This Day

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“This is the day that the Lord has made.
Rejoice and be glad in it.”
Psalm 118:24

The year was 1996. I can’t remember the month or the week; only that it was a Monday. One day in 1996.

This day, this Monday, was near the birth of my life of faith. A few weeks earlier, God had breathed new life into my spiritually dead body. I found myself a new believer, an infant in Christ at the age of 25, charting a course for the future.

This day, this Monday, I was reading one of several chapters in the book, Seven Promises of a Promise Keeper, and was working on a special assignment: a personal prayer.

I sat thinking, pondering, then writing. Simple words formed a clear prayer for my future family. It would be a gift to my family. A prayer that would reflect thankfulness to God, and a commitment to trust and follow Him. It was a sincere prayer, the prayer of a child in Christ.

It went something like this: “Heavenly Father, we thank you for this day. We thank you for the many blessings that you have given us. We ask that you would bless this food to nourish our bodies – to give us strength that we might delight in your will and walk in your ways.”

A simple sentence began that prayer, “We thank you for this day.” A simple sentence that contains an even simpler phrase, “this day.”

Since I first wrote that prayer, more than 4,500 “this days” have come and gone. The sun has risen and set on thousands of days. Some really good days. And some really hard days.

That phrase, “thank you for this day,” has passed from my lips countless times. So many times that the words often seem to launch without so much as a thought.

To be honest, I often fail to fully engage until a few sentences later. But today I caught myself. “This day.” “This day?”

Why do I thank God for “this day”? Why do you thank God for “this day”? Why should we thank God for “this day”?

Had the phrase lost its meaning?

Upon further reflection, the phrase, though brief, has potential for great depth. When prayed intentionally, thanking God for “this day” can provide us with a view to the past, the present and the future.

The view to the past reminds us that “this day” is the product of God’s work in our lives over months, years, even decades. He has been at work – in ways that we see and ways that we never see.

Without that work in my life, I don’t know where I would be. I do know it wouldn’t be good. Emptiness. Lack of purpose. Divorce. Wounded children. They were all in my future. But God had other plans. Plans that began with one “this day.” This “this day” – today – is the product of those plans of God and can truly be described as “the day that the Lord has made.” I can (and should) rejoice and be glad in it.

The view to the past also reminds us of the promises of the future. As a good friend once said, “God’s past faithfulness builds future confidence.” We can be confident in “this day” and the days to come because of the faithfulness of God.

As the classic hymn Amazing Grace rightly leads us to sing:
Through many dangers, toils, and snares
I have already come;
'tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
and grace will lead me home.

The road of faith has its share of bumps and potholes, not to mention head-on collisions. But as we witness God’s presence and grace bearing us up through rough courses and healing the whiplash that life sometimes deals out, we come to possess an unshakeable hope. An unshakeable hope that He will bring us through whatever might come our way. (Rom 5:3-5; 2Cor 1:10)

As a result, fear of the unknown is replaced by confidence in the One who is known. Because of God’s faithfulness in the past, we have a view to the future that is filled with confidence and hope.

Finally, the phrase “this day” is a critical one to remind us that “this day” is unique. Once it passes, it is gone forever – along with its opportunities. They are opportunities we don’t want to miss. Opportunities to give thanks. Opportunities to grow our faith. Opportunities to glorify God. To make things right. To love our neighbors as ourselves. To shine the light of Christ into someone else’s life.

“This day” is not only about today. It is about the past – the past faithfulness of God. It is about the present – the present work of God in and through our lives. It is about the future – a future filled with promise and hope.

May thanking God for “this day” remind us of the past, keep us watchful in the present and give us hope for the future.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD,
plans for wholeness and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.”

Jeremiah 29:11

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POSTSCRIPT

Can you see the work of God in your life? Or is this a foreign concept to you? Has that new day – the birth of a life of true faith – dawned for you? Do you have hope for the future that depends not on yourself but on an unshakeable God? That is what your heavenly Father offers you through faith in his Son, Jesus Christ.

It is no light commitment, however. It is one in which we answer the call of Christ to “follow me,” wherever He leads. Jesus wants nothing less than all of us – our whole heart, our whole mind, and access to our every corner of our life.

He says that the road of faith is narrow and difficult, but it is the road that leads to life. The wide and easy road that so many of us choose to follow leads only to our own destruction.

He tells us that in following Him we will find true life (John 6:35) and contentment we can find nowhere else (John 14:6). He says we will possess fullness of joy (John 15:11). And He promises that, though we die physically, we shall live with Him forever in Paradise – the Extreme Home Improvement version of the Garden of Eden (John 11:25).

Sometimes we treat God as if He were someone we needed to defend ourselves against. We raise up a shield to keep Him away as if He were a cosmic fun stopper. But a cosmic fun stopper He is not.

