God Met With Me

The wind whistled gently through the trees blowing softly against my face. The chill in the wind gave the first hint of the coming winter season ahead. Little did I know at the time that chill in the wind proved prophetic of the trials coming my way. I just stood there feeling the wind and looking out over the panoramic view beneath.

From where I stood things seemed simple. God created all I could see. Surrounded by His glory in creation I felt small, insignificant, and humbled in the presence of greatness. I felt peace. I felt reverence. From where I stood God never looked more magnificent. From the choppy lake, to the grassy knoll, as well as the fields of flowers life made sense. For the first time in a long time life made sense.

Life had not been easy. Childhood abuse. Trust issues ensued. Heartaches and sorrows in ministry had broken me. Where once I felt bullet proof and willing to charge into any situation in service for God, the battle wounds and scars were evident. My heart felt numb. I felt less sure of myself. My heart hardened against further pangs and disappointments.

Well into middle age, I wondered if it would ever get better or if it could get worse. While I hoped for better days I had no way of knowing standing on that bluff things were about to get worse. Way worse.

While I stood stalwartly trying to remain stoic I choked back the tears. Years and years of tears fought  off formed a reservoir in my soul. I worked to keep the tears safely behind the dam of my toughness. Only I knew on that day the dam had cracks ad the tears were beginning to leak.

I brushed away a  solitary tear as it trickled down my rosy red cheek. I got myself together and headed back to the truck. It was Saturday and Sunday morning would come all too soon. I had no sermon. I reluctantly left the peace of the bluff for the harsh realities of life. Financial issues. Dashed ministry dreams over a decade. Loneliness. Health issues for both Brenda and I. Life certainly did not turn out like we thought when we were idealistic college students.

As I sat at my home offie desk I could only stare at the walls. While I felt peace with God on the bluff staring out at the lake, I now felt emptiness. I questioned how I would ever be able to preach the next morning. All I had to show for an hour of study was a blank page and a blank computer screen. This continued for a few more hours before I finally opted for bed. I figured maybe some sleep would give me a fresh perspective. Right before I drifted off to sleep in despair I felt the gentle hand of Brenda on my shoulders. I knew she was praying for me. She has done this repeatedly over the past two and a half decades.

The next morning I thumbed through my Bible desperate for inspiration. I finally settled on something and scurried to pull a sermon together, although I did not feel like delivering it. I knew the words I scribbled were a sermon and not a fresh message from God.

A quick shower and suiting up did not bring peace. I prayed on the way to the church hoping to see more people in the seats than empty chairs. A strange sound snapped my attention from prayer to alertness. The truck sputtered slowly lost power leaving me stranded on the side of the road. I am no mechanic and looking under the hood neither brought answers to what was wrong or solutions to the problem. In my rush out the door I left my cell phone. I was stranded.

Pride got the better of me and I chose to walk rather than to knock on a door, though they were sparse. I am sure I looked ridiculous walking down the road with a Bible in hand wearing my Sunday best. I pressed on. The same wind that blew against my cheeks the previous day bringing peace brought discomfort in the early morning hours.

I walked and walked. Hitchhiking did not work. I had no choice but to keep walking. With every step my prayers turned into complaints. I probably walked five miles before someone finally pulled over to give me a ride. I was not too talkative. When I arrived at the church I was glad to sit at my chair to exhale all my frustrations.

I shoved the truck issue out of my mind to try to get focused on the morning service. I was just getting in the right frame of mind when I heard the gravel crunching beneath the tires rolling up in the parking lot. I expected a familiar face but the unexpected person entering had a scowl on their face. They came to air some grievances. I sat stunned. The tirade lasted for longer than I wanted. At one point I tuned them out and silently prayed, "Lord, are you kidding me." When they finally walked out it was nearly time for the service to start. I really felt empty. I faked it through greeting people with a smile. I prayed more than I sang.

I knew my blood pressure had elevated because I could feel the pounding in my head. My head swam with thoughts that had nothing to do with the Lord or preaching. I was mad. Mad at the tyrant visitor that morning. Mad at God for a number of things including a broken down truck on the side of the road. Mad at myself for allowing myself to get hurt further. Just plain mad.

Even though I wanted the music to go on endlessly so I did not have to step on the stage, duty called. I slowly climbed the stairs to the stage. When I finally stood behind the pulpit the dam burst. Decades of stored up tears refused to be held back any longer. Something broke in me. Something deep. Something I could no longer control.

I gripped the sides of the pulpit tightly trying to get a grip on my emotions. The more I tried the deeper I sobbed. I knew deep down there would not be a sermon that morning. The tears would not stop. People shifted nervously in their seats. They did not know how to react to seeing their pastor fall to pieces right before their eyes.

Some scowled. Some prayed. Some wept also. Most looked bewildered. Eventually I shut my Bible without a word and did the only thing I knew to do . I descended the steps and slumbed to my knees at the altar tears still flowing. I could not manage a word in prayer. Years of prayers contained more powerful praying than I could ever put into words.

The longer I knelt at the altar weeping the more embarrassed I felt. Soon I heard the shuffling of feet and the opening and closing of the door as people left. I cried for a long time. When it felt like the last drop had fallen I arose to an empty room except for my boys and Brenda. Even with them there I still felt alone. Lost in my private pain.

We drove home in silence. I made a phone call to get the truck towed. Not in the mood for conversation or food I walked out the door and down the street. At first I walked aimlessly. Then I walked with purpose. Back to the bluff I had met God at the day before. With each step I contrasted the emotions of the past two days. From peace to pain. From humility to humiliation. From faith to a colossal flop behind the pulpit. Everything seemed out of control.

I climbed the bluff and stood at the same familiar spot. The wind once again blew a little warmer than the day before in the afternoon sun. I stood staring out over the choppy lake. I really did not have a prayer. I just stood there.

Then it happened. The still small voice of God cracked through my anxious thoughts and wounded heart.

1 Kings 19:11-18 (NASB) 
¹¹  So He said, "Go forth and stand on the mountain before the LORD." And behold, the LORD was passing by! And a great and strong wind was rending the mountains and breaking in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake.
¹²  After the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of a gentle blowing.
¹³  When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood in the entrance of the cave. And behold, a voice came to him and said, "What are you doing here, Elijah?"
¹⁴  Then he said, "I have been very zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the sons of Israel have forsaken Your covenant, torn down Your altars and killed Your prophets with the sword. And I alone am left; and they seek my life, to take it away."
¹⁵  The LORD said to him, "Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus, and when you have arrived, you shall anoint Hazael king over Aram;
¹⁶  and Jehu the son of Nimshi you shall anoint king over Israel; and Elisha the son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah you shall anoint as prophet in your place.
¹⁷  "It shall come about, the one who escapes from the sword of Hazael, Jehu shall put to death, and the one who escapes from the sword of Jehu, Elisha shall put to death.
¹⁸  "Yet I will leave 7,000 in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed to Baal and every mouth that has not kissed him."
God met with me in that moment. He knew what I needed. He spoke in a profound way and in a perfect way. Those words were life to my soul. They were refreshing and reviving at the same time. Like so many other times before God met me in my darkest hours and rescued me from the pit of despair.

I stood there in the wind with my hands lifted high in full blown worship. I heard the still small voice of God and He gave me the courage to fight another day and press through the pain. Nothing really changed externally in that moment but everything changed internally. God met with me and spoke through His still small voice.

* The above account is fictional. It was meant to be a modern day parable to remind us of a spiritual truth. God meets us in our pain and still speaks through His still small voice.