Follow the Leader

…how long will you waver…if the Lord is God follow Him.
1 Kings 18:21 NIV

I was just about to settle into a corner of the trailer to read when my husband asked if I was going to get dressed. I looked up from my comfortable chair just as he was putting on his riding boots. We had arrived at Stoddard Valley a couple of hours earlier to get in one last weekend of camping before the heat of the desert summer hit. It was a cloudy day and the wind rocked the trailer as a few raindrops pattered against the window; reading and perhaps a nap were more what I had in mind. But looking into my husband’s eyes I saw hope of an afternoon spent riding so I got up and went to put on my riding gear. Twenty minutes later my dirt bike rumbled to life and with my husband leading the way I let out the clutch and turned the throttle and followed him; leaving my comfort zone behind.

The trail we were on was pretty wide and smooth and I began to relax and shifted my bike into second gear. But as I assumed a place of comfort my husband left the trail and headed off into the open desert. “Where is he going?” I thought to myself as I turned my bike and followed after him. A large jackrabbit darted out from some creosote bushes and right behind him ran my sense of security as I rode not knowing where my husband would lead me next.

I rode through the desert following him as he turned onto another trail. There were twists and turns and obstacles but I kept my eyes firmly fixed on my husband and mirrored his actions as we rode. I followed him up hill and once at the top we parked the bikes and took a walk up an embankment where we stopped to take in the view. The valley stretched below us, the surrounding hills were blanketed with wildflowers and blooming cactus. It was breathtaking. My husband slipped his arms around me and kissing my forehead said, “You are doing really well.” His encouragement fueled my confidence and I suddenly felt very brave as we got back on our dirt bikes.

The bikes roared down the hill and I stood up, my feet firmly planted on the pegs as we rode through a series of dips at the bottom of the hill and I found myself laughing with delight. As I followed where my husband lead it seemed to me we were in unison; standing, leaning, turning and riding in perfect harmony. We had a wonderful afternoon exploring trails together; when our campsite came into view I was sad to see our adventure come to an end and as I got off my bike I was already looking forward to continuing the adventure the next day.

My husband and I stood holding hands in the cool desert morning, heads bowed, eyes closed. The wind whipped around us as if doing its best to interrupt our time together at the Lord’s feet but my husband’s voice was steady and strong as he asked He who loves us to give us safety during our ride and fun together as husband and wife. I love hearing my husband talk with the Lord about us. We put on our helmets and I climbed on my bike with a smile on my heart as I put the bike into gear eager for the adventure that lay ahead.

The eagerness quickly turned to apprehension as my husband turned and headed in the opposite direction of where I thought we were going to go.

While I wanted adventure, I wanted it to be the same adventure we had shared yesterday. “He didn’t ask me if this is where I wanted to go,” I muttered to myself. I barely finished my complaint when we turned onto another trail and there before me lay deep sand. “Arrrgh”, I exclaimed as my bike began to fishtail and I hit the brakes which I knew was the opposite of what I should do. The front tire dug into the sand and I had to use my legs as I turned the throttle to try to get moving again. As I started to move ahead I saw a large prickly bush on the right and knew I did not want to hit it; but as I focused on not hitting it; the bush apparently sensed it and turned on its tractor beam and drew me in and the very thing I didn’t want to do, I did as I smacked into it. The bush tried to take me down as one part of it grabbed hold of my boot while the other jammed in the gear shift. I was pulling myself free when my husband arrived and asked if I was okay. “I hate sand,” was my reply. “Remember to keep your speed up and then you will go right over the sand instead of digging into it,” he said in his most patient instructor voice. As I pulled the remaining plant off my bike I looked at my husband and could see his eyes were smiling from behind his goggles as he said, “Isn’t this fun?” As I started my bike and struggled through the sand I thought, “Fun is not the word I would use to describe this.”

I tried to put my husband’s instructions into practice as I picked up speed and it was easier but I still felt out of control as the rear tire would wobble a bit as I turned corners and my heart was somewhere in my throat as my apprehension grew. Suddenly the sand became a landmine of rocks as they protruded randomly on the trail. “Great!” I said, “Why on earth did I ever take up dirt bike riding?” I asked myself as my bike seemed to find every rock hidden in the sand. But as I bumped along and saw my husband up ahead I remembered the reason very clearly and I knew the Lord had brought it to mind in this moment. I had prayed for it. Oh not specifically for dirt bike riding but for time with my husband. I wanted us to grow closer and so I became very diligent in my prayers about it. My husband had taken up dirt bike riding and I began to pray that he would desire to spend time with me. Well, he did but he wanted me to ride dirt bikes with him.

