God’s Greatest Rescue—Are You In?

             Have you ever paused a moment to contemplate the immense courage it took to be Esther of the Old Testament?  I mean really, I doubt the events listed there were her annual plans. I’m certain her resolution list didn’t read, “Go up to be the king’s concubine; try to become queen”?  I have a feeling she had no designs on being queen—or meeting the king, for that matter.  So I wonder what she felt most-- terror, confusion, anxiety? 

During that long year of purification prior to even meeting the king, how many times did she want to go home?  How many times did she wish she was doing laundry for Mordecai instead of prancing around in fancy robes, doused in spices? How many times did she question God concerning his ability to make-- or not make-- mistakes?  Did she know her presence in the palace was part of God’s great rescue plan? Was her relationship with the God of her people so personal that she trusted him even when the path ahead was dark?

I believe Esther trusted the hand and heart of God to work out her life.  As she stepped through the doorway and waited to see the king’s response, as the possibility of imminent death made her knees knock and her heart explode, the absolute assurance that she had been brought to the kingdom for this particular task (Esther 4:14) gave her the strength to step forward, enacting a rescue plan that would save her people from certain death. 

The rest of the story feels like a blur.  Haman signs his own death warrant, Mordecai is honored, and the people of God survive yet another in a long line of annihilation threats.  Among the multiple lessons that come from the story, one stands out most. God’s plan is perfect as long as we follow it.  The Esther account proves it. Each event in the account is another stepping stone to the path of rescue.  Think about it.

  If Vashti hadn’t had the courage to quit being the king’s party entertainment, there would have been no reason for Esther to go to the palace.  If Esther had never gone to the palace, Mordecai might not have had a way to get a message inside and save the king’s life.  If the king had been assassinated, the new king might not have loved Esther, making it less likely that the scepter would be extended if she went to see him uncalled.  If Esther had not been able to see the king, she would not have been able to help save her people. Although Esther might have been confused concerning why she was in the palace, God wasn’t. He was planning those events long before they began. God was preparing the path for a rescue.

You already know how desperately our world needs a rescue.   Read the news. Talk to a stranger.   People everywhere are searching for a rescue—from addiction, from fear, from sin, from themselves.  The good news is that God has already planned their rescue and has strategically placed his people to aid that effort.  He’s been planning it all along.  Were you wondering why you ended up in Podunkville when you’d rather be in the big, fast city?  Have you been there a while and still haven’t figured out why God put you there?  Do you feel confused about what’s going on in your life?  Is the path ahead dark? I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it's okay.  You have been brought to the kingdom, to that town, that church, that place, at this time to be part of God’s rescue.

You see, we tend to look around us and get downhearted.  We gather ourselves together and shake our heads, muttering how it surely has to be the last days.  And it might be.  I don’t know.  Neither do you.  No one does.  What I know is this—Jesus died for ALL those people we are busy shaking our heads over.  Every. Single. One.  He wants ALL of them to be rescued by his grace. (II Peter 3:9) And he wants ALL of us to do our part to make that happen. Reach out to the people next door, witness when the opportunity presents itself, exit your comfort zone and do something new.  Meet people.  Take advantage of every opportunity to show Jesus to others.  Do your part to exhibit and share the love, grace, and redemption you have received. You have been called to rescue the perishing.

 

           So are you in? I hope so. I hope you are reaching out to those around you regardless of their age, race, religious background, sexual preference, or personal creed.  I hope you are actively seeking to do your part to rescue the perishing.  I firmly believe you have been placed in your town, your community, your church to be light at such a time as this.  You have the amazing opportunity to be a participant in God’s greatest rescue operation.  How could you possibly refuse? 

Homebound By Starlight

It's the season for wishes.  Everyone makes them.  Wishes for new cars, new toys, new lives. Seems everyone wishes for something different, something new, or someone with whom to share that new thing.  I'm not much different.  I too wish for something I don't have, will never have.  I wish the Luke 2 account had more details. 