He is a wonderful, devoted Father who went to great expense to show His love for you. He is the creator of every good thing. Though we stop up our ears, He shouts His love for us in myriad ways: spectacular sunsets, majestic mountains, calming ocean tides, culinary delights, the compassion of a friend, the embrace of a child. They are all good things. They are all gifts given by a good God.

Today, “this day,” is He calling you? Do you hear a whisper in your soul? A gentle whisper calling you to lay down the shield? To stop running? And to turn to the source of true life and true joy?

He’s waiting. He really is. And He’s more ready to embrace you than you are to turn.

Stop. Lay it down. Turn.

The sooner you do, the sooner you’ll discover a part of you that was meant to be crazy about Him too.

Our Refuge

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“For you have been a stronghold to the poor,
a stronghold to the needy in his distress,
a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat.”
Isa 25:4

My family and I live in Phoenix, Arizona. Certain times of year we count that a blessing and others we wonder if it might be a curse.

“Valley of the Sun” is the moniker given to Phoenix some time ago. It is a fitting nickname as we enjoy an average of 334 days of sunshine per year. In January it rolls off the tongue so nicely as bundled up reporters deliver images of blizzards and word of sub-zero windchills in other parts of the country. “Ahhh, yes,” we say to ourselves, “we are blessed to be in the Valley of the Sun.”

The Summer, however, can find us singing a bit of a different tune. After 14 consecutive days of 100+ temps and relentless sun, those 334 days of sunshine can seem like 300 too many. We begin to wish that the 31 days of clouds would arrive all in a row to give us a much needed break. It is at this point that I often modify the nickname: Valley of the Scorching Sun.

The sun seemed to unleash its full fury on me recently as I enjoyed a run through our neighborhood. The advent of September had reduced its intensity some, but it was still plenty fierce for me. I found myself criss-crossing the streets to take advantage of shade trees - even planning the next segment of my route based on the maturity of its foliage and the angle of the sun. I relished in the coolness of every patch of shade and the relief it brought to my weary muscles as cool air swept over them.

Life can be like that sun of ours. It too has its seasons.

Some days we bask in its warm glow. We are living the dream. Enjoying the moment and the truly precious gifts that have come our way. Thankfulness wells up within us, refreshing our resolve and seasoning our speech.

And then there are the scorchers. Those days where life seems to have our number and “fate” seems to treat us like its little brother – pushing every button we have until our patience and our tongue are ready to burst into flame. It is on those days that we wonder how much more we can take. It is on those days that peace seems more like a distant cousin than a close companion.

When I am in the middle of a scorcher, I often need to remind myself that a good God created everything – including life (Gen 1). That He had ordered and numbered my days (including this one) before the first beat of my heart (Psa 139:16). That the One who created the sun also created the trees. He who created the heat also gives us the coolness of a patch of shade.

The funny thing about that patch of shade is that you have to run to it if you want to experience its coolness. Far too often, it seems, we want to experience the peace of God without ever seeking His presence. We want him to shade us from life’s scorchers, but we don’t bother to take refuge in the shadow of His wings (Psa 36:7). We want all of the life-giving benefits of a pit stop, but we continue around the track at 150 miles per hour without ever pulling in.

After 5 years of seminary classes, some assignments stand out for their sheer workload while others stand out for the blessing they bestowed. I remember the latter most clearly. A dear professor gave us this homework assignment one week: Go into a closet or other quiet place and spend 45 minutes with the Lord. Don’t talk. Don’t pray. Don’t ask. Just be still – inside and out – before the Lord.

We turned in a brief paragraph about the experience. I just re-read mine. For the sake of space, I won’t tell you everything, but I will tell you that it includes the word “struggle” (we’re not used to being quiet, you know). But it also includes words like “serenity” and “peacefulness” as well as “vision.”

Are you in a scorcher? Where will you find the shade you need?

Are you still out on the track? Your crew chief is beckoning you to pull in for a pit stop.

His refuge is waiting.

Take refuge in the shadow of your Father’s wings and let the coolness of his presence refresh your weary spirit.

“You keep him in perfect peace
whose mind is stayed on you,
because he trusts in you.
Trust in the Lord forever,
for the Lord God is an everlasting rock.”
Isaiah 26:3-4

Where's My Miracle Part 2 - "A Greater Promise"

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And he said, “Where have you laid him?”
They said to him, “Lord, come and see.”

Jesus wept.

So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”

But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of
the blind man also have kept this man from dying?”
John 11:34-37

There’s something interesting about family. Ok, rephrase that. There are a lot of interesting things about family. But I’m thinking of one in particular. Have you ever noticed that we often show less courtesy to our own family members than we do to total strangers? Is it just that familiarity breeds contempt or is something else at work?

