Monday, May 23, 2011

Trials and Failings

My initial reaction to trials has always been rebellion. I think I can always say that I eventually learn my lesson in these trials, but it almost never comes quickly.
When I am faced with a trial that threatens myself, I am usually quicker to see the light. If, on the other hand, it threatens those I love I come to the conclusion of my lesson in a more pedestrian manner.
When someone I love is threatened it is my immediate reaction to do everything I can to fix it myself. Now I suppose this reaction, in and of itself, shouldn’t be considered bad. We should all be doing what we can to help each other. For me, however, it becomes more of an issue in that I fail to recognize when all of my resources have failed to obtain the desired result. I fail to recognize when I have failed. I have become an expert in whipping dead horses.
When I have reached the end of my resources, and failed to accomplish what I set out to do, I sit back and rail against my God for not doing it right, in spite of the fact that somewhere inside I am fully aware that it is I who has done it wrong. Pride is a harsh mistress.
When I come to the end of my limited resources, I am forced to admit to a sense of inadequacy that inspires in me an incredible fear. I fear not being “good enough”. If I am not a “good enough” husband and father my family will dislike me. If I am not a “good enough” friend no one will be interested in my needs as a person. If I am not a “good enough” employee I will be out on the streets with my family.
The paradox in all of this is that my definition of “good enough” sets a standard of expectation that no human is able to reach. In addition, I find that no one else sets standards that high for me, however they do set standards too high for themselves as I do. So we are all jumping for the bottom rung of the ladder that we ourselves have set too high to reach.
God also sets a high standard. He asks us to be holy, as He is holy. He asks us to become perfect. God has set for us a standard that we are unable to reach just as we do for ourselves. The unique, and crucial, difference between us and God is that He is willing and able to give us the means to attain His standard, while we constantly fail to meet our own. One of the reasons for the very existence of Christ is that He alone can lift us to the standard of God. He completes our journey toward perfection. A greater wonder still is that He allows us to reach that goal while we remain in our imperfection.
Human nature has always been to strive for control of our environment and our destiny. Rather than acknowledge God’s authority we strive against our own humanity. We seek to exceed our own limitations, and in the end, our entire lives become stories of unending failures that leave us weary, thirsty, struggling to draw our next breath. Our efforts are meant, like the Tower of Babel, to make us equal to God rather than to draw near to Him. We assume that we have some place as divine beings rather than acknowledge that we are subject to God’s divinity.
It is when I have to sit by and watch helplessly as one I love suffers that I become so acutely aware that I am not adequate to the task of reaching the standard I have set. My standard requires that I end the suffering of others, but my humanity proves that I am unable to do so.
This is where I learn the most. This is where I finally figure out that I ultimately control nothing. This is where I finally realize that my choice is to trust that God alone knows the ultimate good that will come out of a given situation, or to leave my faith in Him behind and live with the inadequacy of my own strength.
It’s a lesson I have learned before, I just wish I could remember it for the next time.
©Dan Bode 1999

