The Middle of Things

But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves: for the wind was contrary.  Matthew 14:24

As we reach the half way point of my wife’s chemotherapy the phrase – midst of the sea – is a pretty good description of where we are. “The midst of the sea” is that place where it is impossible to look back and see where we started, but not far enough along to see where we are going. “Has God not been with us every step of the way?” Oh Yes He has! – but there are days and hours that the endless horizon wears on our hopes.

At the monthly missions banquet I fell into conversation with one lady who had been involved in Christian broadcasts in China. She remarked to me that while the Bible is the best seller in the world each year, she wondered how many really read it. “Oh I read my Bible every day!” I exclaimed “”But that is because you are a pastor.” She replied. “Oh no it is the other way around.” I said. The Bible is my hope. That is what keeps me connected I need to read my Bible!”

I don’t know if she believed me but that conversation clarified in my own mind just where I am on my journey. The promises of God are much more precious now than at the beginnings of my faith. They are what keeps me from despair and guides me across that “midst of the sea” Jesus has left us His promises in His word. His word is a guardian angel – always present when we open its pages. It is the water of life when we long for a drop of cool water in the desert places of our hearts. It is the compass that points to the true north of God’s destination on the other side. Thank God that here in the midst of things He comes anSailboatd says, “Don’t be afraid, it is I !”

50 Years Ago Today

Sounds a lot like my own East coast teenage years and brings me back memories of the 1968 Newport Jazz festival. Only in being found by the Prince of peace did I find my way home.

mitchteemley's avatarMitch Teemley

October 21, 1967. We’d just come off the Summer of Love, during which my buddy Marc and I had futilely searched for a “love in.” I was enamored with the peace symbol, with the phrase “make love, not war,” with the placing of flowers in soldiers’ rifles (preferably by pretty blondes with daisy chains in their hair). I wasn’t sure how to get to this mystical place called Peace, but I desperately wanted to be there. I sensed that the hippie movement hadn’t found it, that they were only chanting about it. LBJ didn’t have the answer, but neither did Ho Chi Minh. Still, the peace movement was something. And something was better than nothing, right?

When I heard about the marches–50,000 at the Pentagon and 100,000 in Washington, DC, with echoes in Europe and the UK–I wanted to ride that wave, instead of floating in the brackish backwater…

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