Time Out! Devotions

I’ll forgive . . . but I’ll never forget. We hear that so much, it’s easy to shrug it off as “only natural.” That’s just the problem! It is the most natural response we can expect. Not supernatural. It can also have tragic consequences.

In his book Great Church Fights, Leslie Flynn tells of two unmarried sisters who lived together, but, because of an unresolved disagreement over an insignificant issue, they stopped speaking to each other (one of the inescapable results of refusing to forgive). Since they were either unable or unwilling to move out of their small house, they continued to use the same rooms, eat at the same table, use the same appliances, and sleep in the same room . . . all separately . . . without uttering one word. A chalk line divided the sleeping area into halves, separating doorways as well as the fireplace. Each would come and go, cook and eat, sew and read without ever stepping over into her sister’s territory. Through the black of night, each could hear the deep breathing of the other, but, because both were unwilling to take the first step toward forgiving and releasing whatever was the offense, they coexisted for years in grinding silence.

Refusing to forgive and cancel the debt leads to other tragedies, like monuments of spite. How many Christian organizations split (often over nitpicky issues), then spin off into another direction, fractured, splintered, and bitterly opinionated? How many families choose to hold on to memories of resentment, rather than create legacies of forgiveness? And churches can be the worst at this!

After I spoke at a summer Bible conference meeting one evening, a woman told me that she and her family had been camping across America. In their travels, they drove through a town, passing by a church with a name she said she would never forget—

THE ORIGINAL CHURCH OF GOD, NUMBER TWO.

Whether our dispute is a personal or a public matter, we quickly reveal whether we possess a servant’s heart in how we respond to those who have offended us. We always have a choice. Will we choose to hold on to the things that have hurt us until we’ve erected monuments of spite that divide our once harmonious relationships . . . or will we choose to create lasting legacies of forgiveness by forgiving those that hurt us and then releasing the offense . . . canceling the debt? Don’t miss those final words.

It isn’t enough simply to say, “Well, okay—you’re forgiven, but don’t expect me to release you!” That means we have constructed a monument of spite in our mind, which isn’t forgiveness at all.

Before I go on, let me say this: I don’t mean to imply that you forget what happened, or that you are able to erase the incident from your memory, or that you don’t hold someone responsible for abusive or criminal behavior or financial debts. We live in reality. It’s impossible for victims of rape to remove the unspeakable crime from their memory. Memories of childhood abuse cannot be wisped away like leaves falling from a tree. Scars, both physical and emotional, are lasting pictures of a terrible pain.

What I do mean is that we release people from the guilt and no longer hold the offense over their heads. When we choose to “cancel the debt,” we unshackle people from the dark emotions lurking in our hearts that say, Never. Never let this go. In fact, for those who have experienced life-altering offenses, choosing to forgive and release people can be an ongoing process. When Peter asked Jesus, “‘Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him? Up to seven times?’ Jesus said to him, ‘I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven’ ” (Matthew 18:21-22).

Servants must be broad-shouldered people—big enough to go on, big enough to remember the right, and big enough to forgive the wrong by releasing the offender of any guilt, pain, or grudges.

Taken from Charles R. Swindoll, “Creating a Legacy of Forgiveness: Cancel the Debt,” Insights (May 2004): 1, 4. Copyright © 2004, Charles R. Swindoll, Inc.

The sound was deafening. Although no one was near enough to hear it, ultimately it echoed around the world. None of the passengers in the DC-4 ever knew what happened—they died instantly. That was February 15, 1947, when the Avianca Airline flight bound for Quito, Ecuador, crashed into the 14,000-foot-high peak of El Tablazo not far from Bogota, then dropped—a flaming mass of metal—into a ravine far below.

One of the victims was a young New Yorker named Glenn Chambers, who had planned to begin a ministry with the “Voice of the Andes.”

Before leaving the Miami airport earlier that day, Chambers had written a note to his mother on a piece of paper he picked up in the terminal. The paper was a piece of an advertisement with the single word WHY? sprawled across the center. In a hurry and preoccupied, he scribbled his note around that word, folded it, and stuffed it into an envelope addressed to his mother.

The note arrived after the news of his death. When his mother received it, there, staring up at her, was that haunting question: WHY?

