I was hurt. I was angry. I was terrified.
Because I refused to abort the baby, the doctors classified this as a high-risk pregnancy. I was required to come for checkups more often and was constantly watched for any little problem. In the meantime, Christmas was nearly upon us, and I began to pray like I’d never prayed before.
My expectations were shot. Now all I wanted was the peace that passes understanding. Now all I needed was God’s healing touch, His gentle hand, His loving reassurance that He would see me through.
I heard the words from Isaiah, “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given . . .” (9:6 KJV).
I wanted so much for those words to be true for our family, and as I prayed, God worked a miracle in my heart. The peace did come, the anticipation of God’s promise to be there for me—to hold me and keep me—gave me strength. I felt the peace I so longed to know, and the expectation that was born was one of knowing that no matter what lay at the end of the road, God would take every step with me; I would never be alone. He didn’t take away the problem, but He assured me of my safety, of His guardianship.
As the pregnancy drew to an end, we had already endured many problems. I developed pneumonia during the middle trimester and had to be put on complete bed rest. I missed a lot of work and then had to go to half days. My employer wasn’t happy about it, commenting behind my back that this was a lot of trouble and effort for a baby who was going to die anyway.
As I woke up on Mother’s Day, 1989, I felt mildly uncomfortable and knew my labor had started. I couldn’t help but turn to God in prayer. What would happen this day? Mother’s Day, of all days.
Our expectations were so very different than they had been in the beginning. My husband and I had thought we’d known how things would go. I had figured it all out very carefully and had detailed all my plans. Now, preparing to deliver this baby, nothing but God remained a sure thing.
As my labor increased, I felt the peace of God engulf me. My husband, Jim, had told me a few months earlier that God had given him assurance that all would be well. I clung to that assurance. No matter the outcome.
I also clung to the expectation that all of this had come about for a reason. Remember, I’m the one who told God that no good could come out of this. Well, God would prove me wrong on that measure, and He would do so in a spectacular manner. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Erik was born shortly before eight o’clock that evening. He was perfectly whole and wonderfully healthy. A lovely, beautiful baby boy was added to our family.
I wanted to sing and shout and dance before the Lord. I wanted to hold my son up as evidence to the medical world that they didn’t know best—God did. I wanted to write a letter to every abortion supporter, tack a picture of my son at the top, and tell them what choice was really all about.
Several years later I would write about this experience for a small Sunday school take-home paper. The story ran on Mother’s Day—my son’s birthday. To my surprise, and extreme blessing, an editor friend sent me a note some time after that. She’d received a story of hope and joy for the magazine she was working with. The story was about a woman who had found herself in my situation. She had been told to abort her unborn child because of problems that showed up on tests. She was in turmoil over what to do when she read my story about Erik. She decided then and there to trust God and let Him lead her through the situation. Her child was born some months later. The baby needed a few minor medical helps, but was otherwise healthy. I cried and cried over that letter.
I had told God that nothing good could come out of my situation. I had been confident that nothing positive, productive, or otherwise beneficial could possibly come about out of a troubled pregnancy. I was wrong.
Expectations are funny things. We find ourselves elated and excited by some, disappointed and sorrowed by others.
Romans 8:19 states, “The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed.” The return of Jesus, the new heaven and new earth, a life with no more tears, are things that some people look forward to with great expectation. They long for heaven and the end of this world so that all things might be in perfect order, and Satan might be completely and permanently defeated.
Others are less than enthusiastic, however. Their expectation is one of dread. “If we deliberately keep on sinning after we have received the knowledge of the truth, no sacrifice for sins is left, but only a fearful expectation of judgment and of raging fire that will consume the enemies of God” (Hebrews 10:26–27).
Doctors say that stress can kill. Stress can be a fearful expectation: the dread that hangs over you like the sword of Damocles—growing ever closer, threatening to end your life. Fearful expectation is knowing things are headed in the wrong direction. Often this fearfulness is born out of sin: you’ve made the wrong choice or you’ve fallen short of what you were supposed to do, choosing instead to ignore the truth. In this case, fearful expectation is the undeniable realization that there will be consequences to suffer if you don’t change your ways.
Maybe you find yourself in that state of mind today. You know there’s something you should do, but you’ve avoided it—put it off—buried it as deep as you can. You’ve wounded a friend and need to seek his forgiveness. You’ve falsely judged someone and gossiped about her behind her back. You’ve chosen circumstantial evidence instead of learning the facts. The dread washes over you in waves, staining you with each touch. Fearful expectation is eating you alive.
When I lied to my mother about whether I’d cleaned my room, when I sinned against God knowing that I should choose another path, I felt that overwhelming fearful expectation.
If you know this feeling, if you’re swallowed whole by that dread sensation of fearful expectation, then I encourage you to figure out what’s at the center of that feeling. Something’s gone undone. Someone is hurt and you’re to blame.
