When they call on me, I will answer; I will be with them in trouble. I will rescue and honor them. [Psalm 91:15 (NLT)]
When we moved to our small Midwestern town over fifty years ago, we paid our utility bills at the local drugstore and I longed for the “good old days” when we sold our northern home recently. Trying to update our information and go completely paperless, I attempted to access our various accounts on line, meaning I had to remember (or create) a wide variety of user names and passwords. If I managed to sign in, I’d get to the security questions and discover that my favorite color or dessert is not what I thought it was! Once past that hurdle, I had to prove I wasn’t a robot by deciphering those squiggly letters and numbers (a near impossibility)!
When I couldn’t accomplish my task on line, I’d resort to a phone call. It would be answered with a computerized voice offering a list of options, none of which ever seemed quite right. Another robotic voice would then ask a series of questions (“to better serve your need.”) Eventually, after being put through several programmed interrogations, I’d be put on hold. When I wasn’t being told how important my call was, I was subjected to a loop of horrible music and advertisements for additional services (along with the helpful suggestion that I go to the company’s website which, of course, I had already tried.) Occasionally, a voice would tell me how much longer I would be in the queue before an operator would be available. When I took the option of having them call me back, the call never came! Once, after holding for what seemed an eternity, I got disconnected! When I finally spoke with a real person, it was often someone in a distant land whose accent baffled me as much as mine baffled his. We’ve all been in similar situations. We cry out, “Is there no one there who can hear me, who understands my problem, who cares, or who can help?”
Thank you, God, for never requiring me to log on to your heavenly site. Thank you for not requiring an account number, a user ID, a password, or a security question. You always know who I am, where I am and what it is that I need. Thank you for being available 24/7, never putting me on hold, and always returning my call. Thank you for understanding me, even better than I do myself. Thank you for speaking softly yet clearly to me. Thank you for never passing me off to someone else and, most especially, thank you, God, for never dropping my call!
And He knows my name. Every step that I take,
Every move that I make, Every tear that I cry,
He knows my name. When I’m overwhelmed by the pain
And can’t see the light of day, I know I’ll be just fine
‘Cause He knows my name – He Knows my Name! [The McRaes]
I will answer them before they even call to me. While they are still talking about their needs, I will go ahead and answer their prayers! [Isaiah 65:24 (NLT)]
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At last Sunday’s worship, we sang Frances Havergal’s beautiful hymn “Lord, Speak to Us, That We May Speak.” First published in 1872, the hymn originally had the heading “A Worker’s Prayer,” and made reference to Romans 14:7: “none of us lives to himself alone.” It is a simple prayer that God will speak to, lead, feed, teach and fill us so that He can use us in the service of His kingdom. Busyness had taken over my days and, having fallen behind in my writing, my supply of devotions was running dangerously low. Indeed, I needed Him to speak to me so that I could speak!
When Jesus stopped in Jericho, He was on His way to Jerusalem; His trial and crucifixion would soon follow. Although our Lord knew He would not pass that way again, no one else did; certainly not Zacchaeus. What if the publican had been too busy collecting taxes that day to go and see Jesus? What if it looked like it might rain or he was just too tired to make the effort? What if Zacchaeus had been discouraged by the large crowd and his inability to get a good viewing spot? Thinking he always could see Jesus the next time He passed through Jericho, what if he hadn’t run ahead and climbed that tree? Zacchaeus would have missed meeting Jesus and accepting His call.
Consider the determination of Zacchaeus, the despised little man who, unable to shove his way through the crowd to see the rabbi from Nazareth, doggedly ran ahead and climbed a tree just to catch a glimpse of Him. Running and climbing were undignified behavior and certainly inappropriate for a wealthy businessman like Zacchaeus. Do we desire Jesus so much that we’d push our way through obstacles or risk looking ridiculous for Him? Are we as determined as the publican to learn about the Lord or do we use any flimsy excuse to miss church, Bible study or time in prayer?
The little ones at Sunday school love singing the song about the “wee little man” who “climbed up in a sycamore tree, for the Lord he wanted to see.” While “wee little man” makes Zacchaeus sound somewhat endearing, if we were casting him in a movie, we’d hire the short man audiences love to hate: 4’10” Danny DeVito who, with his deep raspy voice, has specialized in playing mean-spirited ruthless people. Zacchaeus was a tax collector (publican) and could have been the poster boy for corruption in Judea. Under Roman rule, people bid on the right to collect taxes. While publicans had to pay a fixed amount to Rome, in lieu of salary, they could charge far more than required and keep the difference for themselves. As the chief tax collector in Jericho, Zacchaeus got a share of everybody’s taxes and had become a rich man.
The thing I’ll miss most when we move to southwest Florida permanently is easy access to my grandchildren. This summer I’ve relished watching the little guys frolic in the sprinkler, race their scooters down the sidewalk, climb the monkey bars, decorate the driveway with colored chalk, and play bags with their cousins. They insisted on helping in the kitchen, offered to set the table, listened intently to every story read to them, and never tired of endless games of Crazy-Eights and Kings’ Corners. Their squeals of delight at the holiday fireworks and when they mastered riding the Irish Mail (where they pumped with their arms and steered with their feet) were music to my ears. They asked endless questions and pondered every answer. Wanting to please us, they even were obedient. Seeing their unbridled enthusiasm, energy, and desire both to learn and please, I wondered why I wasn’t like that. After all, God wants us to be like children.
Devotions of the Heart 