Okay, the illustrations are a bit corny (or maybe “canned
humor”)—a CAN and a CANTaloupe, but I’ve been thinking lately of “Can People”
and the “Can’t People.”
“Can People” specialize in Biblical obedience and courage.
They’re energized by statements like this: “I can do all things through
Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13). Author: Paul. “Office” when
he wrote that: a miserable First Century prison. Hardly the poster child to
illustrate the results of possibility thinking. He couldn’t name-it/claim-it to
get out of jail.
But, definitely the poster child for enduring difficulties if
those were part of God’s script for his life and ministry. He preceded his
“can-do” statement with his thanks to the Philippian church for sending
practical help—probably money via an encouraging friend named Epaphroditis.
As a young adult in my late twenties, wrestling with major
life changes, I was drawn to Paul’s positivity as expressed in the book of
Philippians. My gas tank for life’s journey was definitely empty. I’d spent
nearly all my savings to attend Bible college for a year. It was a great
experience. I made good friends, gained Bible study tools, and deepened my
spiritual walk. But as my coursework ended, I had no job. No place to live. And
my bank account was starting to gasp.
My heart said, “God. I can’t go forward. What am I to do?”
Then a miracle one-year job came my way. The housing office
asked me to stay in the campus apartments for the summer to “supervise” the
guests who came and went—with free housing as my “pay.” When summer ended, some
other single women invited me to live in the basement of their rented house as
that roommate was leaving. It was dark and dank, but it was housing.
Something else happened that summer. One of my professors
had set the high bar of encouraging students to memorize extended passages of
scripture. Memorizing selected Bible verses had been part of my spiritual
practices. But a whole book? Why not?
I chose the book of Philippians. I knew Paul wrote it out of
a discouraging personal situation of imprisonment. Yet I knew it was considered
the epistle of joy. And I needed joy in my life! So, I plunged in, memorizing a
few verses at a time. Because my summer housing was “dorm furniture,” my bed
was the bottom part of a bunk. I still remember holding up my little palm-size New
Testament with its backdrop of springs supporting the upper bunk. I’d read a
phrase, close my eyes, and try to quote it. Over and over. Over and over.
At times I wondered why I had taken on such a task. But the
maturity of that professor’s spiritual walk compelled me to give it a try. By
summer’s end, when I had memorized dozens of verses, I realized this had been
God’s discipline to chip away at my “can’t” attitudes. He drew nearer than ever
before (4:4), taught me about the trait of gentleness (v. 5), worked on my
tendency to worry (anxiety, v. 6), and put me through the school of being
patient about unanswered prayer (v. 6). Word by word, verse by verse, that huge
scripture memory project built up my faith.
Even today, as I read Philippians, I can remember the “sanctuary” of a steel bunk bed, holding up that little Testament and closing my eyes as I
memorized each phrase. As God’s Words
filled my brain, He fine-tuned my heart, helping me drop the “T” in the “cants”
of my spiritual life.