I Hate Winter

I hate winter.

Sorry, winter fans. I'm finished with it. I was finished with it three months ago. Forget the frozen pipes and the hairy roads. My style is so cramped by the perpetual cold hands and the stiffness of the muscles. I don't enjoy the brownness of the earth, the gray skies, or my inability to smell anything. Some people feel more alive in the crispness of winter air, but for me it's the opposite. Winter is a season of dead. Give me one month to go snowboarding and make Christmas look right, and then we can be done. (Coming up at eleven: What my car thinks of winter - uncensored!)

What a relief that daylight savings time is here. Once the echoing void of galactic darkness starting at 4:30pm is behind us, it feels like planet Earth again. It feels like spring. A good friend once said, "it feels hopeful." I can say with confidence that I'm not made for winter. I'm a warm weather guy. Living...in...umm...Montana. Because that makes perfect sense.

And yet...it's a good thing winter comes.

The two previous winters have been pretty friendly to me - relatively warm, dry, and short, without too many cold snaps or treacherous roads. (That went spectacularly out the window this year.) And both times I've gone through such winters, I've felt a sneaky kind of glee. Glee because the winter doesn't get in the way too much, doesn't inconvenience me as much, doesn't last as long as it could.

And sneaky because I feel...kinda guilty, I guess? Because I know that every snowstorm could be a good thing. Necessary, even. It might melt and drench the high country, prevent future forest fires. It might raise the water levels in our lakes and rivers for the summer, benefit wildlife. It might insulate winter wheat from the lethal cold.

I want this blasted season to end, but I know full well there's a good reason for it.

"Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." - James 1:4

A season must accomplish its purpose.

Something in the childish part of me sinks and goes "Ehhh, great." I wish I had an easier time appreciating God's offer of growth. I have to force myself to do so. We've all got our winters. Unanswered prayer, waiting, sometimes from God's hand, sometimes now. And when I'm bare-white-knuckling my steering wheel just to keep from skidding off the straight and narrow - well, hang the rules, I just want spring to come.

But what if that maturity and completion could be a really good thing? 

What if it watered and preserved life for me later down the road? God's looking out for me. He wants me to be able to enjoy blessings and pass trials coming later on. I'm gonna need maturity to do either. I remember the fall of 2007, when the fires were so numerous and the smoke was so thick that hiking in Jewel Basin was a raspy chore and you couldn't see more than three blocks downtown. 

I don't want that in my life. It's back to the ol' "pay now or pay later" decision. God offers to irrigate my character and preserve me for great things later. 

I may be sitting here and eagerly watching the snow line creep back up the mountains every single day, and I know God doesn't begrudge me my eagerness. But he's got a spiritual water cycle that I'm really going to be grateful for later on.

So I'll persevere.

I just hope God helps me fix my windshield wipers. I think I yanked one of them out of alignment trying to thaw it the other day, stupid thing.

A Difficult Week Ahead

I've lost something dear to me this season.

The loss is yet very close to me, so I will keep the details to myself. But it now looks thoroughly, irrevocably gone. It was something about which I'd prayed long and hard, had others rooting and praying, really felt God was moving. Now I don't know. I may never know the mysteries of all that now. I won't try to sort it out; that just gets you tied up in knots.

But the disappointment is real. It's not the worst that one could imagine - I know many folks whose trials make this pale in comparison. But it's real for me. (And it does not help that it's twenty below outside and my pipes are frozen.)

I want to do something a respected mentor and friend of mine did recently in a loss of her own: she asked others to "be sad with her". Seems like a small detail, but I admired her for asking. Many of us are fearful to ask that much of others. I sure am. But God's grace should be sought in every corner it can be found - including his church.

"Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn." - Romans 12:15

So...I'm just gonna say it. I need love this week. (Heck, we need it every week.) I need friendship. I need a little hope and encouragement. Save your strongest prayers for those undergoing true trials unto death, of course...but even so, pray for me a little this week, if you'd be so kind.

I didn't get what I hoped for. But you want to know the miracle I DID get?