My mother used to say, “The only time it’s too late to change what you’ve done or haven’t done is when you’re dead.” It’s not too late to make the past right. It’s not too late to mend those relationships or ask forgiveness for those wrongs. It’s only too late if you’re dead.
Are you tired of that fearfulness, that sense of darkness and horror? Do you feel like God is waiting on the sidelines with some God-sized flyswatter, just hoping to catch you unaware and punish you for what you’ve done? Have you exhausted yourself running from what you know has to be done—what you know, painfully and clearly, can only be done by you?
Expectations need not be of a fearful nature. Imagine for yourself a clean slate, a fresh start, a forgiven heart. What’s causing that fearfulness? Close your eyes and see the burden you’re carrying. Unbury it and look at it for what it is—a mechanism Satan uses to separate us from God. Lay it at God’s feet and let it go. Ask forgiveness, smooth out the rough spots. The price is relatively inexpensive compared to the destructive cost of leaving it untended.
God has a way of bringing us to those places where He alone can turn the fearful expectation into great expectations of joy and hope.
The choice is up to us. What will you choose?
As he steps into his teen years, my son is a joy and delight to our family. He also has his moments of causing us discomfort and concern, but the point is, he’s alive and well, able to be anything he likes. I have great expectations for this child, and all of them are steeped in the promises of God. Promises that show me that no matter what my expectations are for my son or myself, God’s expectations are even bigger and better.
His expectations for you are the same. So if you’ve left something undone—if something is hanging over your head in fearful expectation—don’t wait another moment. Good things can come out of the darkness when God is the one leading the way. He has great expectations for you.
28
Silhouette People
Are you familiar with the popular silhouette art? Those pieces of black metal that have been cut to resemble anything from anima
ls to people to places and things? Driving along in Kansas and Wyoming, I’ve spotted several of these. One was cut to resemble a wagon and an ox, another took the form of a buffalo, and still another was a stagecoach. From a distance on the highway, they looked fairly real. In fact, one silhouette caught my attention in Wyoming and caused me to believe it was the real deal.
There atop this dry, sage-covered hill stood the silhouette of a cowboy on horseback. From a distance, I was certain of what I saw. I figured some rancher was out for a ride and had climbed the hill to survey his kingdom. He had me fooled. As I drove closer, however, little things began to catch my attention. Neither the horse nor the cowboy was moving. There wasn’t even so much as a flutter of the horse’s tail in the breeze. Not only that, but as we approached, the proportions seemed a bit off and the size wasn’t quite right.
When we drew abreast of the fixture, I could see that it was nothing more than a thin outline of the real thing. Just a silhouette to capture the imagination of what might have once been or of what could be.
That figure made me think of the times I’d dealt with other silhouettes. Only those were flesh-and-blood silhouettes. People who from far away looked like the real deal, but up close they were far from genuine. In fact, they were often one-dimensional.
For instance, I knew a woman who from a distance seemed like the real thing. She was bubbly and enthusiastic, portrayed an image of beauty and grace, and attempted to involve herself in good works. I drew closer as we were put side by side to work on something, and I began to realize there really wasn’t much to her.
“Don’t you love my hair?” she asked as we sat down to work. “I just think it’s about as perfect as it can get. I wouldn’t have worn it this way, but I’ve just lost twenty pounds, and I figured a body in this good a shape deserved a hairstyle to match.”
I was rather hesitant with my comments. There was a part of me that wanted to agree just for the sake of avoiding a more in-depth discussion. But there was another part of me that thought the entire matter very sad. This woman obviously needed my affirmation, but I wasn’t sure why.
Our time together continued to focus on her no matter how hard I tried to bring it back to the project. I ended up doing most of the work, while she took most of the credit. After the situation was wrapped up, someone came up to me and commented, “You ended up doing most of the work, didn’t you?”
I looked at the woman questioningly, because I didn’t want to cause problems for the other woman. But she understood my situation and added, “I’ve been teamed up with her before. So have many of the other women here. No one wanted to work with her again, so we figured, you were the new gal on the block, why not assign her to you?” She gave me a rather embarrassed smile and added, “She has good intentions, but there’s no substance.”
She was a silhouette person. She looked like the real thing at a distance. She was good-natured and kind, even willing. But there was nothing to back it up. She was as empty as a person could be without actually stepping out of her skin.
Maybe you know a silhouette person. I’ve worked with several in my life, and I’m still not very good at spotting them. If I were, I’d probably run screaming in the opposite direction, and God would probably rather I didn’t. But silhouette people are hard to deal with.
Focused on themselves, because it’s the only thing that gives them a semblance of existence, these folks are hard to understand. They aren’t bad people, but they’re needy, hurt others, and use others. They hope and dream, just like everyone does, but all those hopes and dreams are wrapped up in themselves.
