The “flarings of a scared but burning heart”

I’ve been telling you that I seemed to hear God asking me to place Him—not my children and my relationship with them—in first place in my life.

 

I admitted to you that my words couldn’t capture the utter rawness, the unspeakable ravages of dying to oneself in order to die to one’s children, even when we do it because God is asking that of us. (Click here to read “I could say ‘Yes’ to God, or I could say ‘No’”.)

 

“Letting something precious go is . . . unbearable,” writes Chuck Swindoll. “The  parting cannot happen without inward bleeding.” (Good Morning, Lord . . . Can We Talk?)

 

In Chapter 2 of Grandma’s Letters from Africa, I wrote:

 

This month-long process left me emotionally spent but, afterward, I could fill out the application to Wycliffe Bible Translators.

 

I filled it out because I knew that if joining Wycliffe was not God’s plan for us, He had power enough to prevent it.

 

I gave Him every opportunity to show us green lights and send us to Africa or red lights and keep us home.

 

In the meantime, I kept taking the next step, and the next, all the while watching for God’s answer.

 

In the end, He gave us only green lights:

 

Wycliffe found no problems with our applications.

 

Next, we passed our phone interviews.

 

And we spent a month at a Wycliffe facility in the lovely mountains and forests of Idyllwild, California: training, testing, and interviewing—and we passed all those requirements, too.

 

I had my answer.

 

In giving me that answer, God responded to my earlier protestations about not wanting to dismantle our home or leave my family or move away from beautiful Port Angeles, Washington. He addressed my worries about giving up a steady income and health insurance.

 

I could almost hear God whisper, “It’s okay to dismantle your home. Give family heirlooms to your children or put them in storage, and throw out the junk.

 

“You worry about your parents, but your brothers and I will care for them.

 

“You feel bad about leaving your friends, but true friendships will endure, and I will introduce you to new friends in Africa.

 

“You don’t want to leave the beauty of Port Angeles, but wait until you see Africa’s splendor.

 

“Let go of your tight grip on your paycheck and health insurance. Find a better security in Me.”

 

Then God seemed to say, “Now, about your children—don’t you know I love them even more than you do? You can trust Me with them.”

 

Knowing God’s answer didn’t take away the pain, but my heart melted when He asked me to believe He loved my Matt and my Karen even more than I did.

 

It was a “Stop—take off your sandals” moment.

A burning bush moment.

A standing-on-holy-ground moment. 

(Exodus 3:1-5)

 

Jenilee Goodwin writes, “When God speaks, he is inviting you into his story. He’s about to do something in you, in your family, in your work, in your country, in your life. He is looking for those who are listening, those who are saying, ‘Here I am.’

 

Jennilee continues: “His eyes are seeking those who are willing to hear what He’s saying and participate in the greater story.”

 

“I wondered if this was how beginnings were made,” writes Sue Monk Kid, “—in the momentary flarings of a scared but burning heart.” (When the Heart Waits)

 

I could do only two things:

Trust God to manage my kids’ consequences

because of our move to Africa,

and then turn and take an extreme,

and blind, leap of faith. 

(from Chapter 2, Grandma’s Letters from Africa)

 

 

Still wrestling down that elephant in the room

Let’s continue looking at that elephant in the room. Last week I noted that Chuck Swindoll nailed it when he said, “Sometimes people and things can become too important to us. We grip them with closed fists and white knuckles, and God has to pry open our fingers to loosen our hold.” (Abraham, The Friend of God) 

God was trying to pry open my fists so I’d hold my young adult children less fiercely. And it hurt. Oh, yes, it hurt! 

But God asked many people before me to loosen their grip on their kids, too. 

Think about Abraham. 

At first it makes no sense that the God of grace, the God of mercy, comfort, and unfailing love would ask Abraham to offer his son Isaac as a burnt offering (Genesis 22:2). 

God had promised Abraham this son, Isaac. God had promised descendants through Isaac—as many as the stars in the heavens. He’d promised to make Isaac’s descendants into a great nation and give them the Promised Land. He’d said that all people on earth would be blessed through Isaac. 

And yet God wanted Abraham to put Isaac to death? 

Now, God and Abraham had already enjoyed a long, close relationship, the type illustrated in Genesis 17:3—when God appeared before him, Abraham fell on his face. 