I know exactly how this would have felt just two years ago. Honestly, it would have been dark. I was in a difficult place. I'd felt abandoned and unheard by God for a long time. The disappointments and challenges of life were feeling like rejections on his part. Back then, something like this would have been an enormous weight, an intense despondency. It would really, truly have challenged my faith.

Now...lightness. Stillness. Tears within a calmed soul.

The hurt is still present, mind you. But something inside just knows God is here. It knows. It's not worried. The tears come and go, and I'll probably remain tender for a little while. But no despair has taken root. No discouragement has clamped on.

I know what this is. Something deep down has been healed.

"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." - Psalm 147:3

For months now, I've been forcing myself to confess what I know to be true of God, out loud, when I pray and meditate. To challenge those unspoken lies that accumulate in the soul like mildew. It changes you. It shifts you deep down, carries power with it, renews your mind. There's zero power in praying to a Jehovah that doesn't exist...a distant one, an uncaring one, a powerless one, however the lies of loss, of religion, and of the world have painted him for you.

And now I'm seeing the work that truth has accomplished. It's night and day.

I still have questions. Where is God in this? What can be learned here? What does this mean for the future? But...they're just questions. There's no fear or grimness in them anymore.

God puts us back together. He binds up our wounds. And, like any wound requires, he then strengthens those parts of us so that they bear a load. What an incredible promise, even more than his perfect comfort. This is the life he offers.

Mourn with those who mourn this week. But there is something for which to rejoice as well.

Jesus Courtside

Our girls' basketball team just had a pretty brutal ending to the season.

After nailing their first playoff game, sloppy play caught up to our girls in the second. The star player fouled out by the third quarter; two others would follow. You could tell the moment they started playing panicky: their shots became wild, turning the ball over, losing discipline and making more fouls. A downward spiral.

By the fourth quarter, we were putting in eighth graders (this is a rural district, so not a deep roster) as we staggered to a 73-34 loss and the end of our tournament hopes.

As defeats go, this kind is the worst to take, especially for our senior playing her last high school game. There were a lot of tears on our bench. I wanted to run over there and comfort them, but exhausted athletes in the midst of loss are tough to console.

But that wasn't what bugged me the most. What really got to me was that the other teachers left the stands and went home before the fourth quarter even started.

I understand wanting to get an early start heading home (we could see the loss coming, and it was an hour's drive back to our community). But earlier on in the season, I'd walked out of a home game when our girls got behind in overtime, and they came back to win. I had to face those girls in my geometry class the next Monday. And today their bench was facing the stands where I sat, so if I left, they'd see me. I wasn't about to repeat the same mistake.

That evening, a lot of that sloppy play reared its head again, and a few folks in our crowd didn't handle it well. They booed and mocked the refs openly. I honestly don't know enough about basketball to tell whether the calls were legit, but others in the crowd sure didn't think so.

That night, one of the teachers said this: "I left because I didn't want to be seen as part of that crowd."

I was reminded of how a couple of teachers had made a point of skipping boys' games last season because of the way a couple of them played - really ugly technical fouls, unsportsmanlike conduct. And the teachers had told the students exactly why: "Right now I'm embarrassed to be associated with this school."

That night, as our girls' team started losing their nerve on the court and the teachers got up to leave, I stayed in my seat. I'd been hit with a thought that kept me riveted there until time ran out.

"I'm glad Jesus doesn't leave when I start sucking."

I've been out there on the court of life for thirty years, playing for God's team, and I don't have the stat line I wish I did. I've made some bad errors. I've screwed up all kinds of plays. I've had missed opportunities, meltdowns, fights with my teammates, you name it. (And don't think that God is "more pleased" with mine just because they're not the "big ones" of the Ten Commandments - that's not how it works.) So many points left on the court, so many plays I've taken off. I think I've done better in the last few years under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, but I've had those moments that make people wonder, "This is the church?"

But Jesus has never left the arena.

