Divine Endurance

My 1960’s childhood neighborhood had lots of kids, and we did all sorts of things. The hilly terrain, loaded with trees, shrubs, and houses, was great for hide-and-seek. I have a vague recollection of once playing a variation of red rover and, being the smallest and youngest in the group, I was chosen last. Nothing strengthens a child’s self-esteem as much as being a leftover. In the winter we played some hockey on slick driveways or, if weather conditions dumped enough rain in our back yards right before a hard freeze, on the ice. Although it was fun to slap the puck around, I was never very good with skates because my ankles were always too wobbly. Ditto with roller blading later in life. At the time, there were also oodles of games being played involving old west or war themes. We did a lot of riding around on bicycles, too, and it was on those machines that I first figured out how to do some work on mechanical devices. Let’s not forget the sports, either.

Playing catch was an option, and it was OK as long as you had a glove and knew how to use it. I’ve always enjoyed sports with paddles or racquets, and we had a badminton net in our back yard. During my high school years most people found that they could not beat me in a ping-pong match. Actually, I remember only one loss, and that was when I worked at a Christian camp one summer. A permanent staff member and I were the finalists in the camp staff tournament. I played very aggressive, very hard-hitting offense, and he played the best defensive game I’ve ever seen. It was extremely close, and he beat me by letting me beat myself. Boy, he was great! I haven’t played much in quite a few years, and I think the loss of flexibility in my back (due to back surgery) would make a difference. Plus, there are the other things that affect 61-year-old people.

And then there was football. The games in my early childhood seemed to me to be somewhat haphazard, and I think that was primarily because I didn’t understand the game at the time. I’m not entirely sure that the other kids did, either, but they sure behaved like they did. I still had fun running around with everyone else. There was a set of shoulder pads and a helmet that fit me; both were presumably left over from when my brother had played with them. The male ego kicks in early in life, and I remember looking in the mirror and liking what I saw when I had the shoulder pads on: I was quite the he-man. The one thing I remember the most about neighborhood football, though, occurred one bright, sunny day in the area where our front yard met that of our neighbors. Through some odd discontinuity in the space-time continuum, I ended up with the football. I didn’t understand what I was supposed to do with it, and so I simply ran around with it, trying to get away from everybody else. Perhaps I had been influenced by Curly in The Three Stooges short film Three Little Pigskins. At any rate, the predictable thing happened: I found myself at the bottom of a large pile of children. Everybody else found this quite humorous, and perhaps I did, too, briefly, before I realized that the weight of the pile was making it difficult for me to breath. I looked around and saw arms and legs and feet, and I couldn’t get out: I was trapped.

Endurance involves both difficulty and time. I had no choice: I was forced to endure until the pile was gone, and it seemed like it took forever. From that point forward I was much more careful about getting involved in football. Prisoners of war are sometimes forced to endure unspeakable acts of cruelty for long periods of time, and those that survive deserve to be admired. Honorable people are outraged at the cowards that inflict such things.

On the other hand, endurance can also involve choice. About 30 years ago I had a friend that offered to take me with him on a long-distance bike ride. The route was about 65 miles round trip, and went from near where I lived in Greenville to the top of Caesars Head, one of the Appalachian Mountains in South Carolina. He was a very experienced road biker, he assured me that I could do it, and so I agreed. It was a cloudy Saturday, and it was supposed to rain, but we left, anyway. We were about 16 miles into the trip when the rain started. It rained, and then stopped, and then started up again, and then stopped again. Like us, it continued cycling throughout the day, and sometimes it poured, and poured, and poured. Mind you, I was expending a lot of energy, and I was glad to get cooled off, but there were times when I got cold. Nevertheless, we were determined, and it poured when we got to the top of Caesars Head. I chose to endure, and we rode the entire 65 miles. I was proud of myself, and he bought me an official Rain Ride patch to commemorate the occasion.

 Choosing to endure can involve difficult choices. Some time ago I talked with a father whose son was living with him. As is true with any good parent, this man has for many years tried to influence his son to make good decisions. However, his son thinks he knows better, and so he continues to disregard biblical truth. Some of this may be the male ego manifesting itself, but that’s irrelevant: Bad thinking translates into bad behavior, and bad behavior has consequences. This is, in fact, a law of the universe: Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap. (Galatians 6:7 ESV) God is already demonstrating patience with him, but apparently he thinks this means that there won’t be any consequences. He’s wrong: It may take time, but they are coming. What is this father enduring? It’s tearing him up that his son is going to face serious problems. His son expresses his bad attitude, and this leads to serious conflict in the home. He lacks the ability to change his son’s heart. This dad faces these things day in and day out, and he sees no signs of change. He is enduring anguish, but he loves his son so much that he chooses to live with him, anyway, so that he can try to help him. This is a picture of Divine endurance.