“Note the times when Abraham did not speak before God but remained silent before Him—not sullen, but silent. Awe is just that—reverential dread and wonder. . . . Awe is the condition of a man’s spirit when he realizes who God is and what He has done for him personally. . . . 

“Abraham’s posture is an expression of deep humility, trustful confidence, and pure joy—the characteristics of faith in God." (Oswald Chambers, Not Knowing Where; [emphasis added]). 

That’s important information. God made His request within the context of a trusting, personal relationship. 

The NIV study Bible note for Genesis 22:2 reads: “Abraham had [previously] committed himself by covenant to be obedient to the Lord and had consecrated his son Isaac to the Lord.” 

Given that, God’s request of Abraham seemed based on, and a result of, Abraham’s willingness to “walk the talk,” to follow through on his covenant and commitments. 

One key to understanding God’s bizarre request is the burnt offering. The NIV Study Bible explains: “The Hebrew word for ‘offering’ used here [Leviticus 1:2-3] comes from the word translated ‘brings.’ An ‘offering’ is something that someone ‘brings’ to God as a gift (most offerings are voluntary, such as the burnt offering). . . . Anyone could offer special burnt offerings to express devotion to the Lord.” An NIV Study Bible chart defines burnt offering as a voluntary act of worship, an expression of devotion, commitment, and complete surrender to God [emphasis added]. 

God asked Abraham if he’d offer up Isaac voluntarily, as an act of worship, as a gift, as an expression of his devotion to Him. 

“The Lord put his servant’s faith and loyalty to the supreme test, thereby instructing Abraham, Isaac and their descendants as to the kind of total consecration the Lord’s covenant requires” (NIV Study Bible note for Genesis 22:2). 

“The very nature of faith is that it must be tried; faith untried is only ideally real, not actually real. . . . God proved Abraham’s faith by placing him in the most extreme crisis possible, for faith must prove itself by the inward concession of the believer’s dearest objects.” (Oswald Chambers, Not Knowing Where) 

God asked Abraham, as part of their covenant, to give Him his dearest and best so He could give Abraham gems and buried treasure: His better. 

This was God’s supreme test of Abraham’s faith and loyalty. 

This was a pivotal point in Abraham’s life. He could do what God asked, or he could pretend God had not spoken. 

Abraham was about to discover if indeed God was his first priority. 

And as for me: God was offering me a glimpse into whether or not He was my first priority.

 

It seemed all wrong

God was asking me to die to the dreams I’d always embraced—dreams of living close to my kids. 

He was asking me to move half a world away from my daughter, Karen, immediately after she graduated from college. 

He was asking me to move half a world away from my son, Matt, a year out of college, and his wife, Jill, and the grandchild they would surely give Dave and me soon. 

In Chapter 2 of Grandma’s Letters from Africa, I wrote that leaving Matt and Karen hurt more than anything I’d ever experienced. 

A couple of years before we moved to Africa, Dave asked me each day, “Have you filled it out yet?” 

“It” was my application for Wycliffe Bible Translators. I knew Dave wanted a different job. Maybe his current one lacked purpose. Or perhaps he suffered from a mid-life crisis. All his life, he yearned to avoid mediocrity, to break out of the status quo. Probably all those factors led to  his urgent need to serve God in Wycliffe. 

For some reason, though, I couldn’t fill out the application. I tried several times. I placed my pen on the application, but I couldn’t fill in the blanks. 

Finally, I figured out my problem. I didn’t want to apply to Wycliffe. I didn’t want to get rid of our furniture, our treasures, our possessions. 

I didn’t want to dismantle our home. The house I could leave—it needed repairs—but I didn’t want to tear apart what it symbolized—“home.” We had raised our children in it, we had made memories in it. 

I didn’t want to live far away from my mother or Dave’s parents. I didn’t want to say goodbye to friends. 

I didn’t want to leave Port Angeles, with its forests, mountains, and sea. 

I didn’t want to give up the security of employment, income, and health insurance. 

But mostly I didn’t want to leave my children. 

Everything within me cried out that they still needed their parents. I recognized they didn’t need us the way they did when they were little, but I believed they needed our behind-the-scenes support to transition out of college and into the world of professionals. 

Dave didn’t understand my thinking. 

But how could he not feel what I felt? 

Matt and Jill would have each other, but our Karen would be all alone. That just didn’t seem right. In fact, it seemed all wrong. 