I remembered when he first suggested I learn to ride and I declared most emphatically that I would NEVER ride a dirt bike. But as time passed and I continued to pray for time with my husband, the Lord impressed on me that He wanted me to go riding with my husband. In fact, it became a matter of obedience. I remember telling my husband that I would learn to ride a quad but his reply was, “No. No quads. I want you to ride a dirt bike because two wheels are safer than four.” That did not make any sense to me. To my way of thinking four wheels seemed much safer than two; more stable; more predictable. But my husband persisted and the Lord kept whispering to my heart that He wanted my marriage to grow too but He wanted to do it from a dirt bike. And so my husband taught me to ride and before I knew it I had a bike of my own.

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted as I saw a large hill up ahead and at its base a mote of large rocks. I watched as my husband flew across with rocks flying as he sped to the top of the hill. He turned looking down at me expecting me to follow but instead I put on the brakes and put my boots firmly on the ground. There was no way I was going across those rocks or up that hill. My husband soon realized I was not moving nor did I appear to have any plans for moving in the near future so turning his bike around he came down the hill and motioned me to follow him. I fell in line behind him relieved to have escaped the hill of doom.

As we rode, the freeway came into view in the distance and I wondered if I could hike there and get a ride back to camp. A newsflash suddenly played in my mind, “Wayward dirt biker found on freeway. Story at 11.” I rejected the great freeway escape and followed my husband over a very rocky trail. It turned this way and then that and went uphill and then downhill. We came up out of it and he pulled to the side of the trail, shut his bike off and removed his helmet. “This is great!” he exclaimed. “I love the hills and turns”, he finished. I looked at him as I said, “I’m more of a flat-land, straight road, no rocks, no sand kind of gal myself.” He looked off into the distance as he said, “Life isn’t like that. Life is like a rollercoaster.” “Well”, I said, “I don’t like the rollercoaster. I’m afraid of the rollercoaster.” He looked at me as he said, “Embrace your fear. Fear is the invitation to courage.” This made me laugh as I playfully socked him in the arm and asked him where he had heard all these one line words of wisdom. He didn’t answer but simply kissed the end of my nose and put his helmet back on.

We rode off down the trail in a cloud of dust and flying rocks. I tried hard to quell my fear but it just wouldn’t leave me alone. We continued down the rocky trail and descended into a canyon. There were sharp cacti along the trail and large boulders everywhere and my body jarred with every turn of the wheels. “Lord!” I cried and I hurried to the well as fast as my heart could go. “What’s wrong?” He asked as He looked at a map of some kind. I wondered what it was a map of as I proceeded to tell Him what was wrong. “I don’t think I can dirt bike ride with my husband anymore,” I blurted out. He was quiet so I continued with my whining about the trails and the big rocks and the deep sand and the towering hill of doom. “You liked it yesterday,” He replied. “The trails were easy yesterday and I thought we were going to go the same way today or I never would have come. And do you know he didn’t even ask me if I wanted to go this way!” I finished, certain He would be sympathetic and give me permission to stop following my husband. He didn’t.

Instead He said. “How long will you waver between two opinions? If the Lord is God, follow Him.” I recognized the words from His book – they were from 1st Kings. “Why are you riding dirt bikes with your husband?” He asked. I sighed as I knew He already knew the answer but I said it out loud any way. “Because you told me to,” I finished. “Who is your husband following?” He asked. “You,” I replied. “That’s right,” He said. Then He put a finger on my heart and began to quiet my fear as He spoke about what it meant to follow Him. Then He said, “Follow the Leader.” I was about to ask Him what He meant when I noticed my husband had disappeared over a hill and when I arrived at the top I slid to a stop.

