As a man, I judge stores that sell women’s clothing very differently than my wife and daughters. In fact, much of what’s important to them is incomprehensible to me. All I can do is remember what they’ve previously liked and do my best to give my full attention to them while I wait—first while they choose and then while they try-on. I also carry items they want to take to the dressing room. Since I don’t understand their process, my judgments are based on my needs. First, are the aisles wide enough for me to comfortably carry six items without knocking down stock? Few past that test. Second, is the store organized the way a man thinks? In other words, are all the blouses in one area or are they scattered, making you look at a whole lot more stuff than you wanted? Most fail this test. And finally, the most important thing to consider when choosing a women’s store: Are there comfortable chairs to sit in while you wait for clothes to be tried on? Proximity to the changing room is also very good. It must be close enough for questions but far enough away to avoid embarrassing encounters with other store patrons. (TVs tuned to sports or action movies would be great, but that is only a dream!) Whether my criteria is met or not, my job is to be attentive and patient, and I find it hard if I’m uncomfortable or bored.

As a young man, I was unaware of the importance of waiting and waiting well. No one took me aside and told me the results of being impatient and that shopping excursions were much more important than the clothes carried home. And I remember no sermon titled, “Wait Patiently for God.” Yet it’s one of the reoccurring themes of the Bible. As I’ve exhausted my wisdom and initiative in an area of personal need, I’ve realized that’s it time for me to wait. If I don’t know what to do or how to do it, any action I take is more likely to take me away from God than towards Him.

I’ve been thinking about Biblical examples of waiting. At the time of Jesus’ birth, one of the less prominent figures was Simeon, an old man to whom God had revealed that death would not come until he had seen the Messiah. Simeon may have waited fifty years or short time, but was described as “waiting for the consolation of Israel.” And he waited until the Spirit moved him to go to the temple, at exactly the right time to meet the baby Jesus.

"Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord's Christ. Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required…" (Luke 2:25-27)

How do you wait for God? What is the balance between diligence, which the Bible also commands, and waiting for God and resting in His Promises? Simeon apparently got it right, although no mention is made of how comfortable he was as he waited.

It seems to come down to doing what I “should” instead of doing what I “could.” Simeon could have run all over Jerusalem, checking every baby that was born. Instead, he waited for that “should” moment—that inner sense of “Now!” Abraham, another man given a profound promise—this time for son—waited for a long time, grew impatient, and fathered the wrong son with the wrong woman at the wrong time. He did what he could do with disastrous results.

Perhaps that was not dissimilar to the results of being an impatient shopper while I accompany my ladies… impatience and inappropriate initiative gives ruinous results. Their process of looking and choosing is incomprehensible to me, as is God’s process. I’m along for the journey and have an important part to play, but the boundaries are distinct. I make suggestions but not demands. I follow and don’t lead. I do what I’m asked to do, and when initiating beyond that, I watch for feedback and quickly abandon what is not well received. I like the results but not the process. And I wait as patiently and comfortably as I can.

Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD. (Psalms 27:14)

The Rescuer's Footfalls

On the path to journey's end,
The thoroughfare became a thicket--
Hopelessly tangled, helplessly trapped.

The silver sunshine escapes,
her warmth retreats from my touch,
and cold crawls in.

Gently gyrating, floating flakes
turned to a plummeting pumice,
harshly scrubbing life away.

Shelter sought but not found--
Searching, seeking. Unresolved,
except the broken branches of hope denied.

Huddled in the hovel of desperate desolation,
Winter's frigid fingers grasped
our frostbitten souls without solace.

Hope's flow ebbing, now frozen fast.
Doomed to die in cold despair
for no rescuer's footfalls are coming.

Listen! A child, the baby of Bethlehem
leaves the warm womb of heaven
for winter's wasteland where we lived in death.

Christmas, in the hard heart of winter,
is the soft sound of hope rising,
of the Rescuer's footfalls lighting.

“What’s in a name?” If Shakespeare (sounds very masculine and strong if you think about it) had been named Shakey-speare instead he might not have written about roses smelling sweet regardless of what they were called. Names can deeply affect how others view us and how we see ourselves. Names from the “wrong” nationality, suggesting the “wrong” gender, or reminiscent of body parts or functions have long been used to torment and ridicule. I still go by “F.” for my middle name. My grandfather, from whom that name comes, hated it and went by a derivative. And unbelievably, he named his son, my uncle, with the same exact name, and he wouldn’t go by it either. So my parents passed on that same name to me.

In Biblical times, names often were even more important because they were meant to not just to identify you, but also to describe you. For example, the patriarch Isaac had twin sons. The first borne was named Esau, meaning “hairy,” because of how he looked when born. The second was born holding onto Esau’s heel and so was named Jacob, meaning “heel holder” or “supplanter.” Supplanter is a rather old fashioned word meaning to take what is another’s by force or deceit. Both names proved to be accurate. Years later, Jacob deceived his blind father into believing he was Esau by pretending to be hairy so he could receive the parental blessing reserved for the first born.

