Responses to God's Call

Have you ever run from God's calling?  I have--more times that I would like to admit.  My object is never to actually disobey God, but I protest and grumble and ask Him why He couldn't have thought of someone older or wiser or less ignorant or less feeling to do His bidding in a particular situation.  It really is rather like the conversation Moses had with God before going to get the children of Israel (Ex. 3-4).

The thought crossed my mind to call this the Moses Complex.  But that really is too dignified a name for my problem.  It is merely the habit of making excuses.  And each of these excuses, if we look closely enough, bears another name.  Laziness, pride, selfishness, miserliness, cowardice, faithlessness, and rebellion are just a few of their names.  On reading the conversation between Moses and God the other night, I was astonished to realize that God got angry with Moses over this bad habit of his (and mine).  It was not merely disappointment at this shy servant's reticence; it was anger over his determination to argue with the God of the universe! (Ex. 4:14)  I have no desire to rile the God of the universe myself, so I looked for other examples of responses to God's calling.  Here are the ones I have found:

• Samuel said, "Here am I" (I Sam. 3).
• Esther fasted and prayed before courageously going before the king without regard for her own safety (Es. 4)
• Job said, "Blessed be the name of the Lord" (Job 1:21).
• Jonah took flight (Jon. 1:1-3).
• Mary said, "Behold the handmaid of the Lord" (Lk. 1).
• Jesus said, "Not my will but thine be done" (Matt. 26).

There are many better responses to God's will than excuses and whining, and they serve as reminders to us to respond more heartily to God's call rather than following the examples of Moses and Jonah.  If you know of any examples that we ought to follow, please remind me of them!

True Story 3: Roses for Stephanie

Leslee raced with bowlegged strides down the middle of a deserted lane.  The hot dust rose behind him as his small bare feet struck the road.  In his grubby hands were a dozen wild daisies, their stems limp in his grasp and their heads bouncing as he ran.

           

Seconds later, the rumpled redhead stopped beside two great oak trees.  He knocked and waited a moment for an answer.  "Come in," a little girl called.  "I've almost got supper ready.  Will you stay and have some?"

           

The lad walked in—shy, yet eager.  He hid the wilting flowers behind his back as he teased, "Stephanie, I brought you the flowers you wanted, but you make this house pretty all by yourself."

           

Stephanie turned, whipping her blonde pigtails around.  "Where are they, Leslee?  Where are my roses?"

           

"Here are your roses, Stephanie.  I picked them for you myself," he admitted proudly as he pulled out the bedraggled stems.

           

"Oh, Leslee, these aren't roses at all!  They're only wildflowers."

           

"But Stephanie . . . the wild roses weren't blooming yet, and these were the only ones out there.  Someday, I'll get you the real ones; but can't we pretend these are roses for today?"

           

"No, Leslee.  Daisies just aren't the same," she exclaimed as she cast the broken stems in the stream outside the back door of her grapevine house.  "Let's wait to play house again until the wild roses bloom again."

           

So saying, Stephanie left her forest playhouse in despair.  Leslee was not so quick to leave.  Staying to take one last look at their deserted hideout, he noticed the tangled strand of flowers caught among some rocks just below the stream. 

           

Quickly, he waded in until his rolled-up pants nearly touched the water's surface.  Leslee leaned down to retrieve the rejected offering and glanced back up just in time to see dainty pink ruffles disappear around the bend.

True Story 2: Lovesick

William McGowan made it home from World War I just in time to plan a Christmas wedding with his lifelong sweetheart, Ida.  Everyone said they made the perfect couple.  Whenever they were together, her practical approach to life made the perfect foil to his zany charm and incessant humor.

Bill's homecoming party was a time of great rejoicing.  The tiny town of Topaz, Missouri, consisted mostly of his mother's Turnbull family connections.  Bill and Ida were the toast of the town that night.  Women of the town presented them with a friendship quilt in the double wedding ring pattern.  William's right ear ached abominably, but what was that to having a clear bill of health from the army doctor and a pretty girl on his arm?  He ignored the pain and enjoyed to the full their time in the spotlight.

It was not to be their last time with the town's full attention.  The lovely Ida, in the full bloom of youth and beauty, came down with a fever the next week.  She died of influenza three days before Christmas.  At the precise time planned for their wedding, Bill McGowan and Ida were interred side by side near that same little church on the hill.  Bill McGowan had died a day after his intended bride of an acute ear infection.

But family lore to the third and fourth generation said that Bill McGowan died of a broken heart.