I looked down as the hill was steep and about half way down it turned sharply to the left and protruding all the way down were rocks. I sat there on the hilltop staring down at the obstacles that lay on the trail ahead and found myself longing for the familiar trails of yesterday. It was then I saw Him fly down the hill on a dirt bike not sold in any earthly store. His eyes burned like fire as He rode and He called out as He passed me, “Follow the Leader.” I saw Him ride just past my husband and then turn around and look up at me; bidding me to follow Him. I let the clutch out and slowly eased up on the brake and the bike moved down the hill I squealed all the way down to the bottom where my husband was waiting and he gave me a high five as he said with a voice filled with pride, “you did it!”

We continued on but had not gone far when we were met with a beautiful sight. We removed our helmets as we took in the scene that lay before us. On either side of the trail there were dark red rocks and in the center; coming up out of the trail were huge boulders of quartz; they were brilliant white. We had never seen anything like it. As we put our helmets on and started up our bikes it occurred to me that I had almost missed it and I wondered how many other treasures I had missed because I was afraid to follow the trail; afraid to follow the leader. His voice thundered across my soul then as He said, “You can’t know what might have been. Follow the Leader,” He said.

There it was again, that funny phrase He kept saying, “Follow the Leader.” I put my bike into gear and pulled out behind my husband. I watched him as he expertly rode over the rocks and sand and I mirrored his actions. He stood up then as we came to some dips and I stood too. It was then my sometimes slow heart began to understand what He who gave all for me was trying to teach me. Following Him would sometimes be scary and there would be times the trail would be unfamiliar and I would have no idea where He was leading me; it would be filled with obstacles and sometimes hills of doom would loom up before me but as I mirror Christ and stand with my feet firmly planted on the pegs of His Truth I can follow Him in complete confidence, being carried along by the Holy Spirit who lives in me.

I laughed as we sailed through a series of dips and I even think I caught a little air and in the midst of my laughter I saw Him. He who loves me was just ahead of my husband leading the way and I realized in that moment we were following the Lord. I smiled as His words thundered through my soul, “Follow the Leader.”

The Lord may never ask you to ride a dirt bike but I do know He asks each of us to follow Him. Is there something the Lord has asked you to do that you are afraid to do? Write it down.

Look up 1 Kings 18:21 and read this verse slowly. My friend, are you wavering? If the Lord is God, follow Him.

“He went out, not knowing whither he went.” Hebrews 11:8
The Bible is filled with ordinary people called by God to follow Him and in following Him extraordinary things happened. Tonight we are going to read about a young girl named Hadassah also known as Esther. Turn with me now to the book of Esther (just before the book of Job in the Old Testament.)

Please read this story from beginning to end. Allow the Holy Spirit to stop you; keeping in mind that Esther followed God.

Answer the questions below as we go.

What had happened to Esther’s parents? (Esther 2:7)

What ethnicity was Esther?

Where was Esther taken? Verse 8

Little Hadassah loses her mother and father through death and goes to live with her uncle Mordecai. She has just settled into her new life when she is carried off to the king’s palace. Look out, Esther has left the familiar trails and God is leading her into the unknown.

Can you think of a time in your life when you were just settling in to life and suddenly the trail turns and you veer off into the desert where nothing is familiar? Take some time to journal about it.

How long did the beauty treatments last?

When Esther’s turn came to go to the King what did she ask for? 2:15

Read on, dear friend.

In chapter 3 a plot is unveiled. What group of people was the plot against?

Who thought the plan up?

According to Haman’s plan, what would happen to the Jews?

How does Mordecai find out about the plan?

The towering hill of doom has risen up out of the desert and Esther is headed straight for it!

In Chapter 4 Mordecai sends word to Esther about the plot to destroy the Jews. What is Esther’s response to Mordecai?

What was Esther’s response back to Mordecai in 4:10-11?

Read carefully verses 13-14 focus in on what Mordecai says to Esther.

Do you feel the tension mounting? Esther has just arrived at the top of the hill and is looking down the other side; it is steep and filled with obstacles; even death. But Esther sees Him; the One she calls LORD and He is bidding her follow.

Take a moment and think about the beginning of this lesson. You know, that thing God has asked you to do that you don’t want to do so you are pretending not to hear Him. My friend, what if He has brought you to this point for such a time as this? Oh maybe you won’t save an entire people but what if by following into the unknown people came to know Christ. For such a time is this…

Read chapter 4 verses 15-16. I can visualize this scene in my mind. Esther is at the top of the hill looking down with danger and probable death at the end but as she sees the Lord in the midst of it all she lets out the clutch, eases off the brakes and she goes down the hill screaming all the way. “If I die, I die.” (But I’m going to follow Him anyway).

