Wounded by God's People (11 page)

Jonah had God's undivided attention. He was standing by when Jonah prayed. And He answered — immediately. He caused the fish literally to vomit Jonah onto dry land. God rescued Jonah, but He didn't release him from his divine assignment. God held firm to His original command, sending Jonah straight to Nineveh. And Jonah, newly recommitted to the will of God, went and preached. As a result, the entire city of Nineveh, from the king on down to the common people in the streets, repented of sin and submitted themselves to God.

One thousand years after Jonah, we see this dynamic still clearly at work in Jesus' relationship with his disciples. They were straining against the oars of their boat during a wind storm on the Sea of
Galilee. The Bible tells us that when Jesus walked toward them, “He was about to pass by them.” He did not step into their boat and calm the sea until they cried out to Him.
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If God heard the cry of His disciples in the midst of a storm …

If God heard the cry of a disobedient, rebellious, defiant prophet who had sunk so low as to end up in the belly of a great fish …

If God heard the cry of a desperate Muslim mother …

If God heard the cry of my friend's doctor during the earthquake …

If God heard my cry at the podium on an arena platform …

Why do you think He will not hear your cry?

God is a gentleman. He won't force His way into your life, or insist on helping when you don't seem to want it, or even push Himself into your situation. He waits for you to
ask
before He intervenes. Almost four thousand years after Hagar, three thousand years after Jonah, two thousand years after the disciples, God is still standing by, dear reader. Yes, He is. But He may be waiting for your call. So call Him. Cry out, now. Use the words of my prayer.
Jesus, help me …

God heard the boy crying, and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven …

Genesis 21:17

S
ometimes the most valuable lessons are caught, not taught. Like Abraham's example to Ishmael, the life my parents lived in our home provided some of my most important lessons.

One incident stands out with sparkling clarity …

The week following my seventeenth birthday, my father was the guest speaker at a public school assembly honoring my graduating high school class. The assembly was open to the families and friends of the graduates, and since my father was the speaker, it was held off-campus in a civic auditorium. I was behind schedule and ran out of the house, calling over my shoulder to let my parents know I was going on ahead of them since I had promised to pick up some friends on the way.

I jumped in Mother's little VW Beetle, which she had loaned to me for the occasion, floored the accelerator, and flew down the winding, one-lane mountain road that led up to our house. I made great time until I rounded one sharp curve and, to my horror, was confronted by a big Buick Riviera coming up the road. I slammed on the brakes, turned the wheel hard to the right, plowed into an embankment, but not before slamming into the front of the oncoming car.

With the sound of crunching metal, breaking glass, and spinning tires ringing in my ears, I tried to open my door, but it was smashed shut. So I crawled over the stick-shift and climbed out the passenger door. The Buick's driver was standing beside her car with
eyes widened by shock and fear. I recognized her as a neighbor, Mrs. Pickering.

I quickly apologized, “I'm so sorry, Mrs. Pickering. It's all my fault. Please help me pull the fender off the tire and let me see if the car will start. I'm soooo late.” She did as she was asked, and then I climbed back through the passenger door, crawled over the stick shift, and into the driver's seat. I backed the car down the embankment, rolled down the window on the passenger door, and pleaded, “Mrs. Pickering, please don't say anything to my daddy. I'll tell my parents after the service, but I don't want to say anything now.”

I drove slowly through town to pick up my friends, but then something caught my eye. When I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw flashing blue lights.
Could this day get any worse?
I couldn't believe I was being pulled over by the local police! The tears began to flow. The officer walked up to the window and for a moment stared alternately at me and the car before finally stating the obvious: “Well, little lady, it looks like you've been in a wreck.”

I nodded. He waited and stared some more.

“Make sure you drive more carefully,” he finally said.

I nodded again, and he let me go.

By the time I picked up my friends, I was the wreck! They peppered me with questions that I tearfully tried to answer as we drove to the service. When we arrived, I carefully parked the car so the smashed side was hidden against some bushes, hoping no one would notice and ask my mother what had happened to her car. Then I ran to take my place in the line of seniors who were already marching into the auditorium.

I don't remember much about the service except that my father strode across the platform, looked straight at me, and then
announced to one and all that I had never caused him any problems and had always been a joy to my mother and him. I wanted to die!

