The Sylvr Pen

The key to financial security (so desperately desired today) is hiding somewhere in a Used Books store…

It’s one of our weaknesses, both Husband’s and mine: books. Especially old books.

We poke around sway-backed, dim and dusty shelves, wearing out time, kneeling on cold floors, bending low till backs ache, to see what treasures might hide on bottom levels.

Some gems we find that way balloon in value over years—and not just dollar-wise—because reprints “edited for today’s reader” too often both dumb down the language and leave out key content! Even when wording remains unchanged, whole passages sometimes go missing.

Like the appendices in George Mueller’s authorized biography. There (in early editions), in concise and easy-to-locate form, lies vital information that could bring financial relief to thousands: Mueller’s financial secret, which empowered him to finance completely the building and operation of a huge orphanage complex, starting with nothing—zero dollars, nada loans, zilch! 

That secret interweaves there with Mueller’s three reasons why he started that astounding ministry to Bristol, England’s nineteenth-century orphans. (Words in red, from here on, are Mueller’s own): 

1. That God may be glorified [by evidence] that it is not a vain thing to trust in Him; … that… the faith of His children may be strengthened.

2. The spiritual welfare of fatherless and motherless children.

3. Their temporal welfare.

Note that first and primary reason. Specifically, he intended to demonstrate how we can trust God to fulfill His promise of Matthew 6:31-34, specifically Matthew 6:33.

What stirred him thus? People (specifically “Christians”) he knew who worried themselves sick, worked themselves to death, and even compromised their principles because they saw no other way to provide for their children, for old age, or for emergency. He wrote, for instance, of…

…a brother who worked fourteen or even sixteen hours a day at his trade, [so that] not only his body suffered, but his soul… had no enjoyment in the things of God.

…I might point out… that he ought to work less, so that his bodily health might not suffer, and that he might gather strength for his inner man [from] God’s word and …prayer. The reply…

“If I work less, I [won’t] earn enough [to] support… my family. Even now… I have scarcely enough. The wages are so low, that I must work hard in order to obtain what I need.”

There was no trust in God. No real belief in the truth of that word: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness:
 and all these things shall be added unto you.”

I might reply, “My dear brother, it is not your work which supports your family, but the Lord; … He who … fed you and your family when, [sick], you could not work at all,… [wouldn’t He do that] if you were to work only… so many hours a day as would allow you proper time [for obtaining food for your inner man]? …Is it not the case now, that you begin… work… after having… only a few hurried moments for prayer, and when you leave off… work in the evening… are you not too.. worn out… to enjoy [God’s word], and… often fall asleep… reading the Scriptures or… in prayer?”

The brother would [admit] it was so; …that my advice was good, but still I read in his countenance…

“How should I get on if I were to carry out your advice?”

That was one kind of example. Three others:

(1) …children of God… harassed by fear… of old age, when they might be unable to work any longer… 

(2) brethren in business, who… brought guilt on their consciences by [how they carried it on]  …competition in trade, …bad times, over-peopled country… given as reasons why… [it couldn’t be done with success] simply according to the word of God… 

(3) individuals… in positions in which they could not continue with a good conscience… but… feared… to give up the position, …lest they be… out of employment…

In all these cases Mueller saw…

God was not looked upon by them as the LIVING God.

And it grieved him.

My spirit was oft times bowed down by this, and longed to [give] them not only instances from the word of God of His willingness and ability to help all those who rely upon Him, but to show them by proofs that He is the same in our day. [Though] the word of God ought to be enough, and it was, by grace, enough to me; …still, I considered… I ought to lend a helping hand…

It needed to be something which could be seen… by the natural eye. …

Now, if I, a poor man simply by prayer and faith, obtained, without asking any individual, the means for establishing and carrying on an orphan house, [that] might be instrumental in strengthening [their] faith…, besides being a testimony to the… unconverted of the reality of the things of God.

This he then did – “without any one being asked by me or my fellow labourers, whereby it may be seen that God is FAITHFUL STILL, AND HEARS PRAYER STILL.”

So Mueller proved.

But then people thought he was some special giant of faith, and this was still too big for them!

So I just want to add my own testimony, that I, a complete midget of the faith, with only a mustard seed leap, at the very start of my  Christian walk, proved God true in the same way, repeatedly! And, not for a great orphanage work, just for me and my little child. Though I knew nothing of Mueller, I knew Matthew 6:33. So I too asked no one but God. And what exciting things He did! Right from when I first started trusting Him for these things, to example, after example, after example.

The important point: It wasn’t about me, nor was it about George Mueller. It was about Him whom we all can trust! All I (as Mueller) had to do was believe what God said and act upon it in obedient trust!

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You’d think the longer you walked with the Lord, the more you endeavored to follow hard after Him, fellowship with Him deeply, and pay attention to what He says… With all that, you’d think you’d have certainty about what you ought to be doing with your life. Wouldn’t you?