Go ahead and finish reading the story. I’ll see you at the end.

Look up Deuteronomy 1:34-36. Who did the Lord say would receive what He had promised?

Why was Caleb going to receive the promise?

He followed the Lord wholeheartedly.

Let’s finish our time together by reading Hebrews 11:1 – 12:3

My dear friend, are you following the Lord with your whole heart or are you stuck in the sand somewhere or have you skidded to a stop before the towering hill of doom? Have you ridden to the top of the hill and all you see below you are obstacles? But wait! Do you see Him? He’s standing at the bottom of the hill and He is bidding you to follow? Will you do it? Come on. Let out the clutch. Ease up on the brake and go down the hill in complete obedience to Him; even if it means you are screaming all the way down. There is reward in obedience to the Lord; just ask Caleb. The Lord has a plan for you (Jeremiah 29:11) but it requires you to follow Him; follow the Leader.

An Original Conversations at the Well
© by Diana Morgan May 2009

FATHER

“For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of son-ship. And by Him we cry, “Abba, Father.” The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children. Now if we are children, then we are heirs, heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ (Romans 8:15-16).”
The wind moved through the cypress trees, their branches waving as though greeting one another in the mid-morning sun. They’d stood for hundreds of years dotting the grounds surrounding the great house. Dignitaries had once discussed important matters beneath the stately boughs, but where once was heard the voices of powerful men a new sound was heard; the sound of children.
As the children’s voices filled the morning air, a girl emerged from the garden. The sun danced across her short black hair causing it to shine in its light. Her frame was small, her face delicate and her eyes were beautiful: almond shaped and black as coal. Normally her eyes were guarded, protecting a heart that bore deep scars of being abandoned and unwanted and she wore an expression of resignation to the fate of unwanted, girls in China. But today was different. In her arms she carried a package and in her eyes hope.
The call had come for her right after breakfast to go to the office of the director. The director’s words still rang in her ears, “Mai, you have been chosen.” Mai’s eyes had been big question marks as the director went on to explain that seven months earlier a family in America had seen her picture and wanted her to come be a part of their family. That wasn’t all; the family had written Mai a letter. She sat quietly as the director read the letter to Mai written by a man and a woman who wanted Mai to come and be their daughter. They wrote of how they saw her picture and loved her right away. They talked about their home and of how they were preparing a place for her.
They wrote of longing to know all about her and how they already knew how she loved to read, play games and write poetry. They knew about her interest in bugs. They even knew that her favorite color was green because praying mantises were green and they were her favorite bug. They went on to describe the room they were preparing just for her. There was a large window in her room that looked out at the garden and next to it was a writing desk where she could pen her poems. There was a large bookcase with some books already in it, but lots of room for her to add to the collection; and there was a shelf that held games they knew she loved, but also some that they loved to play and looked forward to teaching her.
The letter ended with words of encouragement penned from the one who called himself “father”. He wrote: “Dear Daughter, how good it sounds to call you that; though now you are loved from a distance, soon you will be drawn near. You do not know it, but my thoughts of you began long before this letter was written. You do not need to wait until you reach your new country to begin your new life; already it has begun, for you see I have adopted you into my family. I have written it down and signed my name. You are my daughter. I have a surprise for you, Mai. I have a new name for you and when I come for you I will whisper it in your ear.” The letter ended with a promise that soon they would be coming to take her home.
Mai sat on her bed and took the pictures of the people who were now her family from the envelope. Tears filled her eyes and suddenly she picked up the pictures, the letter, and even the envelope, and clutching them to her chest she ran to the window and looked out across the property of the orphanage, and she smiled. Nothing appeared different yet everything had changed. She was part of something bigger than Mingshaw Orphanage. It stretched across China and across a big ocean to another land. She was no longer an orphan, she was a daughter.