Jacob continued to be true to his name until he had an encounter with God. En route to an attempt at reconciliation with Esau, Jacob sent messengers ahead and found out that Esau was coming with a small army. Jacob offered gifts (the deceiver remembered his deception and thought a bribe would help) of flocks and herds, sent his family away to safety, and then prayed.

In response, an angel showed up, not to console or help, but to fight. And they fought all night. Jacob finally walked away wounded, his hip out of joint. But he also came away with a new name, Israel, given to him by God. Israel means “God contends,” “God prevails,” or “struggles with God.” He was transformed from Jacob, the deceiver, to “God wins.” We don’t find out who we really are until we struggle with God, fight with Him without letting go, and come away limping.
If I were God and renamed a person, I would always use the new name from that point on. In fact, He does sometimes do that. Abram gives way to Abraham; Sarai to Sarah; but Jacob and his descendants are referred to as both Jacob and Israel. The names are often even used in the same verse, almost as if God were speaking of two different men. Perhaps He was two different men. I know I am. My old nature connives, contends, and cajoles to get what I want. I’m often like Jacob, who was promised blessing by God, but who took it wrongly from his brother through trickery and deceit. I’m also like Israel. I’ve fought with God, wouldn’t let go-- desperately wanting to be blessed--, and came away wounded. Like him, my badge of honor is the wound I received while struggling with Him. My weakness is achieved through His strength; His strength perceived through my weakness.

My name is Jacob. I’m a struggling sinner, without hope of ever being better. My name also is Israel. I’m a son of God, recipient of all His promises. But I choose to be called Israel. It's the new name my Father gave me.

What’s your name?

…To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it. (Rev 2:17)

“You can’t get there from here.” It seemed obvious as I saw the missing bridge behind the bold signs proclaiming “ROAD CLOSED.” I had gone past the “DETOUR” signs, as I usually do. Detours always go miles out of the way (or so I believe). Sometimes, the road isn’t “really” closed—meaning I can get through even though I’m not supposed to. But most of the time, I find side roads that I hope will save me miles. It’s been claimed that I drive through farmer’s fields rather than take the detour. Perhaps that’s not far from the truth.

I’ve taken that same attitude into my spiritual life. I know where I want to go. I sometimes even believe I know where God wants me to go. Getting there the fastest way possible is my goal. My shortcuts end up long-cuts. My way leaves me mired in the muck of a farmer’s field. My inability to use hard work and perseverance to achieve godly goals and destinations has led me to ask, “How do I get there from here?”

I’ve found myself drawn to the story of the Exodus. It's the incredible recounting of God taking an entire nation from slavery, setting them free, leading them through the wilderness, and finally taking their descendants to a promised land. The Lord said to Pharaoh, “Set my people free so that they can serve and worship Me!”

And God did it through His means. I’ve pondered that process, hoping to understand how I can go there also. But my spiritual GPS shows I’m back where I started. My destination is the same as the Israelites: that place where I have the freedom to serve Him with abandon, empowered by the provision, promises, and Presence of God. That generation couldn’t make it. Their inability to trust and obey became a washed out bridge in their path. And no detour was available. In a sense, you really still can’t get there from here. The “old” me, the “old” you, can’t go into the Promised Land. The Israelites were slaves, the sons of slaves, and the grandsons of slaves. In spite of all God had done for them, they were unable to respond to Him with faith and hope. God led them into the wilderness because it would either kill their slave mentality or their bodies. They could not go in as slaves, they had to go in as sons. Only two, Caleb and Joshua, of that generation really left the spirit of slavery behind. Listen to how the Lord describes Caleb:

“But My servant Caleb, because he has had a different spirit (emphasis mine) and has followed Me fully, I will bring into the land which he entered, and his descendants shall take possession of it….” (Numbers 14:24)

The Exodus shows us how God saves a people, first from slavery and then from themselves. He then takes them to a place where they are free to serve Him. In the Exodus story, this geographic place that God alone was to rule was called the Promised Land. In the New Testament, it is a spiritual place that Jesus calls “the Kingdom.” Now Jesus saves individuals, first from sin and Satan, and then from themselves. He says to the seeker: “...unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God… That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit.” Paul responds: “Flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God” and "I have been crucified with Christ ; and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me…”.

Until recently, I’d spiritualized this concept, thinking that it was simply stating that the only way to receive eternal life is through God’s gift. That’s true, but there’s another layer of truth. No act of mine can earn me eternal life and no effort of my old nature can accomplish God’s good. I can’t go to heaven unless I die physically, and I can’t cross the boundary into the Kingdom now unless that old nature dies in the wilderness.

In Evangelical Christianity, we often over emphasize events and de-emphasize process. The act of rightly responding to Jesus allows God’s grace to release me from slavery to the consequences of sin, but it doesn’t usually immediately cause me to stop thinking and acting like a slave. There is a process, a wilderness to walk through. We’re commanded to work out our salvation. I’ll paraphrase that. “Over the course of your life, work salvation into every aspect of life, as yeast is kneaded into every part of the dough.”

I’ve depended on God for forgiveness. Now it’s time to trust Him as He leads me from slavery to sonship, from self-rule to Spirit led, from the wilderness to His Kingdom. I can’t get there from here. But He can take me there.