But sometimes God works in mysterious ways. Here’s what was going on—dear Chuck Swindoll nailed it: 

“Sometimes people and things can become too important to us. We grip them with closed fists and white knuckles, and God has to pry open our fingers to loosen our hold.” (Abraham: The Friend of God) 

That’s what was going on. And it hurt. Oh, yes, it hurt!

 

“Closed fists and white knuckles”

 

I’m still trying to bring down The Elephant in the Room.

 

“Sometimes people and things can become too important to us. We grip them with closed fists and white knuckles,” Chuck Swindoll writes, “and God has to pry open our fingers to loosen our hold. Perhaps that’s how it was between Abraham and Isaac.” (Abraham, The Friend of God)

 

Swindoll also writes:

 

“There are times when we look up full-hearted and prayerfully say, “O, Lord, in this crisp, clear, beautiful moment, You have everything that I own. You have all of me. There is nothing, nothing that I hold back.”

 

“It’s amazing how soon after those times of commitment God seems to require something sacred in our lives that puts us to the test.”

 

I know what he means. In a recent post, and in Chapter 2 of Grandma’s Letters from Africa I wrote of my grief over God’s request to leave my kids (and future grandkids) and move to Africa—and yet . . .

 

. . . And yet, I thought of the times I had felt God’s tug, and the accompanying pain in my heart, while I sang the words—sincerely, I thought—“Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life my all.” (When I Survey the Wondrous Cross, Isaac Watts and Lowell Mason)

 

Had I really meant those words?

 

My all? Even my children?

 

While God waited for my answer, I thought about the summer of my 15th year when our youth director challenged us to commit our lives one hundred percent to God. A few kids went forward but I remained in my chair, weighing what that commitment might entail.

 

I recognized I could neither see into the future nor fully comprehend God’s ways, and yet, after a few minutes of intense thought and prayer, I stood and walked forward. I really meant it—at the time.

 

And now God was offering me an opportunity to see if I still really meant it.

 

Though I didn’t understand it at the time, God was offering me a gift, offering to bring my faith, trust, and love for Him to a higher, deeper, broader level.

 

Accepting His gift, however, meant I had to sort through my entangled loyalties.

 

Recently I ran across notes I took while listening to Chuck Swindoll’s radio program around that time:

 

“God might be saying, ‘I want the Isaac of your life, without reservation, and I will show you step by step why I want your Isaac. You struggle because you’re unwilling to give God something you cherish. God wants first place in your life so He can arrange it the way He wants and so that you may be supremely happy.”

 

That “supremely happy” Chuck referenced has nothing to do with worldly happiness, material possessions, status, a guaranteed income, a comfortable life, an easy life, or even safety from dangers.

 

It has everything to do with the happiness that comes from letting God have first place in our lives—as much as we are humanly able.

 

We cannot love Him perfectly, 

we cannot give Him first place in our lives perfectly, 

but God knows that we’re mere humans 

and is quick to extend us His mercy and grace. 

He’s looking not for perfect people, 

but for people after His own heart. 

(Click on Becoming A Man or Woman After God’s Own Heart; 

see also 1 Samuel 13:14 and Acts 13:22.)

 

More on this next week. We’ve almost wrestled that elephant to the ground!

 

But I don’t WANT to leave Port Angeles

Sometimes people give me a funny look when they learn I worked in Africa with Wycliffe Bible Translators.

I sense they have questions but are too polite to ask. Questions like, 

“Why would you do such a thing?”

and “Weren’t you scared to go to Africa?”

Many, I suspect, think to themselves,

“There’s no way I’D move to Africa.”

My sentiments exactly!

But both God and my husband had grinned and hollered, “Africa!”

I tried so hard to avoid moving there.

Perhaps you remember the song, “Please Don’t Send Me To Africa.” (If not, don't miss it. It's hilarious. Just click on that link.)

The lyrics include: 

“Please don’t make me do something weird,” 

and 

“Please don’t make me do what I fear.… I was thinking of retiring here.”

Back then I didn’t know about that song, but I could have written those words myself.

Below is an excerpt from Grandma’s Letters from Africa that shows you a part—only a teeny-tiny part—of my struggle:

… For some reason … I couldn’t fill out the application. I tried several times. I placed my pen on the application, but I couldn’t fill in the blanks.