Who were those shepherds?  Did they own the sheep or just guard them?  Were they young?  Old?  Male?  Female?  Did they wish they were somewhere, anywhere besides that hillside that night?  Were they longing for the coming Messiah?  Or had they given up the wait, lost the longing, forgotten the forthcoming deliverance?  I wish I knew.

But maybe it's best I don't.  Not knowing allows my mind to conjure so many more scenarios.  Like, what if those shepherds weren't all boys and men?  We always seem to assume they were, but what if the untold story went like this?

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It was tax season in Bethlehem and our sweet little town was a bustling madhouse. People filled every nook and corner.  Or so I'd heard.  It's not like I was allowed to go see for myself.  No, that would make it possible for me to meet people--hopefully men--and that would never do as far as my parents were concerned.  But my brothers could go.  They could travel in from the outskirts of town and see the crowds, meet people, have a life.  The girls, though, they must be sheltered, hidden, and wed to complete strangers their father's deemed appropriate.  It was completely unfair!  I may be female but was in no need of such irritating coddling. 

 

I could go on and on (and often did) about the absurdity of the situation, but mental activity was wasted on that endeavor.  So, even as I bemoaned my female status, my mind was conjuring up a way to make a visit somewhere, anywhere and meet people--preferably men. 

And then I had it.  Literally.  As I did laundry, I realized I had my youngest brother's cloak in my hands.  Perfect.  We were about the same size.  Yep.  The plan became clearer. 

 

I bundled the cloak away with my things all the while plotting out the rest of the day's activities and going about them much more lightheartedly than usual.  I wonder if anyone noticed.  Oh, well.  Tonight I would actually get to meet people, even if those people were just other shepherds.  This would be fantastic!

 

It was horrible.  The cloak was longer, heavier, and more cumbersome than I realized. Probably because he needed to use it to carry lambs from time to time. Why didn't I think of that?  By the time I was able to sneak out of the house, it was darker than I anticipated and I could only hope I would stumble across the other shepherds before becoming a midnight snack for some ferocious beast. Wonder why that never crossed my mind?  And it was colder than I ever thought it would be.  I should have worn more clothing underneath the cloak. Hindsight may be clearer than foresight, but it is absolutely not warmer!

Of even greater concern was the fact that if I got in too much light from the fire or spoke without thinking to lower my vocal register, the other shepherds would immediately know I was an interloper.  As far as plans go, it was stellar.  Execution of the plan?  Only the outcome could tell if it was worth it.  I could only hope.

 

Eventually, I arrived at the small fire where the shepherds and sheep were gathered. It was a miracle I found them.  Even I didn't realize how much of a miracle it was.  The ones who were awake seemed surprised to see me but didn't question me too closely.  Thank goodness. I wished I could get closer to the fire.  Alas, the risk was too great since one of those sleeping shepherds was my oldest brother.  Discovery by him would be a fiasco!  I chose instead to sit against a nearby tree, study my surroundings, and silently revel in my cunning plan. 

 

Then brother number one woke up.  Oh, this was going to be bad.  The brothers never came out with the sheep together.  Of course, one helpful friend decided to immediately inform him that his younger brother had joined them.  How did he immediately know it was me?  And what kept the top of his head from just exploding right off as he realized the foolish risk--his words, not mine--I had taken in coming out to the field in the middle of the night? We'll never know the answer to that exploding head question because at that moment a rescuing angel appeared.

 

Literally.  I was rescued from a lecture by an angel that appeared in the night sky.  We were too terrified to be mad.  As we huddled together for safety and stared upward in awe, the angel told us not to be afraid.  He also said the Savior had been born in our normally sleepy, currently crazy little town.  Just as my mind was trying to think where a babe would safely be born in the mess that was our town at tax season, the angel told us.  He was in a stable, in the straw of a manger, wrapped only in old rags on a night that was freezing my hair. 

 

At that moment, a million (maybe more or less as my counting isn't so good when I'm struck with awed terror) angels joined him and they all broke into a beautiful rendition of "Glory to God".  And then, just like they came, they were gone.  We stared at each other for just a moment, then by common agreement abandoned the sheep and headed into Bethlehem.  This we had to see. 