"For the joy set before him he (Jesus) endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." - Hebrews 12:2

Jesus wasn't worried about his image when he came to rescue us. He wasn't stopped by the humiliation of the flogging, the cross, or the ridiculous ways we would twist and ignore his teachings. He got right in there and took it on the chin for us. He was willing to be seen with us. In fact, he insists on it.

"Both the one who makes people holy and those who are made holy are of the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters." - Hebrews 2:11

Wow - God makes us family.

Goodness knows that we, God's people, have tanked it over and over. But God isn't leaving. He has fiercely fought for our souls and our hearts. He has made a commitment to sticking it out until the fourth quarter, right up until time on the clock runs out. And in our sin and our errors, instead of walking out, he walks right up to us on the bench, comforts us, and encourages us for the next game. He will never leave, for he has already taken our shame away.

God is not embarrassed to root for you. He is not ashamed to call you his own, as long as you have called him your savior. You can never sin badly enough to drive him from the arena shaking his head, because Jesus has already paid for it.

So hold your head up and start prepping for the next game. He'll be there.

And if you keep playing your heart out for him, you're gonna start winning games.

Hope, the Seahawks, and the Son of God

Two weeks ago, the Seahawks won the Super Bowl.

The Seahawks. MY TEAM. It still hasn't quite sunk in. For two whole weeks, "whatever, the Seahawks won the Super Bowl" has been my answer for everything that goes wrong. It's surreal!

But if I'd predicted four years ago that the Seattle Seahawks would be winning the Super Bowl, even the most rabid fan would have cast me a skeptical look.

You have to know the Seahawks of the last few years to understand how it feels. I'm no fairweather fan. I complimented a guy for his Seahawks jersey the other day and heard someone else mutter "bandwagoner". I turned straight to the guy with a big smile and said "Hey dude...I stuck it out through 2009." I've earned my status as a faithful fan, trust me.

For the uninitiated now going "Ohh great, he's about to start talking football", I'll keep it simple. By the end of the 2008 season, the Seahawks were in bad shape. They'd finished with a 4-12 record, the league's fourth worst team. This was a relatively young team, a baby of the seventies and not one of the classic teams from the baby boom era, and one that had suffered many years of indignity and loss (aka the nineties). Our only Super Bowl appearance in 2005 - well, just ask any fan about that one. For the Seattle faithful, defeat and artful cynicism were a way of life.

"As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and your sins." (Ephesians 2:1)

But optimistic fans looked at the previous five seasons, all of which saw Seattle reaching the playoffs and even the Super Bowl, and hoped that 2008 was just an aberration. An off year. They blamed it on the spate of injuries (there were quite a few) and a coach who was retiring. They believed that with a couple good strong players from the draft, and a good performance from the new coach - who had been groomed under the same administration that got us to the Super Bowl - we could regain our playoff form.

Football fans. We're a hopeless gaggle of blind hope.

2009 was an even greater disaster. Despite finishing with five wins instead of four, the Seahawks were awful. It was apparent that our problems ran deeper than injuries. That team that almost won it all in 2005 had simply gotten old. The quarterback needed replacing. The star linebacker we'd drafted didn't last two years with the team. The defense turned out to be worse than we'd thought, exposed by a tougher schedule. So much for reclaiming glory.

"With a loud cry, Jesus breathed his last." (Mark 15:37)

It was bad. The team was left with a mix of over-the-hill veterans and mediocre rookies. It was all a shambles, without direction and with an inscrutable future. Years of rebuilding appeared to be in order, and judging from the Cleveland Browns and their perpetual state of rebuilding, that's no ray of hope.

If there was a championship ahead any time soon, Seattle fans at the end of 2009 couldn't see it.

"And when all the crowd that came to see the crucifixion saw what had happened, they went home in deep sorrow." (Luke 23:48 NLT)

But then a new coach and GM got a hold of the team, and things started happening. We fans didn't understand at first. Roster moves started happening at a lightning pace. Fan favorites and roster bright spots were traded. Criticism started up immediately. I was among them. I didn't see how cutting our few standout players would help. Oddly enough, they didn't seem to care. They just kept working, doing their thing.

