the next 1283 words…

I have a confession to make… I’m having trouble writing a book along with writing meaty blog posts. Thus, today I’m handing over my next 1283 words in my current WIP. It ought to be enough to keep you busy for a few days so that I can walk ever closer to the finish line of my manuscript. Keep in mind, this is my look at the “ancients” of Hebrews 11, something I explain in greater detail in my recent video blog post. I hesitate putting this reflection here by itself because it doesn’t “read” in isolation. It’s part of the bigger picture, but God has prompted me to release it to you this day, believing that somebody needs its relevance now, not later.

I’ll be back soon, but not before I make some further headway with pen. Shalom!

My spirit is restless today. There are a great many things weighing on my mind. I’ve been here before—a moment in time when the splintered fragments of a busy life merge together to seed dissonance within my spirit. My right response to the discord is not always immediate; sometimes it takes some time to come around to practicing the one habit that I know will bring me peace—prayer. Thankfully, today I came to a swifter conclusion in the matter of my chaos. Today, I spread out my prayer quilt on the floor and pled my heart before God’s. He met me there and was faithful to his promise to replace my anxious thoughts with his better thinking.

Prayer is always the right response to our heart cries. Things happen when we pray that otherwise go undone should we neglect such sacred privilege. God means for prayer to be our habit, our default mode, our tendency rather than our last resort. To get to the place where prayer is our common practice is to live in faith as the ancients of Hebrews 11 lived. When coming to our knees in prayerful pause is the natural inclination of our hearts, then we, like the ancients, anchor our hopes for resolution in the One who is more than capable of bringing about a good and solid conclusion. With prayer, we release our hold on chaos and place all matters back into the hands of God. He has made our mess his business and will untangle the chaotic wires so that we may rest in peace.

Daniel understood this principle. He lived the habit of prayer. Three times a day and with windows opened toward Jerusalem, he bowed his knee and his will to the will of the Father. His practice of prayer earned him a trip to the lion’s den, a veiled mention in the Hebrews’ Hall of Faith (see Hebrews 11:33), and a miraculous conclusion that still speaks a faithful witness to those of us who stand at the crossroads looking for a similar finale.

“… just as he had done before.”

When was the last time the same could be said of you? When did you last face a threat from the enemy—one directly linked to your faith—only to enact that faith more vigorously via a window left open for public viewing? When has your trust in God extended past your doubt? Your faith superseded your fear?

We live in a culture unfamiliar with physical threats attached to faith’s affection. Most of us openly practice our belief in God without fear of retribution. The religious freedoms we enjoy today were hard fought by those who stood on the front side of liberty. Our spiritual ancestors lived their faith most rigorously; we live ours a bit differently. Gone are the days of lions’ dens, at least in eastern North Carolina; come are the days of quieter threats, veiled assaults, casually dressed and appropriately masked attempts by the enemy at having us relinquish our faith. And while our faith isn’t currently threatened with an ancient edict of vicious reprisal, from time to time our contemporary faith is given a rigorous work-out by an ancient enemy whose motives remain the same as they did in Daniel’s day—to steal, to kill, to destroy.

God allows us seasons of testing—times when our faith skims through the refining fires of his holy purification. Those allowances sometimes feel like a night’s wrestling with some hungry lions. If our faith is in tact—on fire and ready for the evening engagement—then we, like Daniel, emerge in the morning without fleshly wounding. If, however, we’re ill-prepared—if we approach the lions’ den with our fear and unresolved doubt regarding a Father’s best intentions for our lives—then the chances of our faith waking to morning’s light without personal injury are severely reduced.

Faith shuts the mouth of the lion because faith has been preparing for his savage hunger long before it is served on a platter as the main course. Faith doesn’t wait until it is thrown into the lion’s den to exercise its witness. Instead, faith spends a lifetime living its witness so that when a night with the lion approaches, faith isn’t surprised by its arrival. Rather, faith is duly prepared for the assault.

Alicia Chole speaks to this truth in her book Anonymous: Jesus’ Hidden Years and Yours (Integrity Publishers, 2006, pg.15). In one of her mentoring moments she offers her readers some wisdom regarding times of trials and testing:

“… trials tell us less about our future than they do about our past. Why? Because the decisions we make in difficult places today are greatly the product of decisions we made in the unseen places of our yesterdays.”

Read that again slowly, and consider how Alicia’s wisdom applies to Daniel’s habit of prayer, to yours as well. More than likely, you and I will face the lion’s den a few times in our journey of faith. When we arrive there, our responses to the threat say more about our prior walk of faith than our current moment of crisis. If prayer has been our practice, if tending to our relationship with God has been our daily obedience, then we are better able to engage with the lion’s hungering roar.

Daniel’s “… just as he had done before” was his saving grace, his companioned peace, his settled confidence in a certain God who would ordain for him a night’s rest with the lions rather than a life’s slaughter. God is calling us to our own “… just as he had done before.” He means for prayer to be our habit and for us to practice our faith in a daily way so that when the enemy threatens us with his schemes, we can walk in freedom from his intended outcome.

We can face the lion today because faith has been the holy habit of our yesterdays. Faith is the way we live. It’s what we believe. It’s where we look. It’s the steps we walk. It’s how we’ll finish.

Forward. One step at a time, until our feet crossover the edge of Canaan, and we finally lay claim to the unseen country of our dreams. Our stories will find their conclusions with the grand punctuation from our Father’s pen, and we will be with him… no longer praying our prayers through an open window in the direction of Jerusalem, but, instead, living the fruition of those prayers, face-to-face with the Author and Perfecter of our faith. It’s just as certain and real and glorious as all that, and almost more than my heart can hold this day. Thus, I pray…

Keep me to the habit of my faith and my prayers, Father, to daily placing my thoughts and concerns into your hands believing that with their release comes your promised peace. Dissolve my fears with the truth of your presence, and replace my doubts with the certainty of your Word. You have made my mess your business; only you are worthy and capable of untangling my wires and weaving them into sacred significance. I yield them to you this day; keep me in a yielded posture so that when the lion offers his roar in my direction, I can offer yours back in response. Amen.

~elaine

Copyright © February 2010 – Elaine Olsen