 

We came to a halt some time later, panting and gasping for breath. As far as we'd run, we were still stopped more by the sudden realization that we didn't know exactly where to find the babe than by the exertion. There were a zillion stables in Bethlehem and not one owner would want to be wakened in the middle of the night by prowlers in his stable.  I flopped back on the grass in an attempt to replenish the air in my lungs more effectively and that's when I saw it.  A huge, bright star sitting in the sky.  I'd never seen it before and since staring at the stars was something even girls were allowed to do, I'd done a lot of it.  I instantly knew the star was our guide.

 

Once again we took off in the direction of the guiding star.  And things started to look more and more familiar.  Yep, we were headed to our very own stable.  So much for sneaking back in before daylight. But then we got there and that little boy in the manger stole my heart.  He was so little, so perfect and the stable was filled with feelings of peace and homecoming.  Not just a feeling of being home, but of being in the presence of the one with whom you belong.  I didn't understand it all, but I knew in my heart that he truly was the Savior, the Son of God.  I had found the boy for whom I searched, the man that would make my life fulfilled.  I was home. 

 

And that's my story.  I set out on an adventure to meet and choose my man, my way, on my terms.  And I did.  And he brought me home.  Home to my family.  Home to fulfillment.  Home to him.

 

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So this Christmas, I wish you love, peace, and joy.  I wish for you to find your fulfillment, your contentment, your definition in the baby found in the manger that night. I wish for you to allow him to be your home.

Merry Christmas!

 







 



If Only We Believed

          I find myself increasingly concerned with the lack of faith exhibited by many Christians today. Oh, we still believe God can heal, forgive, bring jobs, and send financial help.  Our problem is that we don't seem to have faith that he can bring back the fire of the Holy Spirit in our churches.  More alarming is the fact that we seem to be fine with that.  We look around at all the larger than life issues going on in our world and fail to believe that God can bring back wayward people, change horrific outcomes, and bring back the revivals of which we've only read.  Immobilized with fear over current events, we hunker down in self preservation.  We contemplate our next move like a chess player going for the tournament win.  We forget to pray.  We forget to trust.  We get locked in a spiritual holding pattern.  And we stop believing that faith in God can change it all.
        

         The truth is, we are a bunch of finite humans trying to measure the ability of an infinite God. We are trying to determine what his next move will be instead of asking his next move to be the one thing we need the most.  Revival.  We are desperate for it.  Our souls are dry, barren places that need the promised water poured on them. (Isaiah 44:3) Our world needs us to be revived, because we still have work to do here.  Thus it behooves us to ponder this, what if we reclaimed the faith that brings revival?

            I spend a lot of time thinking about this, and when I do, this is what I see...  Our faith unleashes intense, burning revivals that completely change lives.  Our churches burst at the seams every Sunday.  Our pews are empty because the power and glory of God are so real among us that we can’t keep off our feet.  I can almost hear the shouting, the praising.  It's Heaven on earth.  No one watches the clock. No one sneaks out early.  No one leaves without a blessing.

            Because we live every week in joyous anticipation of the following Sunday, our communities see Christian change—then experience it.  We take back our city, our state, our country for Jesus. The headlines of the news are no longer a list of alleged injustices, but the amazing revivals that are sweeping the land.  Faith in God is no longer the exception, but the rule.  Our hearts are inexhaustible wells of faith, peace, and love.

            If you’ve read this far and find yourself snorting in derision because revivals like this aren't going to happen in our day, stop reading.  Put your Bible on the shelf—or donate it to someone who will use it—and tell God you don’t believe his promises, his power, or his purpose.  For me, I know and fully believe these things: Jesus Christ is always the same, (Hebrews 13:8) the God who spread Pentecostal fire on the people in Acts (Acts 2) is still able to do it for us,  and the circumstances of our world have not shortened his hand nor rendered him incapable.  If your God isn’t big enough to send worldwide revival, then you are serving the wrong God. 