Nobody understands God completely. The Bible teaches that God is triune, existing as three persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. While I commune with all three, I’m still mystified that He exists like this. The idea of being indwelled by the Holy Spirit must sound really bizarre to people that don’t know God, but the fact is, all of God’s children are indwelled by Him. What negative things does the Holy Spirit experience while indwelling Brian Vogt?

First, let’s not forget that God is completely holy, pure and unstained by sin. He is exquisitely sensitive, much more so than any human being. God is very gentle, and He does not like to come down hard on His children, and does so only when He knows that it is necessary. Sometimes He speaks very, very quietly, like one of the times after He showed his power to Elijah. God said

“Go out and stand on the mount before the LORD.” And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake.

And after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper.

(I Kings 19:11-12 ESV)

Second, let’s remember that Brian Vogt is still a sinner. Yes, he is a sinner saved by grace, but he is still a sinner. While God tells him to be gentle, sometimes he is not. Patience is not just a virtue—he has been commanded to be so. And yet, sometimes Brian is very impatient, particularly when driving in traffic. He is sometimes covetous, or envious, or angry, or is not meek, or is not thankful, or is selfish, or is unkind, or…. You see, although over the years God has done a marvelous work of transforming Brian, He is not done with him yet.

Third, let’s remember that the Holy Spirit can be grieved. He abhors sin, recoils from it, and detests being around it more than you hate being around whatever it is that bothers you more than anything else.

And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God,

by whom you were sealed for the day of redemption.

(Hebrews 13:5 ESV)

Without exception, the Holy Spirit is deeply grieved every time Brian sins. Do you see the parallels? That father is deeply disturbed by his son’s thinking. So, too, the Holy Spirit is grieved by some of Brian’s thinking. That father knows that his son will face consequences, and he is saddened by the thought. So, too, the Holy Spirit is saddened by what Brian will face if he does not change. That father detests the conflict he experiences with his son. So, too, the Holy Spirit detests the conflict He experiences when Brian fights against him. That father chooses to endure anguish because he loves his son, and cannot bear the thoughts of what will happen if he doesn’t change. So, too, the Holy Spirit chooses to endure anguish so that He can continue to change Brian. That father chooses to dwell with his son, even though at times it is very difficult. So, too, the Holy Spirit chooses to dwell within Brian, even though at times it is difficult beyond human comprehension.

…He has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”

(Hebrews 13:5 ESV)

Oops

During some of my years in the 1970’s as an undergraduate student at BJU, I worked as a lab assistant in the Chemistry Department (now the Department of Chemistry and Physics). I did a range of different things that ran the gamut from preparing chemicals for experimental use to helping students do procedures correctly. One day in the fall of 1978 I was floating between a general chemistry lab and an organic chemistry lab. Students in the latter were working on the synthesis of ethyl bromide. The apparatus consisted of a glass flask connected to a vertical water-cooled glass condenser, and it had a nice 1950’s science fiction movie sort of appearance to it. This particular synthesis is more than a little touchy, and Mr. Brown cautioned the class to avoid letting it get too warm too quickly. One pair of women set their apparatus up correctly and proceeded with the process, but they didn’t adequately control the temperature. The mixture got too hot, rapidly vaporized, and shot out of the top of the condenser like a projectile out of a cannon! The liquid splattered onto the ceiling, and you could still see the splatter before the ceiling tiles were added during the last major laboratory renovation in 1995. I haven’t checked for years, but it’s probably still there. Thankfully nobody was hurt, and that’s good, because I ended up marrying one of those women.

Occasionally on Sunday, right after church, we eat at Compadre’s Mex Mex Grill on North Pleasantburg Drive. They have a lovely dinner buffet with a good range of dishes, and they aren’t spicy unless you add one of their salsas. One of those is just right for me, but the other one is woweee hot! For dessert they have fresh pineapple and cantaloupe, and they’re usually quite good. They also have pieces of wheat tortilla that have been fried and dusted with sugar and cinnamon; mm mm, they’re always quite good. On one such Sunday, I was standing in the men’s room washing my hands when the door swung open. Our eyes met, and as she looked at me I suddenly realized that the plumbing fixtures in this bathroom did not exactly match what would normally be expected in a men’s room. I’m so glad that she didn’t walk in a minute earlier. I also finally recognized that the wallpaper was a little too pink for a typical restaurant men’s room. She began to smile, and so did I, in a rather mortified manner. I immediately apologized, finished up uncharacteristically quickly, and fled. I went back to the table, sat back down, and announced, “They have a very nice ladies’ room here.”