“How does it apply to me?” or “What’s in it for me?” are their life mottos.
Silhouette people aren’t much use to anyone. While they look good from far away, up close they are found lacking. Spiritually speaking, there are a lot of silhouette people. I’ve been one myself.
You give the pretense of looking spiritual and holy. You carry your Bible, you go to church, you memorize churchaneze—those spiritual, pithy sayings we hear all around us.
“Well, the Lord laid this on my heart to share with you.”
“I’m going to pray for your salvation.”
“Here, let me quote you a verse from the Bible.”
They have the right stance and verbiage, but they have no substance. When you draw close to them—when you need them for something—they often show themselves to be nothing more than the image of what you thought they were. Silhouette people might look nice, but they don’t offer much beyond aesthetics.
The Bible gives us a view into the lives of people who were touched by Jesus. Jesus loved everyone, even the silhouette people. Maybe especially them. He knew about their emptiness. He knew that somewhere along the way, the world had corrupted their thinking and turned them away from real growth. He knew their hearts were fixed on themselves and that they might take more effort than any of the other people, but He knew that once some meat was put on those bones, they would flesh out and be useful.
Take the story of the Good Samaritan. Jesus is dealing with an expert in the law. The man is testing Jesus. From a distance, this man looks pretty good. He’s knowledgeable, probably the type they call on when they need an answer to one of those pesky Torah problems. But he’s also into himself—that much is clear—or he’d never draw that kind of attention to himself.
He questions Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
Now, Jesus was on to him. He knew the man was one of those silhouette people. In the tenth chapter of Luke, verse 26, Jesus replies, “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” See, he knew that the law was the image of this silhouette.
The man answered, “ ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ ”
He had it all memorized. That was his structure; the only basis for his substance was the law. A good start, maybe, but the man stopped there. He was absorbed in his pride of what he knew and thought to shame Jesus in front of everyone else by catching Him up in His answer.
But the story doesn’t stop there. Jesus has hope for this silhouette man.
“Jesus replied, ‘Do this and you will live.’ ”
Simple stuff, huh? Love God with everything you have, love each other as yourself. No problem, right?
Not so quick. The man wasn’t satisfied.
“But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor?’ ”
Jesus then breaks into the story about the man who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. This man was beaten, robbed, and left for dead. A priest happens by, probably looking quite regal in his priestly garments. He had the appearance of being someone important, someone with value. But rather than help the dying man, he goes out of his way to the other side of the road. After all, he’s a priest, and clean, and there were all sorts of implications to becoming dirty.
The next person on the scene is also a silhouette of goodness. He’s a Levite. Oh boy. Talk about importance. He’s of the tribe of Levi, those appointed by the Lord back in Old Testament days to be in charge of the tabernacle and all its furnishings. They were the ones who were allowed to take care of God’s dwelling place among the Israelites. Anyone else who touched the tabernacle furnishings would be put to death. The Levites set up their tents around the tabernacle rather than with everyone else, and they weren’t counted along with the rest of the tribes of Israel. They were set apart.
The Levite also passes the dying man. The shadow of his silhouette probably didn’t even touch the man’s bleeding body.
At last we have the Samaritan—those folk hated by the Jews. They were looked down upon, scorned, considered to be totally unacceptable as company for anyone, but especially for the Jews. So what happens with this low-life scum of a man who isn’t worthy to touch the sandals of a Jew?
Jesus is speaking: “When he saw him [the injured m
an] he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, took him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’ ”
This wasn’t a silhouette man—this was God with skin on. A loving man, whose heart was full of the substance needed to make himself of real value to his fellow man.
Jesus asks the expert in the law, “ ‘Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?’
“The expert in the law replied, ‘The one who had mercy on him.’
“Jesus told him, ‘Go and do likewise’ ” (Luke 10:25–37).
I often wonder what happened to the silhouette expert in the law. Did he see what Jesus was saying? Did he understand that he needed more than to know the law? He needed to live the love of God before his neighbors. In the long run it wouldn’t matter how well he knew the law, but rather whether or not he’d loved as Jesus had commanded.
I can relate to an expert in the law. Not because I’m an expert, because I’m not. No, I relate to him because there have been times when I was guilty of testing God—of throwing out my questions so that I could somehow find a loophole for what I wanted. Sometimes I’m nothing more than a spiritual silhouette—distracted by religion, the world, my friends, my family, or myself.
Sometimes I’m not the one kneeling to help bandage my bleeding neighbor, but rather I’m crossing the road, posthaste, to avoid having to acknowledge that he’s bleeding in my walkway.
Who are you avoiding?
Better yet, why are you avoiding that person? Fear? Distaste? Time? Schedule? Disinterest?
Eyes of the Heart, The: Seeing God's Hand in the Everyday Moments of Life Page 12