THORNY PEOPLE

Ouch!--from my spring rose-pruning

Thorny people—you know who they are! They find it easy to pout (poor me!) and spout (terrible them!). I thought of those two negative words in reading Anne Graham Lotz's Wounded by God's People (Zondervan, 2013). Lotz, author-speaker and daughter of the late evangelist Dr. Billy Graham, pulled fresh-to-me lessons from the complicated Old Testament story of Sarah and her maid, Hagar. Lotz' application is not limited to believers wounding other believers, but the whole picture of choosing revenge and anger over trust and kindness.

First, a recap of Hagar's story from Genesis 18 and 20-21. Hagar was barren Sarah's handmaiden. When Sarah gave up the idea of getting pregnant in her old-old-age (despite an angelic visitation telling her it would happen--sometime), she told Hagar to “sleep” on her behalf with her century-old husband Abraham. He got her pregnant and Hagar gave birth to a baby boy, Ishmael, whose name means “God will hear.” This wasn't the way God intended for Abraham's lineage to be carried on. Then, at an age 91 miracle, Sarah got pregnant and gave birth to Isaac. His name means “laughter,” and why not? It was a joyous, crazy occasion. (Probably in those middle-of-the-night feedings she had to remind herself of his name!)

Fast forward a bit. In the meantime, Isaac's half-brother Ishmael (via Hagar) was starting to grow whiskers and pimples. Not wanting this kid around, reminding her of her failure to believe God earlier, Sarah decided to terminate Hagar's “employment.” The maid and her son were sent off to the wilderness.

Just imagine Hagar's thoughts as she and the famished, thirsty boy sought shade from the blasting sun out in the middle of nowhere. Death was imminent--until God (via an angelic helper) intervened, provided some miracle water, and sent them on.

On one level, this is a story of family anger and heartless abandonment. But it's also a reminder that God, in His wisdom and eternal plan, can work through times when others wound us. Lotz pointed out that our typical response in “wounding” is to focus on the faults of others: “It's not me. It's them! And even if it were me, what I did to them wasn't as hurtful as what they did to me. So, it's still them!” (p. 92).

But Lotz suggested another way of processing life's wounds—of asking questions like these:

• “Do you want your life characterized by the result of remaining focused on 'them' while being blind to your own pride, arrogance, anger, resentment, name-calling, vengeful digs, schemes for revenge, or vicious gossip disguised as prayer requests?”

• “What are you living for? Instead of living your life to the glory of God, are you driven by a desire to get even, vindicate your actions, prove someone else wrong, justify your opinion, expose the other person, get your own way?”

• “Consider carefully...do any of these desires truly honor God?” (p. 93)

To put it in a nutshell, whether we're wounded (or wound-ers), we face two choices: pout and spout....or trust and obey. I know, as that 1887 hymn by John Sammis says, the better choice is: “Trust and obey, for there's no other way, to be happy in Jesus....but to trust and obey.”

Not always easy, but it's God's way of moving on from conflict that dishonors Him.

Where's the GBH?

“Shhh!” my husband whispered as we neared the swamp in our town’s riverfront trail system. “Look by the peninsula on the left.” I squinted to find the hump-shouldered outline of the huge gray bird amidst the dying foliage of autumn. Aware of our presence, it turned its S-shaped neck and waded out of view.I remembered previous times we came upon Great Blue Herons (GBH) in this swamp. One time, a pair startled us as they burst out of the cattails, whapping their six-foot-wide wingspans to lift four to eight pounds of body weight. They’re quite obvious aloft, but silent and nearly invisible as they troll the shallow waters for small fish to eat.

I thought of how we often fail to see God in the swamplands of life. When we end up in a place of disappointment or fear, we may feel He doesn’t notice us. That’s why one of the names of God, “El Roi,” meaning “The God Who Sees Me,” is especially poignant. We’re introduced to that aspect of His character through the Genesis 16 account of Hagar, Sarai’s maidservant. Pregnant with Abram’s child because of barren Sarai’s insistence on a surrogate, Hagar ran away when she couldn’t take Sarai’s jealousy and anger any more, collapsing by a little desert spring. Without hope, without direction, the desperate woman learned that Someone saw her troubles—God Himself. He told her to go back to Sarai and encouraged her with the revelation that the son in her womb would have a significant place in history. An ordinary water hole became a holy place. Thus she named it after her God-visit, Beer Lahai Roi, “Well of the Living One Who Sees Me.”

I find this story of great comfort. If God cares enough to intervene in a domestic dispute (albeit one with significant historical ramifications), surely He is aware of everything that goes on in my life. For many years, 2 Chronicles 16:9 has been a beacon of hope when I felt ignored and insignificant: “For the eyes of the LORD run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to shew himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward him” (KJV). It’s been a part of my memory bank so long that I can’t even recall the circumstances that put its truth into my life. But it’s there, a solid proclamation of God’s watch-care. Nothing can camouflage my actions or needs. He has seen it all, even before I was born and still in process in my mother’s womb (Psalm 139:15).

So where’s the GBH? Alone in his swampy disguise, known to God. And where am I in my deepest need, my most frustrating situation, or a place where God seems excluded? Right in the focus of God’s perfect telescope, its cross-hairs in the shape of a Cross.