation is still connected to these sacrificial souls, yet we are not directly involved.

We ran a bible school program for over a decade during which time we helped start over 60 training centers throughout South America. We no longer oversee that program.

We led a series of leadership conferences attended by thousands throughout Bolivia and South America over the span of 12 years. We no longer do that.

We authored, translated, and published a number of books and biblical teaching material. We also made available online resources. We discontinued our production department.

Three things have survived the start-stop process that characterizes our efforts.

We founded an orphanage that has helped over 50 kids in the last 8 years. Fourteen kids still live in the House of Dreams. We decided to not accept new children.

We started a K-12 Christian school six years ago. Over 100 kids, the orphans and ours included, receive bi-lingual education from a Bolivian staff.

We purchased the town’s only bowling alley a few years back in hopes to create sustainability within Bolivia. We still hope to see positive results.

In some of the examples above the transition meant Bolivians now lead the operations. In other cases the programs simply stopped. We were able to check off all five things we set out to do from the start. We should be ecstatic!

So why do I feel like crap? Why do I battle depression? Why does doubt feel like a noose around my soul’s throat?

The trade off was too big. Home life is strained. Our finances suffer under huge debt. Relationships have become difficult. I could go on with the list of stressful situations we face; I’ll leave the rest for my skype call counseling sessions.

The ancient story of the Hebrews who clamored for a king haunts my heart. They thought they asked for a good thing. Finally, God answered their prayers in the affirmative. He gives them a king, even though He knows they will be sorry. He knows the oppression they invite when they transfer the rule to human hands.

This shadow of doubt that hangs over my head tells me history repeats itself. Why should I think I would have been any wiser than those folks back then? I truly thought I asked God for a handful of really great stuff. He answered our prayers in the affirmative. Did He know we would be sorry?

King David wrote the psalm I have alluded to with my talk of shadows. Maybe if you are alongside me in a dark, shadowy time we might be comforted as we contemplate the truth of these words.

…though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me…
(Psalm 23:4)

Another scriptural reference to shadows speaks of an unexpected source of darkness.

This deconstruction has been a long, painful unclenching of the fists of control. Surrender thumps as a mandate, a warning of worse if not heeded. So maybe this shadow of death and doubt, as I relinquish and mourn the loss of these good works, comes not from the evil one. Or if it does, there may be a greater Good overshadowing the immediate struggles.

David as king was not God’s original plan, but He worked with it. Listen to the words of this warrior poet about a trustworthy shadow.

“David, when he fled from Saul into the cave: Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me! For my soul trusts in You; And in the shadow of Your wings I will make my refuge, Until these calamities have passed by.” (Psalm 57:1)

More verses about the Almighty’s shadow: Psalm 17:8 , Psalm 36:7, Psalm 63:7, Psalm 91:1

So darkness closes in and I can’t see the path. I walk slow and unsure, weary and wary. Maybe you are right here beside me, unseen but within ear-shot. This is me calling out to you. I extend to you solidarity in the hurt.

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Are you going through a similar season in your life? Have you had to live through relinquishment and loss? In the interest of conversation please add your thoughts below in the comment section.