After Captivity, the Lions' Den

From an email to the girls, as I start the book of Daniel.
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Today I read from Daniel 1-6.

In the third year of the reign of Jehoiakim king of Judah, Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came to Jerusalem and besieged it. ² And the Lord gave Jehoiakim king of Judah into his hand . . . [and he brought out] some of the people of Israel . . . ⁴ youths without blemish, of good appearance and skillful in all wisdom, endowed with knowledge, understanding learning, and competent to stand in the king's palace . . . ⁶ Among these were Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah of the tribe of Judah.

But Daniel resolved that he would not defile himself with the king's food, or with the wine that he drank. Therefore he asked the chief of the eunuchs to allow him not to defile himself. ⁹ And God gave Daniel favor and compassion in the sight of the chief of the eunuchs,

¹⁷ As for these four youths, God gave them learning and skill in all literature and wisdom, and Daniel had understanding in all visions and dreams.

Daniel and his companions were likely around your age when their world was turned upside down and they were captured and deported to a foreign pagan country. Imagine their despair. God had turned over their nation to the Babylonians. The Lord himself had turned away his face from Israel and ignored the cries of these terrified young men who were chained and taken away from the only world they had ever known. They surely had fathers, siblings, and dear friends who had been slaughtered or captured as well. They were afraid, stricken with grief, and facing a future of complete unknowns.

You and I will probably not face a trial of this scale in our lifetimes. These young men either already knew--or soon learned--that God often allows terrible tragedies to occur that he might make his power and glory manifest through the difficult circumstances. He does not send the evil happenings--all bad things are caused by sin and the devil's global agenda of destruction--but God does turn such chaos into order and glory. He uses the pain as a refining fire. He uses the fear as a means to grow an iron-strong faith and dependency on his provision and providential will.

You will face difficult times. It is inevitable in this world. No one passes through without scars of one kind or another, without the marks of a lifelong struggle with sin and death. But, as a favorite author of mine says when writing on evil and suffering and the love of God [and this is not an exact quote], "God is not so much concerned as to what exactly the difficult thing is that you are going through; His concern is how you are going through it, what you are learning, what truths your heart is drinking in, what falsehoods it is purging out, what sins you are crucifying, what God you are faithfully trusting, and how you will come out of the fiery trial of testing."

Daniel was in Babylon. You are in your homes, here in a modern country, thousands of years after Daniel's life. But take both a sober warning and a joyous hope from Daniel's life--the dark days will come, and they may last longer than you think you can bear, but like Daniel, you can keep your vision narrowed on the Lord and constantly cast your weary soul before him. After the captivity may come the lions' den. But the end of the saints who persevere is a glorious crown of righteousness, and not only a heavenly reward, but even here below, a sense of joy and contentment, because this life is viewed in its proper place on the timeline of eternity: small and fleeting, but paving the way to the fulfillment of all hope.

Goodnight, sweet girls!

The Speck in My Brother's Eye

For scores of Americans, this week has been one of terrible loss. From my own small town to the great metropolis of Boston, grief and terror have seen an abrupt rise to power. In my town, a fifteen year old boy killed himself last week, shocking our close-knit community. In Massachusetts, double bombings killed and maimed dozens, and emotionally scarred thousands. In Texas, a fertilizer plant explosion compounded the national chaos and loss of precious lives. Law enforcement and emergency personnel are slain in the line of duty. Children lose parents. Parents lose children. Runners lose legs. And the whole world falls to shambles. Isn't there something or someone, somewhere, to blame for this terrible mess?

Yes.

There is one terrible, hellish curse to blame for the atrocities we've seen this week. It's name is Sin, and it is the grotesque delight and consuming passion of humanity's archenemy, Satan. How he laughs when bombs detonate and chaos reigns. How his legions cheer when children die on sidewalks. What sick delight he finds in sowing seeds of darkness in every heart, cultivating his crops of terror in every corner of the globe.

It is easy in times like these to attribute the heinous insanity of Tamerlan and Dzokhar Tsarneav to devilish forces. Discussion forums across the web wish them both eternal damnation for their crimes. It's tempting to agree.