            In Mark 9:17-27, we find the account of a distraught father whose son is on the brink of destruction.  Desperate to see his child delivered from the evil spirit that inhabited him, he brings his son to the  disciples only to find them unable to help him.  In an effort born of helpless distress and intense desire, he came to Jesus, begging for a miracle.   Jesus looks at him and says, "If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth." (v.23,KJV)  The father can hardly believe his ears.  Simply believe?  What if it doesn't work?  What if his faith is misplaced?  But he's out of options and soon will be out of time.  So he musters what faith he can find in his soul, casts it on Jesus, and gets a miracle.

          Are we so different from that father?  Are we any less desperate for a miracle?  Are we willing to settle for a faithless form of Godliness that tricks ourselves but no one else? Or is our faith, our belief in the power of God, enough to pull us back from the brink?  You already know the answer; our saving grace comes only through unwavering faith in our omnipotent God.  The God who promised that nothing was impossible if we only believe.

       So tell me, do you believe?

 

 

Fire Burn...Cauldron Bubble

     Have you ever come to the last page of a fascinating, intriguing, hang-on-every-word book only to feel cheated that it didn't continue?  Did you spend a few minutes reflecting on the story, the plot, the characters and considering what you read?  Did you leave your easy-chair with a smile on your face, knowing that you couldn't pick up another book just then because nothing could possibly compare to what you had just read?  I know that feeling!  I recently finished reading the book of Acts.

     As I read Acts 28 and realized the book was finished, I was overwhelmed by disappointment. I had been ripped off.  The story wasn't over.  It couldn't be.  I wanted to read more healings, more divine intervention, more prayer, more faith, more fire, more Pentecost.  It was not to be.  I felt lost.  I didn't know where to turn next.  With 65 other books from which to choose, not one called out to me.  I couldn't let it go.  My mind kept going back to why it ended that way.  I had spent 28 lovely days wrapped up in the events of Acts.  I hungered to have that same fire of God and see it in my world. I contemplated the enormity of having enough faith in God--enough of God himself in me--to bring healing to others through his name.  But my hunger and contemplation did not mask the fact that I was frustrated and a little irritated that the book had ended before I was ready to quit reading. 

     Finally, the light pierced through the fog of frustration clouding my brain. I had an epiphany.  The book of Acts was never intended to end.  All the praying and waiting, the faith and believing, the patience and persevering that culminated in the reward of Pentecost (Acts 1-2) was never supposed to be just an historical account, a one time thing.  All the praying, preaching, and church building were never supposed to end.  Acts was only intended to be the beginning; we are supposed to be its continuation. 

     It was a shocking revelation for, in that moment, I realized that we have completely, horrifically, inexcusably dropped the ball.  We have failed to keep the fire of Acts burning in our hearts, our churches, our world.  You see, it is not enough to read the Bible every day, pray a prayer, attend church.  To simply habitually do those things is cheating ourselves and everyone around us.  It is to tell God that we aren't interested in having all of him.  We aren't interested in his fire, his presence, his power.  It is simply to settle for a form of Godliness instead of seeking desperately for the real thing. It is, tragically, to decline Pentecost. 

     And who can afford to do that?  Not I.  I am not okay without Pentecost.  The dry tinder of my soul continually cries out for the fire of the Holy Spirit that burns away the chaff and leaves only that which exudes Christ.  I am hungry, my spirit clamors for Pentecost.  I am desperate for what it accomplishes in me--the faith, the confidence, the fire. I am ineffective without it--a lamp without a flame.  I am helpless with the wanting. I want God's fire to burn so fiercely in me that the cauldron of my soul bubbles up and flows over into the world--a light in a dark place.  I want Pentecost in my heart that I may share it with those around me.  I am nothing without it.

     Are you okay without Pentecost?  Are the accounts in Acts just stories to you?  Is your God still big enough to light a raging, unquenchable fire in your soul? 

