Time Out! Devotions

(devotional by Neil Anderson from Christianity.com)

Philippians 4:11 (NIV)

¹¹I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.

Some of us tend to assume that it is God’s will if the circumstances are favorable and it isn’t God’s will if the circumstances are unfavorable. Next to the Bible, I would guess that more Christians are “guided” by this means than any other. Yet of all the possible means of guidance, this is the least authoritative and trustworthy.

I had the privilege of pastoring a church that purchased new property and went through a building program. Through most of the process the circumstances didn’t seem favorable. Twice I sat with the mayor, who was also a local real estate agent, and asked him if he thought our plans were feasible. He advised us not to make the land trade, and he didn’t think the city would allow us to build. He knew the real estate and the political climate better than anyone in the city. But the land swap increased our assets by millions and the city planning commission voted 7-0 in favor of our building plans.

You may have to set sail by the tide, but you’d better be guided by the stars or you’re going to end up on the wrong shore. Circumstances may have their effect on your plans, but you have a far greater accountability to God. Make sure you follow Him, not the tide of circumstances.

I heard a motivational speaker say, “I don’t like to recruit Christians because when the going gets tough they quit, concluding that it must not be God’s will.” Generally speaking, I believe that Christians should live above life’s circumstances and not be guided by them.

Also be careful about applying too much significance to unusual circumstances or coincidences. “It must be God’s will. Why else would that book by lying there!” It could be God’s will, but I would never take that kind of a sign on its own merit. I have helped many people in occultic bondage who have made bizarre associations or attached far too much significance to irrelevant events.

Prayer: Lord, I determine to test all guidance by Your Word and not to be swayed away from Your will by circumstances or popular opinion.

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(devotional by Greg Laurie from Christianity.com)

(please visit Harvest Ministries)

Luke 19:17 (NIV)

‘Well done, my good servant!’ his master replied. ‘Because you have been trustworthy in a very small matter, take charge of ten cities.’

Jesus told a story about a king who was going to leave and then return later, so he instructed his servants to invest a sum of money he had entrusted to them while he was away. These servants fit into one of three categories: the super faithful, the less faithful, and the unfaithful.

The super faithful, the less faithful, and the unfaithful all received the equivalent of 100 days of wages for a laborer. We are not told how the super faithful servant was able to make ten times as much as the others, but he seemed to have no limitations whatsoever. He just went for it, and he achieved. The less faithful servant went for it as well, but was more conservative. Yet he is still to be commended. However, the unfaithful servant not only was unproductive, but also had the audacity to blame his master for his shortcomings.

Today there are people in the church like these servants. Some take risks for the kingdom of God and accomplish great things for Him. Others are more conservative and more cautious in their service. Still others have a faulty concept of who God is. They think He is unfair and demanding, and they are motivated more by fear than by love. They don’t understand God as He is presented in Scripture. Yet our primary motive for serving God should be love. As the apostle Paul said, “Christ’s love controls us” (see 2 Corinthians 5:14).

The fact is that some Christians are setting the world on fire while others are still looking for a match. If you don’t have a purpose in life, then you will throw it away. So what is your purpose? What are you focused on? What are you doing with your life? What are you doing for heaven’s sake?

Dear Friend,

I’m writing to say thanks. I wish I could thank you personally, but I don’t know where you are. I wish I could call you, but I don’t know your name. If I knew your appearance, I’d look for you, but your face is fuzzy in my memory. But I’ll never forget what you did.

There you were, leaning against your pickup in the West Texas oil field. An engineer of some sort. A supervisor on the job. Your khakis and clean shirt set you apart from us roustabouts. In the oil field pecking order, we were at the bottom. You were the boss. We were the workers. You read the blueprints. We dug the ditches. You inspected the pipe. We laid it. You ate with the bosses in the shed. We ate with each other in the shade.

Except that day.

I remember wondering why you did it.

We weren’t much to look at. What wasn’t sweaty was oily. Faces burnt from the sun; skin black from the grease. Didn’t bother me, though. I was there only for the summer. A high-school boy earning good money laying pipe.

We weren’t much to listen to, either. Our language was sandpaper coarse. After lunch, we’d light the cigarettes and begin the jokes. Someone always had a deck of cards with lacy-clad girls on the back. For thirty minutes in the heat of the day, the oil patch became Las Vegas—replete with foul language, dirty stories, blackjack, and barstools that doubled as lunch pails.

In the middle of such a game, you approached us. I thought you had a job for us that couldn’t wait another few minutes. Like the others, I groaned when I saw you coming.

You were nervous. You shifted your weight from one leg to the other as you began to speak.

“Uh, fellows,” you started.

We turned and looked up at you.

“I, uh, I just wanted, uh, to invite … ”

You were way out of your comfort zone. I had no idea what you might be about to say, but I knew that it had nothing to do with work.

“I just wanted to tell you that, uh, our church is having a service tonight and, uh … ”

“What?” I couldn’t believe it. “He’s talking church? Out here? With us?”