But, truthfully, do I have any right to wish that these young terrorists burn in hell? What makes them more deserving than I? The fact that they set off bombs and killed people, while I did not?

Listen to these words by C.J. Mahaney: "When I become bitter or unforgiving toward others, I’m assuming that the sins of others are more serious than my sins against God. The cross transforms my perspective. Through the cross I realize that no sin committed against me will ever be as serious as the innumerable sins I’ve committed against God. When we understand how much God has forgiven us, it’s not difficult to forgive others."

The message of the cross is not a system of "worthiness to be saved," with some people working their way to the top of a waiting list. It's not for "good people" who are proud and blind to their sins. It's for the scum of the earth, to redeem them from the destruction that reigns in their darkened hearts and consumes them with an everlasting death. And here, Jesus says to us, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.’ For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.” (see Matthew 9:11-13)

I, too, have a heart of sin like the Tsarneav brothers, like you, like every other person on this earth today. We are equally condemned in our sins. Friends, we're all the scum of the earth. 

"Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Brother, let me take out the speck that is in your eye,’ when you yourself do not see the log that is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take out the speck that is in your brother's eye." (see Luke 6:41-42)

 The response to this Week of Terror ought not be bitterness, revenge, or hatred. My attitude cannot be one of scorn or mockery toward the condemned. What hypocrisy to preach mercy and salvation to all--except those who "jump off the deep end" and kill people. They ought to perish in their sins. No! My attitude must be one of tremendous grief and fervent prayer for a country reeling in the aftershock of devastation, both victims and perpetrators. All desperately need the salvation that comes through repentance and belief in the Lord Jesus Christ, a message rejected by millions, but hope and healing and life and peace to all who surrender to Him.

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Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. 

The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. 

They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.

 ~Revelation 22:1-5

Winds of Change

Since my last blog post, I have indeed been accepted at the three-and-a-half-hour away little hospital, and if all goes as planned, I will start a few weeks after graduation, as soon as I've obtained my RN license. I mustn't complain--how good and gracious of the Lord to provide me with a job so soon! And not too far away; I can still come home often enough. Some folks are looking across the country for work. I am grateful. Really.

But I am a little afraid. Humans weren't designed to live alone, least of all women, and least of those, young women. How will I be safe? Will there be a good church? Who will be my new friends and influences? How can I let go of everything I love here? It's icy there in the winter--will my car be able to handle it? What if I get mugged leaving a noc shift? This is, of course, the point where some begin to snicker at me, and as one lady made all too plain by her scissor-snipping hand motions and a tawdry joke, I am apparently far too attached and dependent on the people I love. "Time to cut the apron strings, sweetie."

Nonsense. I have deliberately rejected that senseless, thoughtless custom of our deluded culture: that kicking-them-out-of-the-nest at eighteen, out-of-their-parents'-hair-and-into-the-world-alone ideology that is hopelessly flawed when examined against Scripture. I've seen it fail--miserably so--and have no desire to become a lonely, selfish, unhelpful person, who is not accountable to anyone for anything and has no good reason to do anything other than whatever I darn well please whenever I have the fancy to do it. Such begins the spiraling descent into apathy, sin, folly, and a host of other spiritual maladies. Granted, I'm not eighteen anymore. "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven."

I desire to be a useful woman, integrated into a community of people, relied upon, held accountable for my life and my choices, needed, remembered, cared for, not forgotten, watched out for, missed, loved . . . everything that I have here in my home, my family, my church and my small-town community. And yet, He leads me away from it all, and I trust Him, but there is mingled with it a dose of fear.

I had, of course, always planned on leaving home someday. But I hadn't envisioned it quite like this--to a place where I know not one soul, by myself. Other people do it all the time, but the pure commonality of it hardly qualifies it as the best scenario--unless it is God who ordains such a situation to be mine to live, for this time.

So, like the boy Samuel, I wake in the night, surrounded by the comforts of a familiar life, but I sense a change in the air. And, not knowing for certain what it is, I can only speak the same words as he: "Speak, LORD, for your servant hears."