     If your desire for God doesn't consume you, if your need for Pentecost has gone cold, if you can't fathom the burning fire of the Holy Spirit visiting your church this Sunday, then you need to go read the book of Acts.  Really read it. Immerse yourself in it. Allow yourself to imagine what it would have been like to experience it then.  Imagine what it would be like to experience it now.  And understand that you can.  The same God who sent the fire of Pentecost to burn in the hearts of the early church is alive and working today. He hasn't changed and he wants to give us Pentecost.  He wants to set our hearts on fire.  He wants our souls to bubble up, overflow, and change the world. 

     So may we not be lax.  May we realize that Pentecost was not intended to be a one-time thing.  May we truly believe the acts of Acts were never supposed to end.  May we, in taking up the torch, bow before God and sincerely beg, "Fire burn and cauldron bubble." And may we experience Pentecost. 




**I don't know if God will ever lead me to write on this topic again, but that doesn't mean he isn't leading someone else to do so.  If you are hungry to continue finding God's fire, swing over to https://encontrandofuego.blogspot.com and read the musings of a man deeply consumed with finding, kindling, and feeding the fire of God.  Blessings!

The Busyness of Being Still

     When was the last time you were intentionally still? How about the last time your mind blocked out the rat race and sat calmly?  What about your spirit?  Has there been a time recently when your spirit has purposely cast it's cares at the foot of the cross and rested in stillness?  Why not? If you read Psalms 46:10 you will find the command that is quite possibly the most difficult to obey.  It simply says, "Be still and know that I am God..."

     For humanity, this is easier said than done.  We are caught up in a precariously balanced schedule of work, school, errands, ballet, soccer, et cetera, et cetera.  Each activity is carefully planned to fall at a precise time so the schedule works flawlessly.  Sadly, all our meticulous planning leaves no time to simply be silent, be still.  We race around planning and doing, solving and stewing in an attempt to prevent this or orchestrate that.  If we stop and check, we realize that we have double booked--right over God's appointment.  And why?  Does all the doing bring us peace?  Does all the stewing and strategizing make us feel less stressed?  Do any of these things fill the "God space" in our souls?  Do we realize the answer to these questions , if answered honestly, is, "No"?

     Apparently not.  Perhaps it's because we haven't tried being still.  Perhaps we haven't really gotten to know God enough to comprehend what he's saying here.  We haven't skipped the gym to spend time with God.  We haven't cancelled the football party to have a prayer meeting.  We haven't said "no" to the new committee at work in order to have time to simply sit still, unclutter our mind, settle our spirit, and know that God is God.

     I have recent personal experience with learning to be still. You see, I had become burdened with a pile of concerns I simply didn't need to worry about.  Some of them weren't even my issues. They would pop up the minute I started to pray and derail my thoughts.  They followed me through the day, hounding each step and wreaking emotional havoc.  They kept my spirit troubled, my heart distressed. In the midst of it all, I repeatedly heard the words, "Be still", echoing in my head.  So I took some time one morning, read the Bible, prayed, blocked out everything else, stilled my spirit, and allowed God to be God.  The pile of "stuff" dissipated.  My spirit healed.  My heart mended.  My faith grew.  My God and I were one again.  And now I consistently hear the whispering in my heart urging me, "Be still..."  When things are out of my control, "Be still."  When I'm frustrated, anxious, terrified, "Be still."  When all I can do is trust, "Be still."

     The truth is, our human efforts are simple and often ineffective.  Our worrying accomplishes nothing.  Our strategizing may or may not pan out.  But our God is a sure thing.  He is our refuge and strength in trouble. (Psalms 46:1)  He knows the path before us. (Job 23:10)  He has the answers we have no hope of conjuring on our own. (Isaiah 55:8-9)  He has promised to be a helper who never leaves or forsakes.  (Hebrews 13:5-6)  And he is readily available when you simply be still and let God be God.