Trials and Failing

My initial reaction to trials has always been rebellion. I think I can always say that I eventually learn my lesson in these trials, but it almost never comes quickly.
When I am faced with a trial that threatens myself, I am usually quicker to see the light. If, on the other hand, it threatens those I love I come to the conclusion of my lesson in a more pedestrian manner.
When someone I love is threatened it is my immediate reaction to do everything I can to fix it myself. Now I suppose this reaction, in and of itself, shouldn’t be considered bad. We should all be doing what we can to help each other. For me, however, it becomes more of an issue in that I fail to recognize when all of my resources have failed to obtain the desired result. I fail to recognize when I have failed. I have become an expert in whipping dead horses.
When I have reached the end of my resources, and failed to accomplish what I set out to do, I sit back and rail against my God for not doing it right, in spite of the fact that somewhere inside I am fully aware that it is I who has done it wrong. Pride is a harsh mistress.
When I come to the end of my limited resources, I am forced to admit to a sense of inadequacy that inspires in me an incredible fear. I fear not being “good enough”. If I am not a “good enough” husband and father my family will dislike me. If I am not a “good enough” friend no one will be interested in my needs as a person. If I am not a “good enough” employee I will be out on the streets with my family.
The paradox in all of this is that my definition of “good enough” sets a standard of expectation that no human is able to reach. In addition, I find that no one else sets standards that high for me, however they do set standards too high for themselves as I do. So we are all jumping for the bottom rung of the ladder that we ourselves have set too high to reach.
God also sets a high standard. He asks us to be holy, as He is holy. He asks us to become perfect. God has set for us a standard that we are unable to reach just as we do for ourselves. The unique, and crucial, difference between us and God is that He is willing and able to give us the means to attain His standard, while we constantly fail to meet our own. One of the reasons for the very existence of Christ is that He alone can lift us to the standard of God. He completes our journey toward perfection. A greater wonder still is that He allows us to reach that goal while we remain in our imperfection.
Human nature has always been to strive for control of our environment and our destiny. Rather than acknowledge God’s authority we strive against our own humanity. We seek to exceed our own limitations, and in the end, our entire lives become stories of unending failures that leave us weary, thirsty, struggling to draw our next breath. Our efforts are meant, like the Tower of Babel, to make us equal to God rather than to draw near to Him. We assume that we have some place as divine beings rather than acknowledge that we are subject to God’s divinity.
It is when I have to sit by and watch helplessly as one I love suffers that I become so acutely aware that I am not adequate to the task of reaching the standard I have set. My standard requires that I end the suffering of others, but my humanity proves that I am unable to do so.
This is where I learn the most. This is where I finally figure out that I ultimately control nothing. This is where I finally realize that my choice is to trust that God alone knows the ultimate good that will come out of a given situation, or to leave my faith in Him behind and live with the inadequacy of my own strength.
It’s a lesson I have learned before, I just wish I could remember it for the next time.
©Dan Bode 1999

