The Way

"I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except by me." - John 14:6

I thought we had gotten a good start on the day. I had the kids dressed, fed and we were heading out the door for a quick run to the library before homeschool. A knock on the door sent the children and the dog into the usual mayhem of screaming and barking and running to the window to see who was there. Something made me hesitate to open that door. But something also urged me to do so, when so often I don't answer without my husband being home or knowing for sure who it is. I made the decision, and opened it.


I could feel the cold rush of evil on the wings of the warm September morning breeze. An older man, who appeared harmless, stood holding an open Bible. A younger woman next to him smiled and began a rehearsed introduction. I prayed they were stopping by to tell people the Good News. But I knew they weren't. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw the literature she was holding.


I felt the Lord offering me a choice. I looked at my three children, thought of the things that we had to get done, and I knew I had more than enough excuse to close the door. And when it comes to cultists, I don't think God ever asks us to defend our faith without first being armed for the battle. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. But even as I considered it, I looked at them, standing there expectantly, hoping to recruit me into their religion of lies and false teaching. They thought it was truth. They thought they had figured out where the Bible went wrong and had been sucked into the schemes of the evil one. Just as I could never leave for dead someone sinking into quicksand, even if they weren't calling for help but willingly sinking deeper, even hastening their own demise, I couldn't shut the door in their face without at least attempting to turn their eyes to Jesus.


I opened the door. "Help, me, Lord. Show me what to say." I prayed silently as I invited them to step in and went for my Bible. They were friendly people. They smiled at the kids and talked amiably as they asked me questions about what I believed about the Kingdom of Heaven and certain passages of Revelation. He tried to convince me that death was an end with nothing beyond except for a few lucky chosen ones. I said that for me, as one who has been forgiven by the work of Christ by my repentance and belief, "to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord." I asked him what he would tell God if God asked him why he should be allowed into heaven. He said God would not ask him that. It felt much like a sword fight, though for my part I was calm, and he became more and more agitated, shifting his feet and looking around and finally looking over his shoulder at the doorknob. I kept trying to say "You believe you can't be certain whether you will cease to exist or God will save you. I believe and know that Jesus is my Savior, and my eternity is secure in what He did for me. Why would I want to trade what I have for what you don't have?" The woman, who was his daughter, stared at him somewhat dumbfounded as he began to falter.


"People don't usually ask us these questions." she admitted. Her father made a few more passes with his "sword" and put his hand to the door, telling his daughter something about "this not going anywhere." Maybe it was my imagination, but she looked a little uncertain, like they should be able to stand up against my arguments if I was willing to talk to them. I looked her straight in the eye as she was leaving.


"Keep seeking. The Bible promises that seekers will find the truth. I'll be praying for you today."


With a deep sigh, I closed the door. The coldness was gone. But my heart was heavy. Why do people always feel the need to add to God's truth, and thereby make it invalid? Why isn't the Bible enough? Is it such an insurmountable obstacle to put your trust in what He has done instead of trying in vain to make up your own truth and secure an eternity of regret?


God spoke soothingly to me as Hannah, Noah and I later read from Dangerous Journey, which is an adaptation of Pilgrim's Progress. It was the end of Christian's journey, and the celestial city was in sight. Ignorance followed behind them up the hill, confident that he wouldn't need the parchment to enter the city, but that God would let him in without proof that he belonged there.


Then, as the pilgrims neared the Gate, the whole of the Heavenly Host must have known of their arrival. For they were greeted by the King's own Trumpeters, who made all Heaven echo with their sound.


But when Ignorance knocked to be admitted, the men above the Gate looked down on him and said: "Where is your parchment-roll, my friend, to prove that you have come by the right road?"


He fumbled in his coat, but having nothing - as we know - stood silent underneath their gaze, then sorrowfully turned back. That was the last we saw of Ignorance.


The pilgrims, on the other hand, both had their parchments ready, and a voice cried out: "These pilgrims now are come from the City of Destruction for the love they bear to the King of this place!"


So the gates of Heaven opened to them, and they entered in.


("Dangerous Journey" written by Oliver Hunkin, 1985.)

He Will Come

When the wind began to blow, for a moment I feared. I feared that you wouldn't hear, you wouldn't know that we needed your help, that in this evil and dark world there were those that loved you and needed your protection from the storm.