Well, I don’t.

Even when the gates have slammed shut and He clearly has me in a time of rest from active (overactive?) ministry, why do I feel guilty about spending so much time in prayer, meditation, and good reading (the Bible and other books that encourage me in the right direction)?

And then when gates swing open, why do I feel uncertain that stepping through them is really what He wants me to do?

I think it must be what I’m listening to, all mixed up together. Most of it’s the voice of the world (and maybe even the devil), coming through the mouths and pens of “good people,” including Christians.

The world has an undeniable sway in our lives. And I know I’m sensitive to criticism—by which I mean I’m so likely to take it to heart that I deem myself utterly unfit, unusable, and disqualified.

There is such a thing as all that. Unfit, disqualified. And I know we as a church don’t pay enough attention to God’s disqualifiers He clearly gives us in scripture. But where the lines blur and pathways beyond the fork of decision hide in fog, that’s where I get bogged down in uncertainty.

Some people that I know (the movers and shakers) will say, “Go for it!” and shove all that uncertainty aside. Other Christians (like George Muller, whom I greatly admire and through whom God did such tremendous ministry) will say don’t proceed until you are sure and settled in your own soul.

So who to listen to?

“Well, God, of course!” the simplistic answer says, but troublesome truth is, it’s easier for me to hear people’s words than His.

And now I take some time aside to read William Law’s teaching (from the 1700’s) on humility – and he is pointing out that concern over others’ purely human opinions of ourselves is a good indicator of pride—the opposite of humility—which is the whole concept of “it’s not about me”!

Hm. I do best at this point to remove myself as far as possible from people’s opinions of me and my efforts all together, and try, through prayer, close attention to scripture, and as thorough an application of it as I can muster, to determine God’s opinion and direction alone: asking, “What would please Him?”

See what an exercise this business of humility is! If I care how acceptable people think my house, furniture, car, clothes are—or, yes, my abilities, gifts, accomplishments—I’m traveling down the pride road rather than the humility one. All that is about me, about what people think about me. And my concern should be what I lead people to think of my Christ, my God.

I have a lot to learn, still—and unlearn, as William Law points out: all the worldly mindset so deep-ingrained within me, exactly counter to that vital but elusive quality of true biblical humility.

I’m sure I’ll be writing more posts about this endeavor in the future.

*****

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Waging war on procrastination here, this month – by each day tackling one procrastinated task, or one task likely to get put off.

Friday it was bake a pecan pie for my neighbors who drive me places.

They were refusing gas money, but when Mr. Neighbor learned I make that recipe, he said (grinning big) that’s something I could do in return.

At the time they’d just bought one from a bakery. So I waited.

I knew I could easily wait too long, maybe never get around to it… you know what I mean…

So, Friday I prepared the basic dough, then called to see if they’d be home before I did the rest.

He answered. We talked, and when he learned the reason for my call, his demeanor changed so strikingly I could almost see his face light up through the telephone!

“That,” he said, “is the best news I’ve gotten all day!” It was, in fact, the only good news he’d gotten amid a barrage of bad – I mean real wring-your-hands stuff. 

Really, that simple pie turned his day around. And next day, too. When he got that thing, he looked like a kid set loose with money in a candy store.

A pecan pie (clearly one of his comfort foods) gave him hope. So what a delight for me: to see that such a tame, domestic endeavor could have such uplifting impact!

But it wasn’t really the pie.

It was the timing. Right at the highest point of his day-long-building stress, someone called to ask, was this a good time to make him a pecan pie?

And that was either “just a coincidence” (again!), or all about God’s intervening love.

That little event reminds me how coincidences of timing have showed me God’s fingerprints – time after time.

Like money I needed showing up exactly when I most desperately needed it: that month when trusting God had ended me up with purse and gas tank empty. Without the desperation and the eleventh hour deliverance, I wouldn’t have been so strongly impressed that this was God’s doings and none other.

Like when Husband, sticking his toe in the water of what he thought was God’s call to a missions trip, sent off the $300 deposit in the morning, and by evening found in the mail the inexplicable check from that impersonal clinic – for exactly… you guessed it, $300.

Other examples:

God’s preparation for my mother’s unexpected death

The provision of rides from these very neighbors, just before I learned my vision would no longer allow me big highway driving.

And more… and more…

Yes, God is in the timing, and the more such “coincidences” of timing we experience, the more we see His fingerprints. We just need to have the faith to trust in Him and await His timing, giving Him the chance to execute it, and ourselves the chance to see the glorious beauty of His involvement in our little lives.

Thanking God this morning for…

 ~pecan pies (yum!)

 ~ability to make them

 ~ingredients at hand

 ~that this last one came out just right

~the nifty gifty rolling mat (I love to use) from a dear friend

~the French rolling pin Husband made of cherry wood from a tree right here on this property. I love its simple beauty, and how it handles – never use any other kind anymore

~and above all, for God’s special blessings of “coincidental” timing.

