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3 Part 2-- Deep Rootedness continued
Introduction from Part 1:
“When the
winds of hard times and persecution hit, will we stand or fall? How deep
our roots go will definitely be a factor.” Dana Acker
Note about John’s subsequent letter:
Part 2
is my response to Dana’s initial response (see Blog 3,Part 1). It continues the
discussion we were having about my crisis of faith. In this response readers
will continue to see that I felt my trust in God and His word was being relentlessly
tried. In Part 1, Dana encouraged me to seek “deep rootedness” in God and His
word. In this, Part 2, the reader will see his growth in deep rootedness. The
reader will also hopefully gain a clearer understanding, through Dana’s life,
of what God is really trying to do in us, through the Genesis account of Jacob wrestling
with a man/an angel/God. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+32%3A22-31&version=NIV
“It all
goes back to that, being conformed to the image of Christ. God will do
what it takes.” Dana Acker
++++++++++
John’s Subsequent Letter
Part 2
Dear Dana, a true Brother in
the Lord
I
love you buddy. Thanks.
I know that you understand. You KNOW it. Your letter nearly brought me
to tears a couple of times.
After I read your letter, I went
into the bedroom and got your post cards again—the one of the two old cowboys
in prayer and the other of the two prospectors with the mules looking across
the desert to the gold filled mountains, with the caption "Out of grub and
the promised land in sight." How appropriate.
Also this time I paid attention to
the cowboys' dog, sitting next to the table and looking up expectantly.
Since I'm not really a dog person, I hadn't paid much attention to it in the
past. But this time the first thing that came to mind was Matt 15:21-28.
While
I am not familiar with this site, it seems <mostly> like
a sound explanation ).
I have prayed. Rev. Scott Stevenson, a
Lutheran minister to whom I initially turned for counsel concerning the sins of
anger and lack of self control, has prayed. But
he is becoming more than a counselor. He had me look at The Message, Luke 11:1-13, especially 5-12.
He
feels The Message gets closer to the true meaning of this passage because
it looks at the regional nuances and personal peculiarities of the people.
Based in part on this, he believes God doesn't want to have people witness His
lack of propriety/manners or stinginess so He answers the caller's request.
Then it goes on in vs10-13 and talks
about a little boy and a little girl getting good things from their earthly
father, therefore how much more our Heavenly Father. Joel Osteen tells the
story of himself and his young son. He tells his son not to climb the tree
because it's not safe and he could get hurt. Well, one day, the Joel hears his
son crying out, "Daddy. Daddy. Help me." He goes to the window and
sees him hanging from a limb high up in the tree. He does not say "I
told you so." He does not say, "Hang on while I go check with
your mother to see if you've done your homework and treated your sister
properly." He, the father, helps his son. This example and then the
Luke 11 portion are taking on strong meaning to me. As described by the
televangelist, the actions of the father make sense. The father does not
do those things he might, but helps the needy son. How much more should my
Heavenly Father answer my calls for help.
Thus my dilemma and my wrestling
with God about trusting Him and His Word. Since He is not a man that He can lie
Num 23:18-21, does He not promise and so the answer should come? I should be
able to say with Job, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him”
So,
continuing to look at the dog. It doesn't look mistreated or under fed. It
looks like he's waiting because he knows there will at least be crumbs. Perhaps
I need to be a dog (see the above link), but how does that fit with the media
evangelist’s encouragements to realize we are Victors, and not victims, in
spite of what's happening. To make that a regular confession.
Oh yes, Rev. Stevenson made a
comment to me that has stuck. He credited it to Martin Luther, who is supposed
to have said something like this, "I run from God but then I must run to
God." Or as Peter said in John 6:68, "But Simon Peter
answered Him, 'Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal
life.'"
In conclusion, I think we are on the
short side of Jesus' return. Therefore, I want to be able to get my prayers
answered. All things considered, with the world's conditions, how can it be
much longer? And Harold Camping is dead.
So this dog, says again to
Daddy, "Daddy! Daddy! Help me. Help me help her. Help us."
To whom else can I turn.
In
Christ
John
+++++++++++++++
Dana’s Reply:
Hey John,
"Heaven won't be like this, Brother." I seem to remember being
reminded of that many times while crouching in a spiritual foxhole, ducking the
enemy's flaming ordinance. (see Eph 6:10-18, esp. 16)
Throughout
my Christian pilgrimage, the Gospel's assaults on my pride and ego have served
to remind me that no matter how many times I have been throttled and
knocked to the ground, just how many more times that I need to be throttled and
knocked to the ground. It seems the closer I get to God, the more revelations
and insights I receive into the Scriptures, the more that I am freely
given that which I do not deserve and the more I am not given what I
do deserve, the more I see just how black and icy and hard and prideful and
selfish my wicked heart actually is. You'd have thought
I'd have gotten it right by now.
Yet when Peter recognized Jesus as the Christ, he threw himself down in a pile
of dead fish and cried, "Depart from me Lord, for I am a sinful
man." When Isaiah "saw the LORD" he cried, "Woe is
me, for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the
midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts." (Isa 6:1-6)
When I was in my 20's, my parents left NC for VFCC (Valley Forge Christian
College, now University of Valley Forge). Their son was a wayward gypsy,
hell bent on doing everything possible that was not of God's way. People
prayed for me, and I'm sure my parents agonized over my erring ways.
Right out of high school I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and
gout in my right hip. I began my freshman year of college on crutches.