The summer of 1993 was one of the five summers that I worked in the U.S. Air Force’s summer faculty research program. This program was designed for faculty members of four-year colleges, and at Tyndall Air Force Base in Florida I did research that combined analytical chemistry and environmental engineering. This was very interesting work, and ultimately the USAF took out a patent on a fiber optic sensor that one of my colleagues and I invented. During this summer, we made good friends with a couple that at the time lived in Lynn Haven, which coincidentally is the town where the original Bob Jones College campus was located. I’d been looking to buy a pickup truck, and he was selling a 1986 Chevrolet that hadn’t run for around a year and a half or so. I bought it for a very good price with the understanding that if I couldn’t get it fixed I would leave it with him (with new parts installed) and he would give me my money back. I fixed a lot of stuff on it, and thankfully I was able to get it back up to snuff. It was bright red, and, based on the children’s book about a big red dog, I decided to name it Clifford the big red truck. Four years later, a few months after my mother died due to complications of a quadruple heart bypass operation, I decided to visit those same friends for some saltwater fishing. Dad went with me, and we had great fun. Before we left I did a rear brake job on Clifford. This seemed to go pretty well, and all seemed well until Dad and I were stuck in traffic on I-85 in Atlanta at about 4 pm on our way back. When we slowed down I noticed a peculiar odor, and I thought something might be overheating. At the next rest area, I pulled over and noticed that the right rear brake was extremely hot. I poured some cold water onto it and it immediately sizzled. Apparently one of the brake shoes was stuck in an odd position, and the friction was generating a lot of heat. I don’t know exactly how it happened, and I can only speculate on why we didn’t have problems with it on the way south. The high temperature also ruined a rubber seal at the end of the axle, and so gear oil from the differential was leaking out. It was leaking quickly—we were in trouble. I turned off at the next exit and found an auto parts store, where I purchased several bottles of gear oil. And then the drill began.

1.     Remove the fill plug on the differential. Thankfully I had brought some basic tools along.

2.     Pour in gear oil until it starts to leak out the top.

3.     Replace the fill plug.

4.     Pour cold water on the hot brake shoe.

5.     Drive slowly in the breakdown lane on the right at 15-20 mph for a while.

6.     Pull over and repeat starting with step 1.

I used a lot of oil, but this process did work. And then at about 9:30 pm a piece of metal in the breakdown lane got stuck in the right front tire and it went flat. I pulled off at the next exit and into an old service garage, and amazingly for a Saturday night they were still open. They repaired the tire and we continued on our way. Dad got home at about 12:30 am, and after getting him unpacked and settled in I got home at about 1 am. Normally I would have gotten him home by about 7 pm. I did a lot of praying during this trip, and I’m very thankful that we were OK. Clifford wasn’t OK: the thermal trauma had ruined his rear axle and possibly the differential, too. I replaced the entire axle and differential assembly with a used one from a junkyard—I had a professional do this work—and then I sold Clifford. Maybe all of this trouble and expense would have been avoided if I had let a professional take care of the brake job in the first place. Have you ever done something yourself and then later regretted it?

Some of us get a lot of satisfaction by doing things ourselves, but we don’t always have the experience or skills needed to be successful. This also applies to spiritually-challenging life circumstances.

It is good that a man should both

hope and quietly wait for

the salvation of the Lord.

 (Lamentations 3:26 KJV)

Sometimes it’s appropriate to sit back and trust God to do things His way. This isn’t easy for a take-the-bull-by-the-horns-and-do-something kind of guy like me. No, I’d much rather dive in and try to fix things.

The fact of the matter is that God is the only one that can change a human heart. At church, Pastor Cook often quotes Psalm 127:1, which says, “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it….” John 15:5 records that the Lord Himself said, “…Without me ye can do nothing.” Yes, we can do good things to help people, and we can do them with good motives. But unless the Creator of the universe makes our efforts fruitful, then all we do will be for naught.

It can be extremely uncomfortable to sit back and wait for the Lord to resolve things His way. Some time ago, I persistently asked God to correct any aspect of my thinking about a very difficult set of circumstances. He made it clear to me that I should back off and trust Him to do things His way. By His grace I have done so, and I’ve seen Him do things that only He can do. Yes, my faith has been stretched so tightly that I thought it might break, but He has not yet failed me.