And within three years, the team was utterly transformed. New quarterback, legendary defense, a reputation for physicality and winning the toughest games. In just a few short seasons, far sooner than anyone expected, the Seahawks went from the bottom of the barrel to the top of the heap. We won the Super Bowl. We DOMINATED the Super Bowl. Despite all the pop stars and movie actors who said we they wouldn't.

"...you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said." (Matthew 28:5-6)

Now we're the envy of the league. Our defense (the "Legion of Boom") is spoken of in the same breath as the legendary NFL defenses of the seventies. Other teams are starting to mimic our drafting strategy. Our roster cuts land starting jobs elsewhere. Not only did we win the big game, we're on top of the league in almost every conceivable category. It's dizzying.

"When you were dead in your sins and in the uncircumcision of your sinful nature, God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins...he took it away, nailing it to the cross. And having disarmed the powers and authorities (of evil), he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross." (Colossians 2:13-15)

Championship.

Okay, so the Seahawks really aren't that big a matter. I know some of us almost make football a religion, but honestly, who knows if the Seahawks will even repeat. Their coaches are not God and Peyton Manning is not an authority of evil. It's a metaphor, and a loose one at that.

But if you've seen the bewildered delight of a Seahawks fan lately, you might be able to understand the joy of a Christian. Or at least a tenth of it. Maybe.

You see, in the same way that the Seahawks made a startling turnaround in almost no time at all (in NFL terms), God pulled a 180 in the story of the world. No one quite knows how. The method was completely unexpected for everyone standing there watching the crucifixion. But it worked. Where darkness had reigned, now there was light. Where sin had obscured God from mankind, there was now freedom and reconciliation. Where it looked for three days like Jesus Christ would be killed and thwarted from his goal, he would instead defy death in both himself and in us.

He rose again to offer us life. It's the sweetest 'W' I've ever experienced.

To those I'm welcoming here who used to follow my Seahawks blog (what a waste of time, guys), I want to say this in the instant I have your attention:

Jesus Christ is the Son of God. He is my Savior, my redeemer, and the friend of anyone who will welcome him. He is a healer, a rescuer, a teacher, an advocate, a comforter, a counselor, and a guide. He mends broken lives. He brings justice to the oppressed. He has concern for the poor. He is a companion to the rejected. And he offers hope - the only hope possible - for all mankind.

And if you have never seen him in this way - well, coming from one who has known him, he is better than you think. I can testify to that. I invite you to follow along on this blog as I do my best to relay who he really is. I'll even challenge you to suspend some of the things you might have heard about him secondhand from the world, or about the Bible that tells us of him. All I ask is that we be courteous and open-minded here. I'm convinced you won't regret it.

For those of you who do know Jesus, live it up! We have the victory. We have reason to celebrate.

And although the Seahawks may or may not repeat next year, you know Jesus has an even greater victory on the way. No fluke championships here.

For You, but Not for Me?

My Bible study friends and I were sitting down and doing a spiritual gifts survey last Thursday. It involved a self-grading (and long) series of questions that asked us to answer on a scale of 1 ("almost never true") to 5 ("almost always true") for how well a statement applied to us.

An example: "1. When I hear evangelistic messages, I pray for people who don't know Christ", with that question and several others intended to evaluate whether you might possess the gift of evangelism. In case you're wondering, I put down a 4 here.

So we were running through the list of questions, occasionally dropping wry comments about how we were not good at certain gifts. Don't ask me to administrate anything; I jotted down a 1 every time I saw the word "organize". We had a great and encouraging time - "oh, yeah, it makes sense that you might have that gift!" "Wow, my results sure changed from the last time I took this."

But as I progressed through the list, I felt ambushed by the Holy Spirit on something that the survey might or might not have intended to point out. I read these questions in quick succession:

9. "For me, it's easy to trust God for the impossible."

10. "I frequently find myself encouraging the troubled, comforting the distressed, and reassuring the wavering."

For question ten, I put down a five. But for the one for before it, after thinking long and honestly for about a minute, I put down a three.