Monday, May 16, 2011

Everything Changes

I don’t suppose anyone can be expected to expect the unexpected.
Isn’t that why it’s called the unexpected?
I mean, everything changes right?
For some reason I recalled an incident, out of the many from my childhood, that proved this statement valid.
A few miles from my home there was an industrial park that always had some construction going on one of the lots. A necessary part of the construction process was moving excess dirt off of the site being prepared for any new building. There was one particular lot that, for whatever reason, was used as the dirt dumping ground. As the weather imposed itself on the dirt on this lot it was slowly transformed into a very hilly landscape. There were hills of a variety of sizes here from small bumps to the “main hill” as my friends and I used to call it.
The Main Hill was apparently the first load of dirt that was dumped on this lot. It was located fairly close to the center of the property and it was by far the highest hill there. Without diluting my memory of its size I would say its peak was probably about 30 feet high, which to a grade school kid is relatively high. The Main Hill had uniform slopes on all sides of about 40 degrees.
The thing about this park and this lot in particular was that it was on the route that we took almost every Saturday to get to our favorite candy store. It was the late ‘60’s and my allowance of .50 cents could buy a whole bag of assorted candy back then. I can still remember how mortified I was when they raised the price of my favorite candy bar, the Big Hunk, from a nickel to ten cents. They almost boosted it right out of my price range. I had to ask for a raise in my allowance. The cost of living affected even me. In addition to candy we would also get a canned drink called “Apple Beer”. It was basically carbonated apple juice, but when you poured it into a glass it looked like beer and formed a head like beer. We would slam a can down and have belching contests afterward. It made us feel manly.
Anyway, the usual routine that developed once Main Hill was created was to ride our bikes through this lot on the way to the candy store and ride over the hills. We would go over the smaller hills first and then launch our mobile assault on Main Hill once we worked up enough speed. We would pedal as fast as possible up one side and keep pedaling over the top and all the way down the other side. The speed was wonderfully exhilarating. Coming down the other side at full speed was kind of scary, because you knew if you had to stop for anything you simply could not. It was a great feeling.
One Saturday we were on our way to the candy store, and we approached the hill lot from the far end like we always did. I was in the lead. I had the biggest bike that my Grandma had bought for me used. I was the biggest kid and could always get the highest speeds. I hit the trail for the Main Hill going as fast as I could. We had been doing this for months. It was always the same. I built up speed and went up one side and down the other. This was always how it happened. Unfortunately I had never heard the phrase, “everything changes” at this point in my young life. It never occurred to me, or any of my friends for that matter, that anything could be different about this day.
I approached Main Hill going as fast as I could go. My friend Pete was about 15 feet behind me and Ron was right behind him. Over the top I went, and like always my tires left the ground for the briefest of moments, the wind whistled through my crew cut. It was here that I discovered a new facet of the construction process that I had heretofore no reason to believe existed.
When a new building is being constructed the ground is made level to accommodate an even surface on which the building is meant to stand. Usually, this requires excess dirt to be removed. What I had failed to realize was that sometimes dirt needs to be added to fill in existing holes. This in turn requires that the dirt has to be retrieved from somewhere. The lot on which we found ourselves playing daredevil happened to be “dirt source”. I found that no matter how much grass is growing on a hill, and no matter how well packed the dirt is, it can’t stand up to a bulldozer. I also discovered that Main Hill, being the largest hill on the lot, was also the most obvious source to go to for dirt.
We always approached Main Hill from the same side. Looking at it from our regular approach I could see no difference.
It wasn’t until I crested the hill that I saw that Main Hill was now only half the hill it used to be. It was simply gone!
A bulldozer had come in during the week and stolen the other half of Main Hill!
Worse yet was the fact that not only could I do nothing about it, but I didn’t even have time to express my outrage before I became completely and totally airborne! I let out a wordless scream as my tires left terra firma for the great unknown. I suppose I should clarify that the unknown did not refer to where I was going since the spot where I was going was rapidly filling my field of vision as I unwittingly flew down toward it. No, the unknown in this case was what my condition would be once I physically found that newly ploughed piece of earth with the combined mass of my bike and my body.
I ran across a quote once by Douglas Adams that says “The art of flying is to throw your self at the ground and miss.”
I can honestly say by this definition I failed utterly. I hit the ground with almost wild, yet reluctant, enthusiasm. I have vague memories of multiple impacts. The front tire of my bike hit first, and after that all I really remember is being tangled up in my bike frame as I tumbled over and over. I finally came to rest lying on my back. My leg had somehow worked itself between the spokes of the front wheel. The wheel was completely bent out of shape and the tire was flat. I looked up at the cliff that marked what was left of this side of Main Hill and saw that Pete and Ron had had enough time to stop the only way they could by basically dumping their bikes off to the side of the path at the top. They were lying on the ground looking down at me.
“Are you ok?!” yelled Ron.
“I’m not sure.” I said. I took a quick inventory of myself and found that I didn’t feel any serious pain. “I think I’m ok, but I’m stuck!”
My bike was lying on top of me and with my leg sticking through the spokes movement was not easy. Ron and Pete came down as fast as they could. I waited until they got there before I tried to move. I just laid there on my back contemplating the clouds drifting across the sky, and life in general. It was one of the few genuinely philosophical moments of my childhood. When your life passes before your eyes how does God make it so you actually see your whole life in a split second? Does it take longer when you get older, or is it always the same length of time? I’m gonna ask Him when I get to heaven.
Pete and Ron got there and helped extract me from the tangle of my bike. The spokes of the ruined front wheel were spread apart so I could pull my leg out. It was sore but still functional. Nothing broken. Lots of bruises were starting to form, though, and there were several areas on my body where swelling would be evident in the near future.
The guys sat down and just stared at me.
“Are you really ok?” asked Pete.
“Yeah.” I said.
“Man! You should have seen yourself! You just flew right out into the air! We heard you yell and had just enough time to stop before we went over too!” said Ron.
“Hey, look at your leg!” said Pete.
We looked down at my leg to see the imprint of the spokes very clearly impressed onto my calf. It would serve as my temporary badge of honor for surviving the ordeal.
We walked the rest of the way to the candy store. I wasn’t seriously bleeding and no bones were broken so there was never a thought in any of our minds that we should go immediately home. Nothing short of death would have kept us from our candy and Apple Beer. We ate our candy and drank our Apple Beer and belched. It had never felt better than it did that day.
When I got home with my damaged bike and told my mom what had happened (while wearing a carefully rehearsed stunned look on my face and with appropriate exclamatory embellishments from Pete and Ron), she was concerned enough to make me sit down and make sure there was indeed nothing broken. She brought us all milk and cookies which, was the ultimate cure all for me, and life was good again.
After my dad fixed my bike (I think even he was impressed with my survival after he saw the damage) we went back to the Hill. Another big chunk had been taken out. We could no longer attack the heights there, an activity which I was secretly happy to give up. We had to content ourselves with all the smaller hills. Whenever I get on a rollercoaster now I still feel a twinge when it goes over the hump that makes me feel weightless. I’m just never quite sure if I’m gonna miss the ground this time or not. Of course that doesn’t keep me off the roller coasters.
But because of that I discovered that, even though I may not have realized the full implications of this at the time, everything does indeed change. I also discovered that we are amazingly adaptable creations. And though we do not care for the change that may occur, we make our choices as to how we go on. But we do go on one way or another. I would have preferred that they had added dirt to the top of Main Hill rather than taking it away, but I survived and that is how I measured success in those days. Back then survival was all I needed to be concerned about. I could sit in the back seat and let my parents drive never having to worry about the idiot who cut me off. My responsibilities were limited. So nowadays when I remember the Charge of Main Hill, it is still a good memory despite the pain.
Heck, I’m just glad I survived my childhood.
©Dan Bode 2003