Then I remembered. I remembered all the times you've shown me your faithfulness. I remembered as a child when our cupboard was empty, you sent messengers of hope with boxes of food, bags full of clothes. Right on time.

I recalled the time the car had broken down and waiting in the mailbox - right on time - was just enough money to cover the repairs. My mind returned to the place where I sat on the bathroom floor of my college dorm and cried out in loneliness, and you were there. Right on time.

Replayed within were later images of a struggle with my body to conceive a child. Such lamenting and hoping and weeping with disappointment. I thought you must not care this time, for the timing seemed far from right. But there you were again. Just on time. Just on time again. Just on time a third time, with a precious baby once again filling my arms and my heart though my body had insisted I should not ever hear a sweet voice call me "Mommy."

Most of all, when I was miserably and hopelessly lost in my own sin and guilt and sorrow, you were there. You hung your only Son on a cross for me. You told me that all was not lost. You asked me to believe you, to follow you, and I would see your love manifested in me and through me.... and I did. Over and over I saw how you changed me, how you resurrected an ugly dead heart and made it holy. How you caught me back from an eternity of suffering and held me fast in your arms, and I could hear your heart beating with the rhythm of your extreme affection and compassion. As the sound grew louder in my ears, I began to realize that my heart was beating in time with yours. I had become a part of you, and I could see the image of your risen Son as I looked in the mirror, instead of the troubled and dark face of one who had lost the way.

I know that your heart still beats in time for the lost ones wandering, not sure of anything, not sure how to sort out the problems and messes that sin has left in its wake just as the mess of trees and power lines after the storm blew through. It's too big a job. Despair is starting to set in. But you are there. And my heart beating in time with yours will seek them out, will point their desperate hearts to the Savior.

And He will come.

If what you thought was the truth is a lie
And what you fought to keep on breathing has died
You face the lonely nights and wrestle with the dark
And you reach to find the love to fill the space inside your heart

It's hard to put it into words the way you feel
It's an ache and emptiness that lingers still
Are you a victim of the past without a trace of hope in sight?
And it all goes by so fast without a way to make it right
If you worry, don't worry

God will come and wrap His arms around you
It wouldn't be too much
For Him to love you as He found you
And it may seem like you're too far gone
But He loves you like His only Son
And He will come
He will come

From the bounty of a river there's a flow
And from the beauty of the Father's heart's a home
That never leaves you empty no, and never leaves you bare
So come and bring your guilt and shame
Come and leave it there
If you're willing, He is willing
Oh, you don't have to be worthy
You don't have to be anything but willing to fall into His arms
Willing to fall into His arms....

(written by Cindy Morgan, performed by Mandisa)

Yes, My Name's Written There

Tonight Hannah and I ended up watching a Billy Graham special about his wife, Ruth, who died recently. It was supposed to be a tribute to her, but it quite obviously ended up being a tribute to Jesus as the family spoke of her commitment to raising them to love Christ, and her endurance through trials of pain and illness that only made her stronger in her faith. It was very encouraging as a mother to see the passion she had for her children and her husband. May God set that fire ablaze in my own heart each day.

At one point Billy's son Franklin Graham said that his mother was now in heaven because of her trust in Christ. He asked "Do you know, if you died today, that you'd go to heaven?" My four year old daughter's face lit up and she exclaimed "Yes!" with all the gusto she could muster. I asked her why she knew that for sure. She said "Because Jesus forgave my sins and wrote my name in the Lamb's Book of Life."

Her response was a relief, an answer to prayer, as today I've been wondering if I'm really making the kind of impact a woman like Ruth Bell Graham made in her children's lives. Will Hannah still respond with such conviction when she flies from the safety of this nest we've built for her? Will Noah? And Talia?

I've always wanted no more than that my children know Christ, love Him, and serve Him passionately with all the fervor and strength He can ignite within them. But am I doing all that I can to see that happen? Am I too focused on keeping the house clean and the laundry folded and meals on the table that I'm missing what's really important?

Thank goodness God is bigger than I am. Thank goodness that all he expects of me is my best, and he's able to do the rest.

And whatever he's doing seems to be working.