Well. Here I am. Firmly planted in mid-air. Things in flux. Life in limbo.
The future is remarkably foggy, like one of those old black-and-white mysteries that causes us to cower behind our popcorn bowls. But I'm being reacquainted with the proper attitude toward fog.
This morning I'm reading insights from Mr. Chambers in "My Utmost for His Highest". The Elixir of Knowledge is hot and the sips are small as I read.
"To be certain of God means that we are uncertain in all our ways, not knowing what tomorrow may bring. This is generally expressed with a sigh of sadness, but it should be an expression of breathless expectation.
We are uncertain of the next step, but we are certain of God.
As soon as we abandon ourselves to God and do the task He has placed closest to us, He begins to fill our lives with surprises." (The emphasis is mine.)
Surprises. They can go either way. Good or bad. The key to enjoying a surprise is to trust the one giving it. An unopened birthday gift from your favorite relative is deemed a better surprise than an unopened letter from the IRS.
A deeper pull of the Elixir bubbles up a memory. It's from the high school Sunday School class I taught half-a-lifetime ago. Good times. Good kids.
Let me set up some context.
Our small Northwoods church was about three miles outside of town. To be a bit more succinct, it was three miles to Hardee's (a fast-food franchise) and the grocery store which anchored the east end of our six-block long "business district".
That Sunday morning, I stood up, stretched, and looked around the classroom, "I'm hungry. Let's go to Hardee's". This, of course, was met with pretty much unanimous approval.
"Oh, we'll hafta walk. My car isn't here."
The room went quiet. For about two seconds. Lonny popped up with a hearty, "Lez go!".
Now Lonny was not what you would call a "normal" church kid.
He was a "let's-make-an-airplane-out-of-the-bulletin-and-see-if-it'll-fly-to-the-end-of-the-pew" kinda kid.
The other kids were doing the math. Walk three miles, get a cinnamon'n'raisin biscuit, walk three miles back...in thirty minutes. Nope. Can't be done.
Except for Charlie. He studied me then nodded a smile. "I'm in.".
The other six kids watched as the trio of Lonny, Charlie, and myself left. "The Fellowship of the Biscuit". I didn't get any nasty phone calls or finger-pointing remarks after church, so the remaining kids must've sat there 'til class was over.
The Fellowship walked down the tree-lined state highway as Lonny chattered away, happy that there was no way he could get into trouble on this deal. We walked a hundred yards, passing a little cut-out in the trees. The cut-out contained a small cottage that had been turned into a lawyer's office.
And there in the driveway sat my car.
We piled in, drove to Hardee's, and chewed on biscuits as we talked about how when He tells us to do something, He'll provide for us.
And that He'd never let us go there alone.
We were already seated in church when the other kids came in. Lonnie grinned at them as he made a show of licking frosting off his fingers.
Yeah. The fog is scary when the view is only one step. But we know Who holds our hand. And no one is better at keeping a promise.
1 Corinthians 2.9 is true. Life with Him is loaded with surprises.
And not the good kind.
The GREAT kind.
Enjoy the Walk….
…and that occasional biscuit.