Saturday, May 7, 2011

For My Mother -



It was Mother’s Day, 1980. The second one since I had become a Christian.
My mother had died seven years before, but it was this day that I began to understand the impact she had on my life.
I was new to the church I was attending, the one where I eventually met and married my wife and raised our daughters. I was speaking to a lady after church explaining in one of those awkward situations where I was asked what I was doing for my mother for Mother’s Day. When I explained my situation there was often a brief silence followed by, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know!” I would then try to give them an out by asking what they were doing for Mother’s Day and wish them well.
This time it was different.
This lady asked, “Was she a Christian?”
I thought about this in that second before I answered. Being a Christian had taken on a new meaning for me. I now understood that is was so much more than going to church every Sunday, and growing up in the church “culture”. I had wandered spiritually for many years before finally understanding the differences between “belief” and “commitment”, “observation” and “relationship”. When I was asked that question I looked back on all the expressions of faith and belief from my mother I could remember. I remembered the stories and plays she wrote for church productions and the themes that ran through them. I remembered the times she would answer my questions, which more often than not had nothing to do with God (or at least I didn’t think so) with, “Because Jesus would (or wouldn’t) want us to do that.” I understood that her expressions of faith were not superficial answers. Her faith was intimately intertwined in her life.
So when I was asked that question, “Was she a Christian?”, I could answer without reservation that, yes, Virginia Bode, my mother, was a Christian. She gave me the seeds of faith that germinated years later and opened my eyes on my past, my spiritual heritage.
“Yes, she was.” I replied.
It was at that very moment that I remember starting to think of my mother in a way that had simply never occurred to me before. It was something I had taken for granted without realizing its true impact. My mother had Faith!
There are times when someone says something to me, and I know it is absolutely Correct. It actually fits somewhere in my soul. It is one sentence that actually changes me.
Her next statement was one of those.
“Well then, you know that she was always praying for you. That’s why you’re here now.”
That one sentence rocked me to the core.
This woman who barely knew me, and didn’t know any of my family was right.
As sure as my mother was a Christian, she was praying for her children. I suspect probably even more for me given the trouble I had a tendency to cause.
I was there because of the prayers of my mother. Even then she could reach me.
I will never fully understand the commitment she made to me, or adequately appreciate the sacrifices she made for me. But I do know now without a doubt that even though I was just a boy when she died it was she who made me a better man.
I will always be grateful to that lady in church for that short conversation. I praise God for that moment when He let me know that my mother knew where I was. That I had finally read that unwritten line in her will where she left me her faith, my legacy.
It has always been one of my greatest regrets that my wife, and children, and now my grandchildren, never knew my mother. I can only hope that they see enough of her in me to recognize her when they meet her in heaven.
When I left church that day I went home and wrote my mother a letter. I’ve reproduced it here. My writing style has changed quite a bit since then, but I’m leaving it as originally written so you see the sentiment more clearly through the eyes of that day.