“I wanted to invite any of you to come along.”

Silence. Screaming silence.

Several guys stared at the dirt. A few shot glances at the others. Snickers rose just inches from the surface.

“Well, that’s it. Uh, if any of you want to go … uh, let me know.”

After you turned and left, we turned and laughed. We called you “reverend,” “preacher,” and “the pope.” We poked fun at each other, daring one another to go. You became the butt of the day’s jokes.

I’m sure you knew that. I’m sure you went back to your truck knowing the only good you’d done was to make a good fool out of yourself. If that’s what you thought, then you were wrong.

That’s the reason for this letter.

Some five years later, a college sophomore was struggling with a decision. He had drifted from the faith given to him by his parents. He wanted to come back. He wanted to come home. But the price was high. His friends might laugh. His habits would have to change. His reputation would have to be overcome.

Could he do it? Did he have the courage?

That’s when I thought of you. As I sat in my dorm room late one night, looking for the guts to do what I knew was right, I thought of you.

I thought of how your love for God had been greater than your love for your reputation.

I thought of how your obedience had been greater than your common sense.

I remembered how you had cared more about making disciples than about making a good first impression. And when I thought of you, your memory became my motivation.

So I came home.

I’ve told your story dozens of times to thousands of people. Each time the reaction is the same: The audience becomes a sea of smiles, and heads bob in understanding. Some smile because they think of the “clean-shirted engineers” in their lives. They remember the neighbor who brought the cake, the aunt who wrote the letter, the teacher who listened …

Others smile because they have done what you did. And they, too, wonder if their “lunchtime loyalty” was worth the effort.

You wondered that. What you did that day wasn’t much. And I’m sure you walked away that day thinking that your efforts had been wasted.

They weren’t.

So I’m writing to say thanks. Thanks for the example. Thanks for the courage. Thanks for giving your lunch to God. He did something with it; it became the Bread of Life for me.

Gratefully,

Max

P.S. If by some remarkable coincidence you read this and remember that day, please give me a call. I owe you lunch.

From In the Eye of the Storm
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 1997) Max Lucado

My son said he was ready to leave home and join the Army.

But how could I be sure?

By Ruth McVeigh, Battle Creek, Michigan

His room was tidy. He had packed away his stamp collection and the souvenirs from Scout camp. His brothers could wear his clothes, he said, for they probably wouldn’t fit him when he got back. I ran the vacuum over the faded rug.

A son departing for the armed forces is not a new experience. Our eldest has completed his obligation. Two others are still in the service. Now it is Tommy’s turn. Each time the questions smolder in my mind: Is he ready? What will sustain him in times of stress? Have we given him enough?

I shut off the vacuum and began to straighten Tommy’s books. As I picked up one, a folded paper fell out, and I read this short composition he had written for English class a couple of years before:

“A few weeks ago it was Easter, and our family colored eggs. The older kids hid candy, eggs and chocolate rabbits for the younger ones to hunt for the next morning. Then it was Easter, and we all went to church together. At church I was thinking how wonderful it is to have a big family like ours, all the fun we have together, all the places we go, and the things we do together. I thought how wonderful it is that all of us went to Communion as one body at this time. I felt close to God. Not just close, but close-close—like He was sitting right next to me.”

The heavy load slipped from my heart. Tommy was ready.

(from Mysterious Ways at Guideposts.com)

No matter how hard I tried,

I struggled to feel God’s presence in my life…

By Suzanne S. Pluhar, Frankfort, Indiana

My practical nature served me well in running my own business, but when it came to my faith it was an impediment. I went to church every week. I read the Bible. I believed in God. Yet somehow I just didn’t feel him in my life. Certainly not the way my husband, Ed, and others I knew did. They didn’t need any tangible proof to trust God was always with them.

For a long time I struggled to find that same assurance. But it never seemed to come, no matter how I worked at it. Maybe I’m not meant to believe the way God wants us to, I thought dispiritedly. I used to enjoy the quiet Sunday-morning fellowship at church. Now going to services began to make me uncomfortable. Worshiping among people of “true” faith, I felt a little like I didn’t belong.

I confided my doubts to my husband. Even his encouragement didn’t soothe me. Lord, I know you’re there, I kept praying, but I just don’t feel your presence like I should.

At church one Sunday the pastor spoke about Thomas, the doubting apostle. I paid particular attention because I could identify with Thomas. He too needed tangible proof of Christ’s presence. What would it take for me?

Halfway through the sermon I felt a firm, comforting hand on my shoulder. I looked at my husband, grateful for his understanding. Then I saw his hands folded in his lap. I turned to the man on my right. He was holding a hymnal.

Puzzled, I glanced at the people in the pew behind me. They were all sitting back; not one of them was touching me. But the gentle pressure remained on my shoulder. Warmth enveloped my entire body and I felt strangely reassured.

Then I heard the pastor reciting words from the Book of John: “Do not doubt but believe.” Suddenly I knew whose hand was on my shoulder.

(from Mysterious Ways on Guideposts.com)