*****

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I slip out from between sheets and steal away to sink myself into the silent solitude of my study, counting myself blessed that I can do this. It’s 4:44 on 11/11/11. I wrap my fluffy robe warm around me, turn the light on dim and gentle, shuffle to my comfy chair. So grateful for the solitary stillness.

…But no. It’s not to be.

The rooster, first. He starts a-cockle-doodle-doing. And goes on and on and on. Like machine gun rattle. I think: Well, at least the closed coop windows—and mine—now muffle his exhuberance. But his insistent repetition, repetition, repetition starts to grate on the interior of my bones. I switch from soft serenity to stiffened stress!

At last, he stops! Or, pauses? I sit stiff, anticipating encore possibilities.

Then I remember: Think of it as a refrain of hallelujahs… (Though I’d rather he’d refrain!)

Now, the loud-in-darkness rattle of iron-and-porcelain doorknob, loose within its casing down the hall, penetrates my closed “silent study” door. Footsteps, nearing, and Husband’s voice, ring loud and merry, in the still-night air, “Good Friday morning!”

He never starts a day with such loud greeting. (Except today he does!) I return a mumbled “Morning,” sitting grim in dimness, simply waiting, while the hall’s bright light floods through the gap twixt door and floor, wide because the carpet’s gone. A surprising glare. Then the running and the flushing of the water, and the rooster crows again.

A door is squealing open (bathroom). Shoe-clad feet, descending stairs, fade downward. I sigh hope at opportunity renewed, to read and pray and meditate—sweet peace!  I start to write my morning thanks, while waiting for the glare beneath the door to die. But—for perhaps the first time ever—thrifty husband leaves it lit! And the cock crows yet again.

Now there’s rattling beneath me. Pots, pans, or some such thing. “I give up!” I think, and fling my journal leftward, onto the stack of binders piled upon the table there, precarious stack. An avalanche goes clattering down all over wooden floorboards. That really cooks it!

All I wanted was to sink myself into the silence, to commune with God, to give Him thanks…

Truth, nasty truth, dawns. Isn’t thanks supposed to be for the One thanked? And for whom did I want that time and quiet? Realization, on this “It’s-not-about-me” day: My day-start quiet time is not about me! Or at least it’s not supposed to be. Not if its major purpose is to offer up a grateful heart and words of praise to the Giver of all good things—like chickens and roosters (so there can be more baby chicks), and husbands that greet you merry before dawn’s light, and go off to happily brew the coffee, and…

Let’s try this again…

*****

We want to boil it down compact, terse, package it up in a little jar, condense all that light into a bottled torch somehow meant to keep on shining despite the smothering lid sealed overtop.

But it defies us, appears, teasing, like glitters on the air, then ducks into shadows, peeks around corners of the past, whispering, “I was there, in these fragments, long ago… Long before you ‘came to faith,’ I, Faith, came to you, in budding little manifestations. When you think about it, you’ll remember bits and pieces.”

And I do…

When I knelt beside that bed in my “feets-in” pajamas and prayed “the Lord my soul to keep,” I know I meant it, that I believed.

Then, later, why did I sit my little brother with me on that hill above the creek that ran as crooked-convoluted as my life did later, to read to him the Sermon on the Mount and other gospel words?

And on the Christmastides, one or two, when we all gathered round to open gifts— with Mom and Dad (heads of household), “Maw-Maw,” and “Paw-Paw” (former “minister”)—why was it 11- or 12-yr old me who wanted everyone to wait till we (really, I, by default) read Luke’s Christmas story, and they all complied and humored me—me, the later agnostic, self-labeled?

And those two VBS series I attended: It intrigues me now that all I remember about them is my mother striping an old sheet to fashion a “Bible times” costume, and Psalm 24 and Psalm 100  – two passages we worked to memorize. And how is it that those verses stayed anchored in me, through all those slippery times when you’d think they’d slide right out heart’s door?

And why did that single sermon I heard in my late-teen-skepticism years affect me so, that I believed its foolish promise, that if you trusted God and sought His kingdom and righteousness, He’d supply all your needs? Me, the skeptic, who already wrestled doubts growing larger year by year! Why did that sermon also linger in me, clasped by some subconscious lock, ready to spring some fifteen long years later, to become the exciting adventure of my life, when I tried God by obedience and learned the yes, that what I “foolishly” believed back then was true!

I can only say He was there all along, drawing me, just as He says He does (John 12:32). Giving increase to meager seeds tucked into the darkened soil of my understanding, even with the little watering they got in all those desert years. I can neither analyze nor explain it, but that it was about grace, about Him, and certainly not about me.

What a merciful Savior!

Singing in my heart this morning, “For the beauty of the earth. For the glory of the skies, for the love which from our birth over and around us lies, Lord of all to Thee [I] raise, this [my] hymn of grateful praise.”

*****

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