Dearest Mother, 5/11/80
Since you’ve been gone, there have been so many things I’ve thought to tell you, so much love I’ve wanted to give you. Recalling the commandment, “Honor thy father and thy mother”, I realize how many times I did not honor you.
All the times I’ve wanted to call you to share something with you, only to remember that speaking to you is no longer as easy as a phone call, all those times are not easy.
The time when your prayers were finally answered, and I finally made your God my God, I wanted so to speak with you, to tell you that His love was my love, to come to you and give you the honor that I had never given.
I felt so empty when I found I couldn’t.
Yet I know that it was because of you that I had finally reached that point.
How joyful I was when I looked back and was able to see God’s hand upon you as you patiently taught me all that He had shown you.
How immeasurably happy I was to know that you are there with Him.
I thank you dearest Mother.
I thank you for nurturing me in your womb, for giving me birth, for guiding me as I lived my life, for sharing Him with me.
And Mother, know that because you did share Him with me, when He comes again, I will be able to stand beside your empty grave and love you and honor you as no child has ever loved or honored their mother.
Dearest Mother, I love you.

Your Loving Son,
Daniel

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Promises, Promises...

A promise is a promise is a promise.
The strength of a promise is based on the commitment of the one making it.
It is made without regard to the forces that may be brought to bear to try to make me break it. And those forces will be brought to bear.
The moment I make a promise everything that could be a threat to my fulfillment of it is automatically emphasized. All around me I see the roadblocks that would keep me from reaching my goal. Too often I focus so intently on not breaking the promise that I forget the promise itself. I get so caught up in thinking about the responsibilities I have taken on in relation to the promise that I fulfill it simply out of fear of the consequences if I fail. I forget the benefits and impact of a promise fulfilled.
There is a saying that says promises are made to be broken. That is simply a lie the world tells me to accommodate my failure.
That is not to say that promises aren’t broken.
I was recently challenged to list 10 promises that I have broken. It was a process made all the more painful by the realization that I could easily have listed many more than 10. Often a promise made is really made to more than one person so that once broken the failed promise impacts all to which it was implied. But the exercise made me realize how glibly promises are often made. A promise doesn’t always begin with the words “I promise”. A promise is made sometimes by our actions, like a regularly scheduled date. Sometimes it is a result of our traditions, like my Grandmother’s birthday cakes. Everyone always got a birthday cake from my Grandma with a cake ornament in the middle to which was attached a string with little prizes attached. I knew when I pulled the decoration off there was treasure to be had underneath. Sometimes a promise is assumed based on our knowledge of the person making it. I have friends who will not make a promise unless they are absolutely certain they can fulfill it. It would take their death or the death of someone close to them to keep them from keeping it. Regardless of the circumstance or conditions we expect that which we consider a promise to be fulfilled. When it is not then we deal with the heartbreak and disappointment accordingly. The promise breaker may not even be aware of his/her failure yet our trust in that individual is based on his/her consistency in fulfilling their promises. Who we are to others is often defined by the promises we make, or become, to them. So it is not the promise itself that reflects our hope, but the means by which, or the person in whom, it is fulfilled.
Promises are made without definite knowledge of how they will be threatened, but with the knowledge that they can be threatened. If we knew ahead of time the trials we may face because we make a promise we may not go ahead with it. But the fact that we make a promise must include our commitment to its fulfillment regardless of the challenge.
I think we grow into our ability to keep our promises. When the promise is new and young so is the strength of our commitment. As the promise endures so must our commitment to it.
My wife has had to deal with some severe medical problems with lasting effects for the last several years. Some time ago someone asked me how she was doing. As I detailed all that my wife had gone through she said something that, while complimentary, made me wonder if I am disconnected from the rest of the world.
She said, “You are a good man. It’s amazing that you are still married with all that you’ve gone through. Most men would have left.”
Now that statement probably came out of this woman’s personal experience, but I have a hard time imagining that I am the exception. Most men I know would never think about leaving their wives because they became ill. Our marriage vows incorporate every type of circumstance that could be viewed as a threat: “for better, for worse, for richer for poor, in sickness and in health…” It seems pretty clear to me.
The marriage vows are a promise.
My love is a promise. In one of his sonnets Shakespeare wrote,

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not Love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever Love’d.”