     In I Kings 19:11-13, Elijah looks for God in the wind, an earthquake, and a fire, but finds him only in the still, small voice that followed.  If he had been raging, he would have never heard it.  Neither will you.  So halt the craziness of your schedule.  Carve out an appointed time with God.  Stop talking.  Stop worrying.  Stop plotting.  Just stop.  And immerse yourself in the busyness of being still.

     Be still and know that God is God.

Selfish Saints

          About two weeks ago, I read an intriguing diatribe on American missionaries and missionaries to America. The author raised the question of why Americans feel the need to travel overseas to risky, unhealthy places to do missionary work when horrible conditions and unimaginable atrocities greet us each day on our own doorstep. Personally, I understand and fully support those God has called to foreign missions.  The call of God is, or should be, impossible to ignore.  However, not unlike the author, I fail to comprehend why American Christians who do not feel called to foreign missions fail to hear the call to be missionaries at home. 

          I wonder why.  Why are there no missionaries to America?  Are all the Christians blind to the starvation, disease, disregard for human life, and desperate need for Jesus around them?  Do they assume that because there is a church on every corner every citizen knows Jesus?  And do they truly believe that the only ones called to seek the lost are those called to third world countries?  Of course not.

          With news channels running in every imaginable place, magazines and newspapers lining waiting rooms and checkout stands, and the wonderful invention of the Internet we are more aware of what is going on around us than ever before.  The law of averages assures us that not every citizen knows Jesus--or even about him.  And if we were to be really honest with ourselves, we would have to admit the issue isn't that we don't feel called, but that we don't want to go out and actively seek the lost because we have other things we would rather be doing.

          And that's the answer.  We are selfish saints.  People who don their self righteous robes and assume that because they sing in the choir and serve on the church board they have done their part for the Kingdom.  If a lost soul wanders in to church service on Sunday, that's wonderful, but there is no inclination to go out and labor to truly influence people for Jesus Christ.  We are more fascinated with the temporal than the eternal, happy to keep the precious story of life changing redemption to ourselves rather than share it.  Yes, our churches are full of selfish saints. 

          Perhaps today's special variety of Christian hasn't read the passage that says, "...He that winneth souls is wise." (Proverbs 11:30 KJV)  Maybe the newer Bible translations don't read that way.  Or perhaps the blanket command, "Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel..." (Mark 16:15 KJV) doesn't truly apply.  Perhaps, when it's all said and done, we really are simply selfish saints who don't want to dirty our hands on the unwashed masses.  Perhaps we are too scared of being seen socializing with those whose reputation is less sterling than ours.  Maybe, just maybe, we selfishly love ourselves, our lifestyles, our things more than we love those who need Jesus. 

          It's enough.  We are getting nothing done.  The cycle must be broken.  The selfishness must end.  We must stop living as if nothing but ourselves, our families, and our social circles exist.  We must start living for eternity.  We must heed the call. We must be missionaries.

          But what does 21st century soul winning look like?  How do we do that in a society that has changed so much since the days of knocking on doors with the Good News and passing out tracts?  How do we show someone they need Jesus in a world of political correctness?  How do we show them what knowing Jesus looks like? Try this. Put down the  electronics and get off the couch.  Get out of your house, out of your social circle, out of your comfort zone.  Go out and do what Jesus did. 

          Feed people--remember the loaves and fishes that fed 5,000? (John 6)  Visit the sick--imagine being the blind man healed when Jesus took time to stop and visit. (Luke 18)  Have dinner with outcasts--think Zaccheus. (Luke 19)  Offer words of spiritual life to those who ask even though they may not immediately heed them--consider the rich young ruler. (Mark 10)  Weep over your country, your state, your city, your world. (Luke 19:41)  Give of yourself.

          Sadly, selfish saints can't do any of this.  You can't win souls by being self-absorbed.  You can't selfishly hoard your time, resources, or energy.  You can't.  You don't dare, because you have been called. So get out there.  Socialize.  Evangelize.  Be faithful.  Be consistent.  (II Timothy 4:2)  Be selfless.  Be a saint of the true variety.  Knowing this, "He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him." (Psalms 126:6 KJV)

          Heaven will be filled with the fruit of selfless service.  How full will it be from your labors?