Of all questions, this is the most searching, the most tormenting. It accompanies every tragedy. It falls from the lips of the mother who delivers a stillborn . . . the wife who learns of her husband’s tragic death . . . the child who is told, “Daddy won’t be coming home any more” . . . the struggling father of five who loses his job . . . the close friend of one who commits suicide.

Why? Why me? Why now? Why this? Nothing can fully prepare us for such moments.  Few thoughts can steady us afterward . . .  perhaps only one.

Consider Job . . . imagine his feelings!

“You’ve lost your livestock, they’ve been stolen. Your sheep and camels were also destroyed. Your employees were murdered, Job. Oh, one more thing—your children were crushed in a freak windstorm . . . they are dead, my friend, all ten of them.”

That actually happened. Job got all this news in one brief period of panic. Shortly thereafter he broke out in boils—from head to toe. Grief-stricken. Stunned. Bankrupt. In excruciating pain, both in body and spirit. At a total loss to explain even one tragedy, to say nothing of five! It was naked, raw agony, and the heavens were mute. No explanation thundered across the celestial chasm. Not one reason . . . not a single one. And then his wife advised: “Curse God and die!”

Boldly Job snapped, “You sound like a fool, woman!” Wisely he stated, “Shall we accept only good from God and never adversity?”

Notice very carefully what Job claimed that day. Don’t miss the thing that carried him through. Unlike the stance of the stoic—“Grin and bear it . . . or at least grit your teeth and endure it”—Job grabbed one great principle and held on. It formed the knot at the end of his rope . . . it steadied his step . . . it kept him from cursing. No other single truth removes the need to ask “Why?” like this one:

GOD IS TOO KIND TO DO ANYTHING CRUEL . . . TOO WISE TO MAKE A MISTAKE . . . TOO DEEP TO EXPLAIN HIMSELF.

That’s it! Job rested his case there.

It’s remarkable how believing that one profound statement erases the “Why?” from earth’s inequities.

It was the same knot a brokenhearted mother in New York tied in the winter of 1947. Mrs. Chambers stopped asking Why? when she saw the Who? behind the scene.

All other sounds are muffled when we claim His absolute sovereignty. Even the deafening sound of a crashing DC-4.

Taken from Charles R. Swindoll, The Finishing Touch: Becoming God’s Masterpiece (Dallas: Word, 1994), 170-71.

(from Insight For Living – Charles Swindoll)

(by Charles Swindoll from Insight for Living)

The word grace means many things to many people. We refer to a ballet dancer as having grace. We say grace at meals. We talk about the queen of England bringing grace to events she attends. Grace can mean coordination of movement, it can mean a prayer, it can refer to dignity and elegance. Most important, grace can mean unmerited favor—extending special favor to someone who doesn’t deserve it, who hasn’t earned it, and who can never repay it. Every once in a while we come across a scene in Scripture where we see a beautiful illustration of that kind of grace, and we stand amazed at such amazing grace.

We find one of those moments in the life of King David. It is, in my personal opinion, the greatest illustration of grace in all the Old Testament. It involves an obscure man with an almost unpronounceable name. Mephibosheth. It’s a beautiful, unforgettable story.

Before his reign as king over Israel began, David made a promise to his predecessor. David vowed that he would not destroy Saul’s descendants once he came to power (1 Samuel 24:20–22). When David consolidated his power and a time of peace came to the land, one of his first acts was to inquire about Saul’s descendants. Normally, ancient kings sought out descendants from the previous regime to kill them and prevent that family’s return to power. However, David made it clear that he sought a descendant of Saul so that he might show him kindness (2 Samuel 9:1).

One of Saul’s former servants answered the call and informed King David about a single son of Jonathan, who was “crippled in both feet.” David’s response was beautiful. He moved right on and said, “Where is he?” He didn’t ask, “How badly is he crippled?” He didn’t even ask how he happened to be in that condition. He just said, “Where’s the man located?”

That’s the way grace is. Grace isn’t picky. Grace doesn’t look for things that have been done that deserve love. Grace operates apart from the response or the ability of the individual. Grace is one-sided. Grace is God giving Himself in full acceptance to someone who does not deserve it and can never earn it and will never be able to repay. And this is what makes the story of David and Mephibosheth so memorable. A strong and famous king stoops down and reaches out to one who represents everything David was not!

Not surprisingly, Mephibosheth had been in hiding. He feared that David would be like all other kings, seeking and killing the descendants of the former regime. The last thing Mephibosheth wanted to see was an emissary from the king rapping on his door. But that was exactly what happened.