Following the service, I was trying to make a quick getaway when someone said, “Anne, your father wants to see you.” I felt certain that judgment was about to fall. Instead, my father was simply responding to the request of photographers and reporters who wanted a picture of him adjusting the tassel on the mortarboard of his graduating senior. The next day, our picture was on the front page of Asheville's
Citizen-Times
. Clearly visible were the mascara streaks running down my face, which I'm sure readers attributed to my emotion over graduation!

Finally, I was able to slip away, return my friends to their respective houses, and drive back home. Very slowly. As I drove, I prayed, “Please, dear God,
please
have my daddy anywhere — he can be on the phone, he can be in his study, he can be taking a walk —just please don't have him where I will have to see him right now, because I have to think this through. I promise I'm going to tell him about the wreck—just not now.”

I pulled up into the driveway, parked the car so the crushed side was shielded from the view of anyone in the house, then tiptoed up to the front door. I opened the screen door very carefully so it wouldn't squeak, slipped inside, and was poised to run up the stairs to my room when I glanced into the kitchen. There stood my father, his piercing blue eyes directed straight toward me.

I paused for what seemed a very long moment frozen in time. Then I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck. “Daddy, I'm so sorry. If you knew what I'd done, you never would have said all those nice things about me at the service.” I told him about my wreck—how I'd driven way too fast and smashed into the neighbor's
car. I told him it wasn't her fault; it was all mine. As I wept on his shoulder, he said four things that taught me important truths, not only about life, but also, ultimately, about my Heavenly Father:

• “Anne, I knew all along about your wreck. Mrs. Pickering came straight up the mountain and told me — I was just waiting for you to come tell me yourself.”
  
• “I love you.”
  
• “We can fix the car.”
  
• “You are going to be a better driver because of this.”
  ²
  

What an example of grace! In the arms of my earthly father, I experienced love and forgiveness that I didn't deserve. And it gave me a deeper understanding of what it means to experience the loving, forgiving embrace of my Heavenly Father.

Sooner or later, all of us are involved in some kind of wreck—it might be physical, emotional, financial, or relational. The wreck may be your own fault or someone else's. When the damage is your fault, there's a good chance you'll be confronted by the flashing blue lights of the morality police. They'll gape at you and the debris and say, “My, my. It looks like you've been in a wreck. You've made a mess of your life, and you've hurt other people.” As if you don't already know you'd been in a wreck! Their criticism isn't helpful; it just deepens the hurt and shame and guilt.

As God silently observed Hagar and Ishmael, how grieved He must have been. While He had indeed directed Abraham to exile Hagar and Ishmael, He also loved them. If only they would cry out to Him. If only they would run to Him. If only they would fling their arms of faith around Him. It must have been almost unbearable for God to endure the silence and just watch them suffering, especially when He was right there. But God is patient. He just waited.

I wonder if Hagar's sobs became muffled whimpers as her exhaustion began to take its toll. Did the hot breeze then grow still, the birds stop chirping, and silence grip the desert as if creation itself was holding its breath listening, waiting for even the slightest indication that Hagar or Ishmael would cry out to the God who was there?

Finally, the silence was broken by a raspy sound from a parched throat — but it wasn't coming from Hagar. It came from the direction of the scrub bushes.
Ishmael!
The arrogant, insolent teenager was reaching out to his father's God — the same God who had …

I wonder if Ishmael's experience in Gerar came back vividly to his mind. He had been about thirteen years of age at the time. Abraham had taken the family to Gerar after the destruction of Sodom. Afraid of being mistreated by the king, Abraham lied about Sarah, saying she was his sister — a lie that had gotten him into trouble before.
⁸
The entire family was plunged into a life-threatening situation, which was clearly Abraham's fault. Yet God was standing by. When Abraham prayed, God answered and miraculously delivered them.

Ishmael must have wondered,
Is
there any hope at all that the God
of my father might hear my cry?
He was in a terrifying situation — lost and dying of thirst in the desert with no idea what to do and where to go next, fast running out of strength and breath and life itself. But if God had heard his father, perhaps God would also hear him. There was only one way to find out. And so Ishmael stopped just crying and started crying out.

The heart of the Father must have leaped with joy! Surely, heaven must have applauded because “God heard the boy crying.”
⁹
What amazing grace!