Jesus Is Praying For You

     Recently, while enduring yet another spectacular spiritual battle, I came across the passage in Luke 22 where Jesus discusses with Simon Peter his vulnerability to Satan's attacks and reveals that Peter would eventually deny even knowing Jesus.  The story of Peter's denial is quite familiar, but the preceding verses are the ones that really caught my attention.  In Luke 22:31-32, Jesus says to Peter, "...Satan hath desired to have you...but I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not:..." (KJV)  I needed those words that day.  I need them every day.
 
     I am often in a spot similar to Peter.  Satan tirelessly attempts to convince me that God has abandoned me.  He beats up one side of my soul and then the other.  The battle seems endless.  The outcome means everything to both of us.  There are no tied scores, only wins and losses.  My strength wanes.  My faith grows threadlike. My courage dwindles to barely an ember.  On my own I don't have the energy to pull out a win. In a final push to emerge victorious, I throw a glance over my shoulder, searching for aid.  With enormous elation and nearly palpable relief I realize that reinforcements have been there all along.  Jesus was already there.  Before the battle started, Jesus was praying for me.  He was interceding on my behalf that in this moment my faith, though stretched to the minutest thread, would continue to hold.  And it did.  I am fiercely relieved to say with the Apostle Paul, "...I have kept the faith." (II Timothy 4:7 KJV)  But I can only say that because Jesus, who could be doing so many other things, took the time to pray for me.

     He doesn't have to, you know.  There are a lot of things in this world that seem so much more important, so much more in need of God's attention. Praying for me seems like such an insignificant thing to do in the face of rampaging epidemics, bloody wars, horrifying crime, or disreputable politics.  It's humbling.  I mean so much to him that he makes sure to go before me and cover my future in prayer.

     It's not just me.  For 12 years I've been sending my son to a different state to visit his father for weeks at a time.  My mind flashes with the horrible things that can happen to children, the ways teenagers can be pulled in the wrong direction, the lack of a strong Christian influence.  Immobilizing terror begins to set in and then I remember that Jesus is already there ahead of him, loving him more than I do, praying for him, and helping him fight his battles.  Does it eliminate the concern?  No.  But the terror is replaced with peaceful trust that the God who loves me too much to let Satan have me, loves my child just as much.  Jesus is praying for him too.

     And you are just as important as me and my children.  You are the bird specially fed by God's hand, the field lily clothed more beautifully than kings, (Luke 12:24, 27) the apple of God's eye avenged by his hand (Zechariah 2:8-9).  You are imperative to the Kingdom.  You are special.  You are precious.  You are not alone.  Jesus is praying for you. 

     However, like Peter and I, you are also immensely vulnerable to Satan's attacks.  His desire to have you is an all consuming fire that endlessly drives him to fight for you.  He will do anything to get you.  In the middle of your normalcy something will spring up to distract you, pull you away, or tempt you to change direction  You are powerless on your own.  You have no strength.  You are incapable of deflecting Satan's advances by yourself.  Yet you are immeasurably blessed because Jesus sees the battle before it happens and has already prayed a preemptive prayer on your behalf. The strength you need to defeat Satan is already there, you just have to tap into it.  Victory comes through the knowledge that, in spite of all the other things he could be preoccupied with, Jesus is praying for you.  That is how important you are to him. That's how much he loves you.  (Romans 8:34-35, 37-39)

     So the next time you are surrounded by Satan's traps and think you'll never make it out alive, remember this--Jesus is praying for you, your family, your needs, your future.  He never stops.  Know it.  Believe it.  Rest in it.  (Romans 8:34)  His prayers mean you can find infinite strength in your moment of weakness, amazing comfort when you are beset by life's trials, and blessed peace in the midst of your storms.  What phenomenal love toward such undeserving individuals.  Comfort.  Strength.  Hope.  Peace.  All because the God of the past and present has already been to the future and covered your path with prayer.