The months that followed were filled with excitement, anticipation, and packages. Mai’s family sent her small toys, books and clothes, and they often included small gifts for her friends and even for her housemother, Shesu. Mai loved the letters tucked into every package. She hung on every word as Shesu read them to her, and at the end of each one her father wrote a special message just for her, his daughter, and always ended with the assurance that soon he would come for her. A funny thing was happening to Mai; as time passed the orphanage no longer felt like home--her home was in another country and she longed for it. Each morning she woke up and wondered if this would be the day they came for her.
It was spring and a gentle rain patted against the window, and Mai stood with her face pressed against the glass watching intently. The room behind her was alive with activity as other children who also were meeting their new families played, but Mai didn’t want to miss anything so she stood and watched. A squeal of delight suddenly escaped her as she saw two familiar figures on the sidewalk outside. Though she had only seen images, she knew them. Her new parents entered the room and were welcomed by the director, and as instructed, Mai waited for the director to motion her over so she could make the introductions.
The director turned her gaze toward Mai and nodded, and Mai began to walk in their direction; but as she neared, the one called father knelt down and opened his arms to her, and smiling said, “Daughter.” That’s all he said, and Mai flew into his arms and melted into his chest, and then her mother joined in the embrace and the room disappeared, and it was only Mai and her family. And then just as he promised, in a gentle voice overflowing with emotion, Mai’s father whispered into her ear a single name, “Elizabeth.” Two weeks later Elizabeth Mai Hart sat in a seat between her mother and father as the jumbo jet sped down the runway, and she sat up tall and looked out as the airliner left the ground, leaving behind the old, and before her lay all that was new.
The car pulled into the circular drive, and Elizabeth looked out the window at the house nestled in the pine trees. There were birdbaths in the yard and birdfeeders hung from a few of the trees. A squirrel chattered noisily from its lookout on top of one of the feeders and Elizabeth giggled as it scurried up the tree and disappeared among the branches. There were wildflowers that were almost as tall as she was, and butterflies joyfully fluttered from one bloom to the next. Her eyes danced with wonder as her attention was drawn back to the house. She glanced at her parents, and with smiling faces they beckoned her to follow them inside her new home.
She was speechless as they explored each room. When they arrived at the last room, she recognized it right away from the many pictures they had sent. She walked through the door, eyes wide with wonder. The walls were a very pale shade of green and the bed was adorned with a green and yellow patchwork quilt that her mother had made for her. Her mother opened the closet and Elizabeth stood looking at the new clothes that hung there, just her size. She looked at the bookcase and the game shelf, and then slowly walked to the writing desk where a journal and pens and pencils and colored markers lay waiting for her to write of her new life. Standing next to the journal was a picture of her mom and dad holding a picture of Elizabeth the day they learned the adoption was approved. She reached out and gently touched the frame and then looked at the large picture window that looked out over the garden. She was overwhelmed. She turned to her parents as a large tear slid down her cheek and her father immediately bent down and asked what was troubling her. She threw her arms around his neck and whispered, “Baba (daddy).”
Evening found the little family holding hands at the dining room table and Elizabeth watched her parents as they closed their eyes and her father prayed. Elizabeth had a good appetite and ate her fill of the wonderful food, and she listened to her parents talking, and she would occasionally chatter in Chinese. She pointed to each dish and they told her the names of the foods they were eating, and she did her best to repeat after them. They laughed when she wrinkled her nose at the spinach, and her father wrinkled his nose, too. Later they sat in the living room playing a game called Sorry, but her head began to nod and her eyes closed, and so her father picked her up and carried her to bed. They stood for a long time looking at her sleeping so peacefully. Their daughter was where she belonged, in her father’s house.
Elizabeth was home-schooled and a fast learner. It wasn’t long and she was speaking English quite well. Her favorite subject was reading. She loved her parents and enjoyed to the full all that her father provided for her. Elizabeth grew and thrived in her father’s house. She lived each day with confidence and full assurance in who she was and to whom she belonged.
One late, chilly November afternoon, Elizabeth and her friend, Abigail, who lived up the road, were sitting in an apple tree pretending it was part of a magical kingdom. It was getting dark and they saw Elizabeth’s father come out into the driveway calling her name. Elizabeth started to climb down the tree when Abigail pleaded, “Oh, don’t go.” Elizabeth never hesitated when her parents called, she always responded right away. Why wouldn’t she? “I have to go,” Elizabeth said, emphatically, “My dad is calling me.” Abigail argued, “He’s not your real dad.” “What?” Elizabeth asked, uncertain of what her friend was trying to say. Abigail went right on to explain exactly what she meant. “You are just adopted. You don’t really belong to them. Everyone knows that. My brother Timmy said that sometimes adopted kids get sent back to the orphanage if they aren’t good.” Abigail’s mother came out just then and Abigail scurried down the tree and went home, leaving her wounded friend behind.