Finally, I figured out my problem. I didn’t want to apply to Wycliffe. I didn’t want to get rid of our furniture, our treasures, or our possessions. I didn’t want to dismantle our home.… I didn’t want to say goodbye to friends. I didn’t want to leave Port Angeles, with its forests, mountains, and sea.… 

Arriving in Port Angeles from the east

Every time I howled at God, “I don’t want…” I stomped my foot. I was carrying out a “belligerent balk.” (I think that is Chuck Swindoll’s term.)

“I don’t WANT to apply…!” Stomp!

“I don’t WANT to get rid of our furniture…!” Stomp!

“I don’t WANT to dismantle our home…!” Stomp!

“I don’t WANT to say goodbye to friends!” Stomp!

“I don’t WANT to leave Port Angeles, with its forests, mountains, and sea…!” Stomp!

When you look at these photos of Port Angeles, you’ll no doubt agree: God’s handiwork is breathtaking.

Now you can better understand why I didn’t want to leave that lovely scenery.

But I did leave. God seemed to whisper, “You don’t want to leave the beauty of Port Angeles--but wait until I show you Africa’s splendor!”

And He did. Oh, yes, He did!

How about you? Maybe you recall a time when you stomped your foot and howled at God, “I don’t WANT to…!”

Did you do it anyway? How did it turn out?

Let us know. You can leave a comment below, on Facebook, or in a private message.  

This homebody changed countries seventeen times in fourteen months

All I ever wanted was to live a quiet, secure life in a little white house with a picket fence and a rose garden but, as I told you a few days ago, my husband Dave and our adventuresome God had other plans. Just when our youngest finished college, both Dave and God hollered, “Africa!”

Not only had I wished to live a predictable, serene, uninterrupted, sheltered life—I also wanted a travel-free life. For years I had awakened every morning and realized I’d had yet another bad dream about travel.

Maybe I had been on a train speeding down the tracks, knowing I needed to get off someplace—but where? Or perhaps I was on a city bus and needed to get off and transfer to another route—but where? Or I had arrived at a dock to board an ocean-going vessel headed toward foreign shores when I discovered I’d forgotten to bring my passport. And on and on.

It was worse than not being a fan of travel—I had a lot of angst about travel. And I wanted to stay put!

Yet God seemed to stand there and say, “My best plans for you involve both Africa and travel.” Period.

I wanted to avoid facing my fear of travel. God wanted me to face it, stare it down. Overcome it.

To begin with, He sent me to Africa, and getting there required quite a journey—to the opposite side of the world.

But that was only the beginning. Once I got there, God gave me a job that required travel. A lot of travel.

I started my memoir, Grandma’s Letters from Africa, with an example of what my job required:

September 29, 1994 

Nairobi, Kenya 

Dear Maggie,

I awoke at four this morning, unable to sleep any longer. Ah, I thought, surprised, I’m still not over jet lag. I had arrived back in Nairobi twenty-eight hours earlier and thought I should’ve recovered from jet lag but, to my dismay, I had not.

I lay there in bed mentally drawing lines, tracing my journeys over the past fourteen months: the United States, England, Scotland, Kenya, Cameroon, Burkina Faso, Niger, back to Burkina Faso, Senegal, Ivory Coast, Togo, Ethiopia, Kenya, Canada, the United States, Holland, and back to Kenya. As of today, I have changed countries seventeen times in fourteen months. 

Imagine! This homebody had changed countries seventeen times in fourteen months! Not states, but countries—nations. On three continents.

Do you suppose God was being mean-spirited when He gave me a job that required travel? And not easy travel, either—often international journeys have unique challenges, especially when those countries are in a place like Africa.

I don’t think God was being mean. He knew my fear was something I needed to change. Perhaps He was acting like a good coach, saying, “You can do this. Work hard. Work harder. Persevere.” If I’d been paying close attention, I probably could have sensed him saying, “I’ll help you. Trust Me.”

I love Chuck Swindoll’s words:

“Don’t be afraid. Stand still. 

Watch [God] work. Keep quiet.

It’s then that He does His best work on our behalf. 

He . . . handles our predicament opposite the way we’d do it.” 

(from Great Days with the Great Lives)

Did you get that? Chuck says that sometimes 

God does just the opposite of what we want 

or would tend to do. 

I didn’t want to face my fear, 

but God seemed to say, “You need to get over this.”

And I must let you know this: Even before I arrived in Africa, I stopped having those bad dreams about travel. I still had worries about travel, but not the bad dreams.

I was on my way!