On the next page, it happened again:

41. "I commit difficulties obstacles to God in prayer and am not anxious about His answering those prayers."

57. "I regularly attempt to motivate others to believe God in difficult or impossible situations."

For question fifty-seven, I again put down a five without needing to think. But question forty-one, this time I could only manage a two.

When it's other people's faith we're talking about, it's a slam dunk. I find it so easy to believe in God's goodness, his power, and his ability to come through - as long as it's in others' lives and the challenges they're facing there. I could go on all day about how God is the perfect object of faith for them. I've got awesome confidence in that.

But when I find myself asking whether I believe the same things for my own life? Pretty shaky. I'm lucky to get a three.

Sure enough, when I reached the self-grading end of the survey, the spiritual gift of exhortation - encouraging others' faith and spirit - was tied for my highest. But on faith, which I interpreted as God carrying out his promises in my own life? I'm sad to say that with the exception of administration, I scored second lowest on faith.


What an eye-opener.

And I know I'm not alone in this. Why is it always simpler to believe in God's presence and faithfulness towards others than for our own? It's a condition that can so easily sneak into our consciousness.

I could just say "Well, I need to cultivate that spiritual gift more" and that's probably true. It's only a survey. And it's easier to believe the truth when you don't have as much at stake, as is the case when you're trying to help your friends. Can't see the forest for the trees and all that.

But I can't ignore the truth of those particular contrasting questions. Maybe it's also because I know my story. I've seen a lot of moments where, for whatever reason, I have failed or fallen short or lost out. I know of a lot more such moments in my life than in others', whose story I've seen only a glimpse. We know our landscape of faith, countless little moments, better than anyone else could.

I don't know where God was in those times, but I know how the enemy wants to spin it. "You can't trust him. He's not going to come through, just like last time." It seems so much more real and immediate when it's my life on the line.

Thanks to a spiritual gift survey last Thursday, I'm reminded yet again of this lie in my life.

"He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?" - Romans 8:32

If it applies to others, it applies in equal measure to me. All the enthusiasm that you hold for God's power in the lives of those around you? That's for you as well. Jesus died and was resurrected to give you the same life he gave others, the same status as favored children in his kingdom that he gave to others. It's a fact.




Imagine if we could have the same confidence for ourselves that we have for others.

Thank you, Jesus, for your love and your faithfulness. Help me with my unbelief. I long to have the same confidence in you for my own life that I have for others. Calm my troubled waters. Give me your peace. I confess and accept your life, your resurrection, and your riches for me. In Jesus' name, amen.

A Captive Audience

I recently had an after-school tutoring arrangement with an older gentleman. He's going back to school at a local community college, and once a week he would drop by my classroom to refresh algebra skills he hasn't used since high school.

He's a very willing and engaged student. After our first meeting, I was struck by a thought: that was the best class I've had since I became a high school teacher!

Well, of course. No offense to my own awesome students, but this guy was eager to learn. He wanted to understand, had invested money in a course he had to pass. He was willing to put in the hard work of paying attention, focusing, practicing, note-taking, and learning from mistakes. He knew how to focus. He just gets it.

That made him so EASY to teach. What teacher doesn't dream of a captive audience? We progressed quickly through the material, and my thoughts rolled through my mind elegantly and simply, letting me make relevant connections, getting me fired up. It reminded me of how good I can be in a classroom when I'm not stopping to refocus somebody every thirty seconds. (This might be true of your own teachers, too.)

I remember turning to God afterwards and telling him honestly, "I wish more of my students were like that."

I was caught off guard by what God said in return:

"So do I."

He didn't say it with annoyance or judgment - more like gentle humor. But I felt busted.

I'm enrolled in God's school of life and righteousness. My enrollment fee has been paid for by Christ, and I've put my own time and reputation into living as a Christian. People are watching to see how I live, and souls are on the line.

Am I a willing, determined student?