This aspect of Hagar and Ishmael's story is especially meaningful to me as a parent. Like Abraham's example to Ishmael, the life my parents lived in our home provided some of my most important lessons. I wonder if I am providing those same types of invaluable life lessons to my own children and grandchildren.

When my children — and yours — find themselves in an impossibly hard place — especially as a result of their own wrong choices, wrong words, wrong actions — I wonder what they will remember about the way we handled our own hard places. Have we hidden from them our faults and sin, presenting the façade of a perfect parent? Or have we allowed them to see God's grace in our lives when we don't deserve it — blessing us, answering our prayers, and delivering us from self-inflicted wounds? I wonder if their memories of us in the midst of hard places and difficult situations will hinder them or encourage them to cry out to God.

What I do know from experience is that when I've been involved in a wreck, it has been vitally important not to run away from my Heavenly Father, deny my responsibility, or rationalize my behavior. It's been critical to run to Him, to throw the arms of my faith around Him, and confess my sin. To pour out my heart and tell Him about
the trouble I'm in and the mess I've made. Not only have I discovered that He is indeed a prayer-hearing, prayer-answering God, but He has allowed me to be an example for those who are closest to me and whom I love the most … my own family.

I will never forget my own father's godly example. And Ishmael surely didn't forget Abraham's example, either. Perhaps it was for the very reason that Ishmael cried out that God heard, “and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven.”
¹⁰

But wait a minute. Is that a mistake? Isn't God supposed to answer us directly when we cry out to Him? Why would He call to Hagar when Ishmael was the one crying out? Could it be that Ishmael was crying out to God
for his mother
?

I know God hears the prayers of children for their mothers because I have experienced His answers to my children's prayers for me. One example readily comes to mind. It took place when I was leading my annual seminar at the Billy Graham Training Center at the Cove in Asheville, North Carolina. During the seminar each year, I stay in one of the speakers' cabins and thoroughly enjoy a few mountain hikes as a break from preparing teaching material. In the last few years, I have seen a variety of wildlife, including a mountain lion, a mother bear with three cubs, a wildcat, a bobcat with two kittens, snakes, many deer, and wild turkeys, just to name a few. I have a healthy respect for these creatures and keep my distance, but they don't usually frighten me.

Recently, during my time in the cabin at the Cove, my youngest daughter, Rachel-Ruth, felt burdened for my safety. Although she was over two hundred miles away, she sensed that I was somehow in danger. So she prayed earnestly and passionately for my protection.
Amazingly, she actually named in prayer the very danger she felt I was facing — a threatening black bear.

When we later compared notes, we discovered that I had left my cabin to take a hike at the very time she had been praying. As I closed the cabin door, my eye caught some movement and, when I looked more closely, I saw a large, emaciated, and mangy black bear in the nearby woods. I stood there for a moment, just watching, and then realized the bear was coming straight for the cabin! I ducked back in the door, shut it tightly, and then went to the window. Sure enough, the bear came up onto the cabin porch, knocked over the glass of iced tea I had just left by the rocking chair, and started to maul the pillow I had just been sitting on! When I banged on the window to get him to drop the pillow, he reared up on his hind legs and looked fiercely back at me. As I watched, he circled the cabin three times before he finally meandered off through the woods.

What struck me was that the bear did not seem frightened of me at all. On occasion, I have bumped into bears while hiking, and they have always steered clear of me, and I have done my best to steer clear of them. But this bear looked like he was starving, his behavior was not normal, and I believe he would have come after me had I encountered him on the trail. If I had left the cabin even five minutes earlier, I would have been oblivious to his lurking in the nearby woods and would have been caught outside, exposed to the threat of attack.

This experience brought a double blessing — not only was I saved from danger, but I was also greatly encouraged in the knowledge that my daughter's sensitive and personal prayers on my behalf were heard and answered by God. How remarkable, how astounding, how humbling to think that God hears the cry of our children …
for us!

My experience leads me to believe that Ishmael was crying out to God on behalf of his mother. Maybe he even went so far as to confess his faults and acknowledge that he didn't deserve God's mercy. Maybe he pleaded with God on behalf of his mother because he viewed her as the innocent victim of his life-wrecking behavior. Maybe, in the humility born of desperation, his pride, arrogance, and self-centeredness were finally broken as he prayed for someone else. Maybe his cry was voiced in a tone of repentance.