Every relationship has its rocky times. There are days when we may not want to be around each other very much, but that does not diminish our love for each other. Those times are painful precisely because we love each other. Those moments are very brief because we are committed to keeping our promise to each other.
When Sue and I first began to talk about marriage we started to examine our relationship more closely. We talked about the impact of our potential commitment to one another. With stars in our eyes we said even if one of us was paralyzed we would remain fully committed to each other and care for each other through it all and life would just be wonderful. Well, now reality has set in for us, and while neither of us is paralyzed there are some serious long term health issues being dealt with in our household. They are having a significant impact on all of our lives. But guess what? “Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds”. The promise we made still stands. Neither illness nor conflict will be allowed to defeat it. There is no easy way out, nor is there a need for one. Our commitment, our promise, is greater than our pain, our trials, and our deficiencies. To break the promise opens the floodgate on doubt and exposes us to violation, mistrust and even hate. It can bring about the complete perversion of the true intent of the promise. Promise requires sacrifice. The moment it is made I have determined that it will, by nature, supercede other commitments. A promise is something we sacrifice other things for, because what it represents to us is more important than our own immediate need. It gives us an often prophetic look into a future without it whenever we are reminded of it.

God has made many promises to man. He has not broken one of them.
He promised Abraham that he would be the father of a nation, and gave him his son Isaac. Then he told Abraham to sacrifice Isaac on the altar.
Think of all the conflicts this created.
God Promised Abraham he would be a father of a nation.
As a means of fulfilling that promise God gave him a son.
Now God is seemingly taking away that Promise.
Herein lays the power of this Promise. The power of this Promise is that it was believed.
Abraham did not doubt that God would fulfill His Promise, so even when what God told him to do appeared to contradict everything he knew about God he still prepared himself to do it. He knew what God could do, and what He said He would do, and he never doubted. That’s not to say that he was not subject to anguish in making that decision. The Bible does not tell us the thoughts that were going through Abraham’s mind during that time, but because he was human and loved his son I think it is safe to make the assumption that he was in pain over this.
But here again we see the power of this Promise.
His faith in what God had told him reconciled whatever conflicts he faced. His faith in the power of the Promise of God overcame his agony.
Isaac was not a spectator in this either. Isaac was young. He was strong enough to haul the wood up the mountain for the sacrifice. He was aware of his place in the Promise. When Isaac was born Abraham was 102 years old, so we know Isaac was the stronger of the two. When Abraham bound Isaac in preparation for the sacrifice and laid him across the altar he could have easily resisted. He could have fought his father, but Isaac too, knew the power of the Promise God had made. He had the faith of his father. He knew that because God had made the promise it would be fulfilled, and so he sacrificed himself willingly.
God provided another sacrifice, but nothing could prove Isaac and Abraham’s commitment to the Promise more than their willingness to give what was most dear to them to fulfill it.
So this is what I learned about my Promise:
God is fully committed to any Promise He makes.
When I make a promise before Him, when I invoke His name in a Promise that is clearly within His will, then He is completely committed to meet me in the fulfillment of that promise. The only point in which that Promise can fail is in my own weakness. The responsibility for the failure of this Promise will be mine alone, because God’s commitment to me has never faltered. And so I must also believe that whatever trial, pain, or conflict I face due to a promise I have made before Him will be overcome by the power of His Promise to me.
My love is a Promise proclaimed in His presence. I will not allow it to fail due to my weakness.
In 1 Corinthians 13 we are told many things about the love that endures: “love is patient, love is kind, love is not jealous, love does not brag, and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly, it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails…” (Italics mine).
Every aspect of love that is named in this list is a worthy trait, but the last two mentioned go hand in hand and seem to me to be the foundation of the whole concept of love.
Love endures, and it never fails.
If we in our human weakness fail in any aspect of keeping our love pure, for instance by being jealous, we can trust that true love has been imbued with the strength of God who created it. Even though we may have momentarily failed in keeping that love pure, God’s commitment to it has never failed, and He overrides our foolishness with the essence of His love. In doing this He allows me to keep my promise, because at that point, when I take on His commitment to my promise it becomes His promise too. With a commitment to the Promise like God gives to me, how can I be silent with the joy and gratitude it inspires in me? His commitment to the Promise is so great that when we give our life to Him He holds it in safe keeping and gives His only Son as a sacrifice that should have been us. A life was demanded as payment to fulfill His promise, and His Promise was to give us life. So He kept His promise by providing a sacrifice of His own.
His love never fails.
He keeps His Promises. So also must I keep mine.
And so, as I go on in this world, with every thing that is thrown at me, with every thrust of every sword this world impales me on to force my failure, I will know that though I die the Promise lives on, for it is no longer just mine, but His as well.
He is Love.
Love Never Fails.
The Promise lives on.
©Dan Bode 2002