There's a science to being a good scholar. Many of us perform it daily without thinking. Honoring the financial deposit that we've made (or that someone else made on our behalf) is a lifestyle. We come to class. We listen to the teacher. We take notes, ask questions, do the assigned reading. We study and prepare for tests, work with classmates, examine and challenge our beliefs. We rearrange our life outside school to assist our studies and eliminate distractions. And if we don't get it at first, we go to the instructor and ask more questions, spend extra time with him.

Do I take this kind of initiative with God? Not often enough. Sometimes I'm just that slacker sitting in the back row, playing Angry Birds and thinking I can turn everything in at the last minute.

Here's the thing - when it comes to God's school, we're ALL behind. Theologically speaking, there is no curve - just one global remedial class. Our flesh and the enemy are set against us. The world mocks. And life itself is hard. None of us can afford to dally around here. We all have to be taking notes, doing the reading, spending time with the instructor. He is the best qualified to renew our minds. No self-teaching here.

A bad grade in this class doesn't mean going to hell, of course. Our destiny is secure. But it could mean that our fruits in this life get stunted. Our witness can suffer; others won't see Christ in us effectively. I don't want to squander any of God's investment.

Our own joy and peace is at risk, too. God is so much more than just an instructor, a title that can sound distant and detached. He is our Father, our Rescuer, and our very Life. But it's not just going to come on a silver platter, anymore than good grades in math class will. The enemy opposes. Our own flesh tries to trip us up, keep us ignorant, distract us.

"The thief comes only to steal, kill, and destroy; I come that they may have life, and have it to the full." - John 10:10

The offer is there. God is willing and eager to teach.

I want to be a good spiritual student. Take initiative, listen, work, learn, shut out distractions, be the kind of student that every teacher longs to have in his classroom. I owe my savior nothing less. And I have everything to gain.

Reversing the Pattern

…and five months later, I finally get back to this.

I’ve been grappling for a long time with Big Questions over what to do with disappointment and hope deferred. Months and years in which you pray for big things, hope for big things, and God just doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

And imperceptibly but slowly, as I’ve turned the tone of my questions from resentful to respectful, God has answered me by comparing my story to one from the Scriptures. I’m slightly embarrassed to say such things, but I see so many keen similarities between this story and mine that I’m pretty sure I know what he’s saying.

The story of Joseph rounds out the book of Genesis, the book of the patriarchs. Joseph is known primarily for his suffering, for the long stretch of his life in which he underwent trial after trial and God didn't bail him out. After being given a dream of dominion over his brothers, he’s separated from family and sold into slavery at seventeen; he spends thirteen years in various captivities and prisons, despite keeping his character and doing his best to serve God. And then, in what most people would consider a stunning turn of fortune, he is catapulted from imprisoned criminal to ruler of a powerful nation. And although Joseph goes yet another eight years before recovering his family and seeing his dreams fulfilled, God gives him the wisdom to deliver an entire region from a famine, including his people Israel.

The lesson with which most pulpits end this tale of cosmic ups-and-downs is that God’s purpose will all make sense in the end. And it will.

“But God sent me ahead of you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance. So then, it was not you who sent me here, but God.” – Genesis 45:7-8

But I often wonder what Joseph was thinking while he was still in the trial.

This is a son of the patriarchs we’re talking about. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – these guys served as the latest word on God’s relationship with his people for thousands of years. Some of the greatest stories we have of God guiding his people, teaching them, delivering them, just talking to them…come from these fathers of Israel. Not that things were always easy – Abraham’s test with Isaac on Mount Moriah comes to mind – but they were stories of power, rescue, and constant closeness. Never did these men face challenge for very long, seemingly, before God stepped in.

Then Joseph gets his turn, and – whaaaaaaa?

The Bible doesn’t give us much of a glimpse into Joseph’s exact thoughts during this time, so I have to speculate here. But I know what I would have thought if I had experienced what Joseph did. “My fathers never went through anything like this. What cosmic bus did I miss? Why do I get this hand?” Joseph gets handed a dream at a young age, a brief glimpse of God’s involvement, then BAM.