“Elizabeth!” Her father called more firmly this time. Elizabeth climbed down the tree and her father met her at the end of the driveway. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer as he continued, “You left your bicycle in the driveway. I nearly ran over it when I came home from work. Are you supposed to leave it in the driveway?” he finished. She began to shake her head in response to him but as they entered the house they heard her mother call out from the backyard, “Elizabeth Mai Hart!” Elizabeth began to worry, as it was never good when Mother used her full name. Her father opened the back door and went out, and Elizabeth walked very slowly outside in the direction of her mother’s voice.
Her mother was standing in the flower garden, or rather where the flower garden used to be. A few feet away were pails and shovels where she and Abigail had been attempting to build an imaginary castle. They had trouble getting the dirt to stay put, so Elizabeth had turned on the hose so they could get the dirt wet and it would hold together better. But Abigail said she saw a rabbit at the side of the house, and so they had run after it, leaving the running water behind. They had decided to climb the tree to see if they could find the elusive rabbit, and that’s when they started playing imaginary kingdom. The forgotten water had flooded the garden. The bulbs her mother had planted for spring were submerged, and some had no doubt washed away. Elizabeth stood before her parents guilty as charged, desperately trying to think of a good reason for her forgetfulness, but unable to think of any she just stared at the ground.
Breaking the silence her father said, “Elizabeth, please go inside and get cleaned up. We’ll talk about this after dinner.” Elizabeth left her parents behind to deal with the water and mud and went inside. As she closed the bathroom door behind her Abigail’s words flooded her nine-year-old mind, “…adopted kids sometimes get sent back to the orphanage if they aren’t good.”
She began to worry and fear crept into her heart. She remembered what happened just last week when she and her mother had stopped at her father’s office downtown. Her mother had asked her to run in to give an envelope of important papers to her dad that he had forgotten at home. She had taken the elevator to the third floor and was headed to her dad’s office when a man had stepped between her and the door and told her she could not disturb her dad, he didn’t have time to see her. The man had taken the envelope from her hand and sent her on her way. “He’s not your real dad.” Abigail’s words played over and over in her head. As Elizabeth stood looking at her reflection in the bathroom mirror she no longer saw Elizabeth Mai Hart, daughter. She saw Mai Diannuo, orphan.
She left the bathroom and went to her bedroom, and still covered in mud and dirt she closed the door. Abigail’s words were shouting through her mind now as she looked around the room. She suddenly felt so out of place. She went to the closet and turned on the light and crawled on her hands and knees to the back corner until she found a large box. She dragged the box out of the closet, removed the lid and began going through it until she found what she was looking for.
She hesitated a moment but then made her decision, and carefully removed the clothes her dad had bought her on a special father-daughter date just last month, and folded them carefully and laid them on the bed. She then put on the clothes from the box. The shirt was too small and no longer went all the way to her waist, and the pants were too short and she couldn’t get them buttoned. But she didn’t care that they no longer fit, and then stuffing her feet into shoes that were too small, she crept out into the hallway and then out the front door; the very door she had entered clothed as a daughter, she now exited clothed as an orphan and disappeared into the darkness.
Mai walked as quickly as she could, frustration, worry and fear choked her and tears spilled down her cheeks. She was uncertain how long she had been walking when she realized the familiar things of home were gone, and she knew beyond a doubt that she was lost. She kept walking until she came to a cluster of trees, and just on the other side came to a campground. It appeared to be empty and she took a seat on a park bench. Her feet hurt and her old clothes were uncomfortable, the pants were cutting into her waist. She shivered and she thought about her parents and wondered what they were doing. They were probably eating dinner. After dinner they would sit in the living room and drink hot cocoa and play games in front of the fire. She loved to hear the logs crackle and pop and watch the way the flames danced and changed colors.