On a lighter note, I sometimes joke about my brother’s version of a family discount – he’ll sell me anything for just 20% more than he would sell it to a total stranger. Maybe he just knows what he can get out of me. In any event, it’s something we can both laugh about.

Jesus had family, too. A family that was very human – they even mocked his ministry in the beginning. Jesus’ earthly family was probably a lot like ours – some were blood relatives and some of them were just so close that they felt like family.

Well, if anyone was close enough to Jesus to be called family, it was a pair of sisters – Mary and Martha. Mary and Martha lived with their brother Lazarus in a town called Bethany. It’s likely that their home was a frequent destination for Jesus. Hospitality was huge in the Jewish world at this time and it appears that this family had a special place in the heart of Jesus.

If anyone was in good standing with God in the flesh, it was this family. And that is what makes the death of Lazarus, the brother, such a huge question mark. We don’t know what he died of, but we know he was sick for a few days – plenty of time for Jesus to get there and prevent his death.

The Gospels are filled with Jesus healing total strangers of all kinds of debilitating diseases – blindness, paralysis, leprosy, you name it. You’d think he would rush to the scene when a good friend like Lazarus is at deaths’ door.

But he doesn’t.

It’s not that he doesn’t know. He does. (John 11:3)

And it’s not that he doesn’t care. He does. (John 11:5)

Yet he seemingly does nothing. (John 11:6)

Lazarus is slipping. People are praying. His sisters are crying. And where is Jesus? About 2 days away. Waiting. Waiting for what? Waiting for Lazarus to die.

So, when does Jesus show up? After Mary and Martha have been mourning their brothers’ death and, I imagine, questioning Jesus’ compassion. After four days of mourning and questioning, Jesus finally shows up.

It is a painful scene – one many of us are all too familiar with. Tears come in streams. The sound of weeping fills the house as family members arrive to cry, to console, and to comfort. Each knock at the door brings another familiar face and another wave of emotion. The death of Lazarus is recounted and re-lived time and again.

An elephant looms large in the room. It is the question everyone is asking, just not out loud: “Where was your friend, Jesus? Where was your miracle?”

Mary and Martha are in the middle of this scene when word arrives that Jesus is coming down the road.

We see the pain in Mary’s response: she has no response - at least not outwardly. She simply remains in the house, resigned. What pulsed through her heart at that moment? Anger? Doubt? Betrayal? All three?

And then there is Martha. She bolts out the door and charges down the road. When she meets Jesus, we see no embrace. Instead we see a bit of a rebuke, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” In other words, “Where were you?!? Where was our miracle?!?”

It’s a perplexing question, really. Jesus healed total strangers and yet allowed his friend to die. Jesus even healed people that didn’t ask for it. Yet when his closest friends sent for help, he left them waiting. He left them wondering. And then he left them mourning.

For the record, I’m relieved that Jesus didn’t heal Lazarus when he was sick. Because it means that I am not the only follower of Christ who, like Mary and Martha, has watched and waited for Jesus to come, only to see someone I love take her last breath.

I’m grateful that Jesus didn’t heal Lazarus. Because it tells me that Jesus knows and Jesus cares – even if he doesn’t show up in the way we would like him to.

And I’m glad that the tomb of Lazarus’ reeked of decomposition by the time Jesus showed up. Because it gives proof of a greater promise.

A greater promise? Yes, a greater promise! You see, all those people who were healed eventually died. The paralytics, the lame, the blind, the lepers. They all died. And even those few that Jesus raised from the dead during his earthly ministry all eventually died again.

But Lazarus was a believer. Jesus wanted to give Lazarus and his closest friends a taste of the promise he really came to make. Jesus never promised his followers a life of comfort here and now. He never promised a life free from suffering, pain or loss. He never even promised a long life.

No. He promised that he would overcome this world, this life. That after this life of struggle, disappointment and heartache, something greater awaits those who trust in Jesus – even when he seems two days away.

You see, Lazarus’ death was no accident. It was to display the glory of God and deepen the faith of all who witnessed what would come next: the raising of Lazarus from the dead.

Notice that when Jesus showed up and faced Martha on the road that day, he didn’t define himself as “the healer.” No. He said, “I am the resurrection and the life.” And he wasn’t talking about this life. This life, the here and now, is important, but the ultimate promise – the greater promise – is in the life to come. A greater life than we will ever know here.

Mary and Martha and Lazarus were followers of Christ. They were in. They were family. And right now, at this very moment, they are experiencing the promise. A greater promise. An eternal promise.

A life that requires no mourning. A life that never disappoints. But a life that comes only in our death. It is a giving up of the temporary in order to obtain the eternal. Ahh, yes. Now that sounds like the promise of Jesus.

“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live,
and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.”

John 11:25-26