And for twenty-one years, the dream fades from view and he’s left to the devices of the world. Slave trade, false accusations, foreign legal system, control by other people – those are seemingly the rules of life. 

From Joseph’s viewpoint, all he could see was a bum deal that God wasn’t rescuing him from. The real story would not emerge for a long time.

Now we do know that “the Lord was with Joseph and gave him success in whatever he did.” Genesis 39 begins and ends with those remarks, helping to soften the blow of the betrayals and injustices that Joseph experiences there. So it’s not as if Joseph was abandoned.

But again, it’s sometimes hard to distinguish God’s favor from you just scraping by. In moments of clarity, it’s easy to remember that only God can be credited for good things. But when I'm in the midst of waiting and godless people are accomplishing the same things (or greater) as you, sometimes it’s all I can do to hold onto the truth.

We don’t know whether God spoke to Joseph about his circumstance or his blocked dreams. We just know he didn’t rescue Joseph for a long, long time. This story stands out in the Old Testament for how little direct communication is recorded between God and follower. 

We get only one brief tidbit – Joseph entreats a fellow prisoner, “But when all goes well with you, remember me and show me kindness; mention me to Pharaoh and get me out of this prison. I was forcibly carried off from the land of the Hebrews, and even here I have done nothing to deserve being put in a dungeon” (Gen. 40:14-15). He’s not happy. Perhaps there’s even a touch of bitterness there. Has he heard any promise of deliverance?

Eventually, we will all face the possibility of resignation. Just going along with the narrative

How I wish we could get a glance into Joseph’s mind. At some point, whether languishing in prison or standing at Pharoah’s right hand, did he ever just give up on seeing his family again? What did he do with those dreams from his childhood? Did he ever just go, “Well, it’s been twenty years and God hasn’t done anything. I don’t know what to make of those dreams, but I’m starting to think that this is his story for me after all.”

Throw in whatever theological rationalizations. In this world we will have trouble. God appoints nations. He won’t interfere with free will. We have to sometimes share the sufferings of Christ. All of those are true.

But it's not the same as being tempted to lose great expectations of God. To just go along with the narrative.

Maybe it’s a family problem or relationship that just won’t resolve itself. An illness that clings for decades. The calling of evangelism, battling to open the way for others’ salvation and seeing little fruit. The fight against poverty, or unemployment, or loneliness, or insignificance. Years and years of disappointment, victory just out of reach, and eventually the dream God gave you feels so worn down that it’s completely abstract.

Instead, you’ve got the pattern in front of you, and it’s all the reality you can see.

I’m not making any claim on what God will do next in your life. I wish I could; it’s beyond my knowledge.

But I know what God did in Joseph’s life.

WHOOSH – restoration! Suddenly and impossibly, Joseph’s dreams and desires of two decades come true. He is reunited with his family. His father Jacob has not passed away during the twenty-one long years, although he’s wanted to. Not one of his brothers has been lost.

After being seemingly quiet for seemingly forever, God suddenly speaks.

After a staggering twenty-one years of deferred hope and close calls, God reverses the pattern.

And boy does he reverse it. Extravagantly, amazingly. In addition to a position of honor and power over a great empire, Joseph gets his entire family back, brings them into plenty and prosperity, and sees his father live to bless his sons. Talk about the best of both worlds!

This story stirs immense hope in me, and I hope it does for you. God is not bound by accumulated time, repeated setback, circumstance, our own errors, or the propaganda of the enemy (never to be ignored). He can show up in power at any time, even after years of silence have convinced you that he works differently. And I gotta make note of this - when he showed up for Joseph, his provision shows his deep concern and memory for the hearts of Joseph, his father Jacob, and his brothers – while wildly exceeding everyone’s expectations. He sees their longing for reunion, and says, "I'll do you one better."

Some of us have to wait longer than others to see our God-given dreams and purposes fulfilled. But God makes a huge statement against resignation and surrender here in the story of Joseph. He encourages hope, to consider God's greater works behind the scenes, and to remember that our hearts matter to him.

So much for an inattentive God.