She closed her eyes and could see her dad’s face. She loved the way his eyes got all crinkly at the corners when he smiled. But Abigail’s words pushed their way to the front of her thoughts and shouted at her, “He’s not your real dad! You are an orphan and orphans get sent back when they are bad.” She shivered and pulled her knees to her chest in an effort to get warm. Her stomach growled, and looking around she spotted something on a table a few campsites away. She got up and walked over and found remnants from a picnic. She picked up a dried piece of bread and put it in her mouth. It was stale but at least it was food. She found a few more pieces of stale bread and put them in her pocket for later and returned to her place on the bench. She curled up in a ball on the bench to keep warm and fell asleep, unaware that someone had left the warmth and comfort of home to look for her.
She did not hear the footsteps draw near or the sound of the broken heart of a father as he watched his beloved daughter shiver in the cold on a campground bench. He gently wrapped a blanket around her, and as he did, something fell from her pocket--pieces of stale bread. Pain filled his father-heart and tears spilled from his father-eyes, as he knelt by the daughter for whom he had sacrificed much and traveled across the globe to make his own. She had turned away from his abundant provision and chose for herself instead a place of discomfort, cold, stale bread, and orphan’s clothes.
As he knelt there, the love that gave all to make her his daughter, the love that sent him a world away to bring her into his presence, to make her his own, filled him and he spoke the words of a father; words written in a letter that proclaimed a father’s love. “Dear daughter,” he whispered in her ear. “How good it sounds to call you that, though now you are loved from a distance, soon you will be drawn near. You do not know it, but my thoughts of you began long before this letter was written. You do not need to wait until you reach your new country to begin your new life; already it has begun, for you see I have adopted you into my family. I have written it down and signed my name. You are my daughter.”
As he spoke she opened her eyes, and as the words he spoke filled her heart, they overcame the words of defeat and doubt that had caused her to turn away from a father’s love. She believed his word. She believed his father-ness. She knew then that Abigail’s words, or the man at the office, and even her own failings, could not keep her from her father’s love. She sat up and wrapped her arms around his neck, and as he lifted her once again from the ground of fatherlessness and held her near she heard the heartbeat of a father’s unsurpassed love and she whispered into his ear “Baba” (Daddy),” and he carried her home.
Dear one, I cannot tell you the number of times I have found myself looking in the mirror and instead of seeing me, the daughter, I see the orphan. I drag out that box from the musty corner of the closet and before I know it I have shed the clothes of blamelessness and holiness that the Father gave me, and find myself pulling on the clothes of my orphan days. Funny thing is, I’ve grown since then and they don’t fit me anymore. But there I am, jumping up and down trying my best to squeeze into those pants of world conformity, and doing my best to button that shirt of shame, and squeeze my feet into worry and fear, and I sneak out the door that I entered as a daughter and I disappear into the darkness clothed as an orphan.
I’ve run in those uncomfortable clothes until the familiar things of the Father can’t be seen by my orphan eyes any longer and I end up on the campground bench. I’m hungry, and instead of dining on the feast that the Father has prepared for me, I dine on stale bread and even stock up for later. I am thankful to say that as I spend time in His presence and walk through my days with Him and take in the food of His Word, a wonderful thing has happened. Just as healthy food nourishes my physical body and keeps my hearing and vision sharp, His Word nourishes my soul; it sharpens my spiritual hearing and vision, and as He does His work in me I see myself through the eyes of my Father more and more.
Sound familiar to you? Do you recognize your “orphan” tendencies? Have you found yourself shivering in the cold curled up on a park bench in the darkness, with nothing but stale bread in your pockets? Dear one, do you hear it? The footsteps of the Father. Do you hear His voice? He speaks His wonderful Words of Fatherness. Listen to Him. “Dear daughter”, He whispers in your ear. “How good it sounds to call you that, though now you are loved from a distance, soon you will be drawn near. You do not know it, but my thoughts of you began long before this letter was written. You do not need to wait until you reach your new country to begin your new life; already it has begun, for you see I have adopted you into my family. I have written it down and signed my name. You are my daughter.” As you hear His voice and His life-giving Words penetrate your heart, open your eyes and wrap your arms around His neck as He lifts you once again from the ground of fatherlessness and cry out “Abba” daddy. You are His daughter.