There was an old man in my parent's prayer/home meeting group of crazy
Charismatics, a retired Mt. Airy City Chief of Police, Howard Sumner by name. Upon
learning of my condition he stayed awake all night long one night praying for
me. He had never met me, and by the time I had learned of this, he had
already been called home to his reward, so I never got to thank him. Long story
short, I was miraculously healed. I threw my crutches away and had Dr's
verify that not a trace of either disease could be found. You'd have
thought that would have gotten my attention. My total release from pain and
limited mobility only gave me more opportunities to pursue the "pleasures
of sin for a season." I was as clueless as I was hopeless.
Later, after my parents had gone to Phoenixville, PA (several years later), I
began to have pains in my back. Having been doing carpentry work, I
reckoned that I had strained or pulled something, and that with enough alcohol
and pain killers I would eventually mend. I didn't. It got worse. It
was diagnosed as an extremely rare and particularly vicious form of arthritis
known as Ankylosing Spondilitis. There is no cure, or even a commonly agreed
upon treatment outside of dangerous anti-inflammatory drugs. I
cannot remember one day since my mid-twenties that I have not felt
pain. Some days worse than others. Some days a dull ache, others a
bone crunching agony that takes my breath away with every step I take.
Jump ahead a couple more years and I had returned to the Lord, and found my way
to VFCC. Those goodly and Godly Pentecostal folks practically rubbed bald
spots on my head laying hands on me and claiming the victory over the disease
that ailed me and caused me such great suffering. I found my way to
the myriad altars of myriad churches and evangelistic meetings, witnessing
others getting healed while all of my prayers and the prayers of the
faithful who sincerely beseeched God for mercy on my behalf remained unanswered.
I too have been the dog beside the table.
It's been 30 + years (can you believe it?) since those days. I no longer
pray for healing. Not because I disbelieve in Divine healing, no
sir, I firmly believe "God is the same yesterday today and
forever," (Heb 13:8) and His healing power has not diminished one
bit. Over time as I read more, and studied more, and learned more, one day
the light bulb went on over my thick head, and God revealed to me that the
Ankysosing Spondilitis hit about the time as when He finally got my
attention. Duh…..
Through a devotional reading of Genesis, He showed me one day where Jacob
wrestled with the Angel, and consequently walked with a limp the rest of his
life, and that this disease and all my pain was my Jacob wrestling with the
Angel experience. When I finally surrendered and really met God, I never
walked right again. It's what God used to get my attention, and despite
pain and prayer for decades, God's grace has allowed me over said decades
to continue to do hard physical labor and be somewhat useful to those around me
and not a burden. Do I still hurt every day? You bet'cher boots.
But it's my Jacob's limp. My blessed limp! It was a gift to me,
John, because through it God revealed Himself to me and made me His own through
it. Call it my spiritual "trip to the woodshed" with my Heavenly
Father, or what have you; it's what He purposed through the divine counsel of
His will to use to bring me to Him, and to hold me fast, and even when it
hurts the worst, I don't ask for prayer for it to be taken away, because it's
my gift. It's worth more to me than gold. When it hurts, I know
that I know that I know my Father loves me.
Some might be offended at that, and I try to be sensitive to that. I don't mean
to propose my case as a doctrine to state that God goes around making people
sick, and that for their own good. This is just something between me and
my Heavenly Father. I don't hold it out there to be any kind of normative
Christian experience, or think that anyone else need go through what I've gone
through to find God. I'm not proud that God had to employ more drastic
measures to get my knee to bow to Him. But as I'd imagine, that if
truth be told, old Brother Jacob probably was thankful for his limp, and I'll
always be grateful for mine. Some people have gifts of incredible ministerial
ability, some gifts of powerful and persuasive oratory, some are gifted
musicians, some skilled surgeons, some spectacular athletes, mine is a life of
pain. This won't go down in the history books as anything memorable or
important, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. It's my blessed limp, and I
thank God for it all the time. But it was a hard learned lesson, and not
one I would recommend, if it can be avoided.
It
all goes back to that being conformed to the image of Christ. God will do
what it takes. He has predestined it--if I am His child, He has to
do it. His Word says so. And He will do it whether I go with Him
hand in hand, singing His praises, or whether I go digging my heels,
kicking and screaming. His ways and means may not (probably won't) be to
my liking, but that only goes to show how ungodly my old heart remains.
It is a hard thing for me to wrap my head around, but to the Father I am
worth...the Blood of His Son. And despite all the obstacles my sinful
heart can throw up in the way, He will prevail, and I will look like
Jesus.
But the more rough edges He chips and sands off, the more I see that need to be
chipped and sanded off. What it takes for good or ill to complete
that process, He does lovingly and faithfully, and may I add once again,
whether I like it or not, or think it's fair or not. Agree with His
plan or not, I am going to look like Jesus, John. It can be no other
way, and when it is all said and done, I'll thank God for every ache and every
stab of pain and every tear, and every hardship, and every drop
of blood and every mark upon my body, because those scars are the
tangible and undeniable proof that my Father loves me...
...and nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, not even me, can separate
me from that. The old hymn comes back to me, "Be still my soul, the
Lord is on your side...."
"Heaven won't be like this," my Brother.
"Momentary light affliction?" "An eternal weight of
glory!" Hallelujah!
"Tidings of comfort and joy...."
Love you, Bro.,
Dana
P.S
I heard Alistair Begg ask one time, "What was God doing in Stephen's life
when he was being stoned to death?" The answer? "He was making
him look more like Christ." And when you think about it, Stephen, nearing the moment of his most cruel and merciless
death, prayed and asked God to forgive his killers. We get to see the
process completed and therefore we have hope. At the end, Stephen looked
in the mirror, as it were, and no longer saw Stephen looking back at
him.