Can you imagine the man’s shock? After answering the knock at the door, Mephibosheth looked into the faces of David’s soldiers, who said to him, “The king wants to see you.” He most likely thought, Well, this is the end.

But it wasn’t; it was a whole new beginning! Taken before the king in Jerusalem, this frightened man threw aside his crutches and fell down before the king who had sovereign rights over his life. Mephibosheth had no idea what to expect. Surely, he expected the worst.

David said to him, “Do not fear, for I will surely show kindness [grace] to you for the sake of your father Jonathan, and will restore to you all the land of your grandfather Saul; and you shall eat at my table regularly.” (2 Samuel 9:7)

Can you imagine what Mephibosheth must have felt at that moment? Expecting a sword to strike his neck, he heard these unbelievable words from King David. Words of grace.

Dr. Karl Menninger tells the story of Thomas Jefferson, riding horseback cross-country when he and his group came to a swollen river. A wayfarer waited until several of the party had crossed and then hailed President Jefferson and asked if he would carry him across on his horse. Jefferson pulled him up onto the back of his horse and carried him to the opposite bank. “Tell me,” asked one of the men, “why did you select the president to ask this favor of?” “The president?” the man answered. “I didn’t know he was the president. All I know is that on some of the faces is written the answer ‘no’ and on some faces is written the answer ‘yes.’ His was a ‘yes’ face.”¹

People who truly understand grace have a “yes” face. I want to suggest that when Mephibosheth looked up, he saw a “yes” written across King David’s face. (Don’t you wish you could have been there at that magnificent moment?) From that time on, the crippled young man was treated as one of the king’s sons. King David restored to him all the land that had belonged to his grandfather Saul, along with Saul’s servant Ziba and all his household––15 sons and 20 servants. He was viewed by all with respect, and he enjoyed eating regularly with the family at King David’s table, all because of grace. They talked together and laughed together and ate delicious meals together because he was a member of the family . . . and the tablecloth covered his crippled feet.

Moments like that remind us that God will look at His children and say with that “yes” face, “You’re in My family. You’re as important to Me as all my other sons and daughters.” It will take eternity for us to adequately express what this truth means to us—that He chose us in our sinful and rebellious condition and in grace took us from a barren place and gave us a place at His table. And, in love, allowed His tablecloth of grace to cover our sin.

Grace. It really is amazing!

1. Karl Menninger, Martin Mayman, and Paul Pruyser, The Vital Balance (New York: Viking Press, 1963), 22.

Taken from Charles R. Swindoll, “Amazing Grace on Display,” Insights (March 2009): 1–2. Copyright © 2009 by Charles R. Swindoll, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide.

(this devotional article from guideposts.com)

Having trouble remembering everything you’d like to pray for?

Try this simple solution.

By Lisa Biedenbakc, Hamilton, Ohio

People are always asking me to pray for them, and I always say yes. I mean, how do you say no to prayer? But with so many requests from coworkers, family and friends, colleagues and fellow parishioners—not to mention my own prayers—sometimes I lose track of all their prayer needs. I’m on prayer overload.

One day I was chatting with my friend Sister Bridget, an Ursuline nun. I mentioned my prayer-overload problem to her. “I can’t remember who and what I’m supposed to be praying for!”

“Try a prayer bowl,” she said. She told me that she keeps a small bowl in her home, and whenever she gets a prayer request she writes it down on a slip of paper and drops it into the bowl. “A couple of times a day I put my hand into the bowl and read through a handful of requests.”

I’ll have to give that a try, I thought.

Several months later, on a trip to Assisi and Rome, I found the perfect bowl, carved out of an ancient olive tree, full of beautiful swirls in shades of olive and brown.

I bought it and brought it home, and put it on my desk at work where I can see it every day.

Now, whenever I receive a prayer request or hear of someone in need, I write it on a slip of paper and put down the date. Then I drop it in the bowl. Lord, I pray, please remember everyone in this bowl. May your will be done, I add.

Some of the prayers have been, “Katie’s son in Iraq,” “Judy’s breast cancer” or “the sale of Bob’s house.”

My bowl is always full. But I never feel overwhelmed anymore. Just the opposite. After a month or two I take out the slips of paper and see how many of those prayers have been answered, and I add one more prayer of my own:

Thank you, Lord.