Standing on the rock

Hey Guys,

I’ve been finding myself drifting backwards in time the last couple of days listening to The Ozark Mountain Daredevils’ first album. I can’t believe it came out in 1972. I say that because as I was thinking about things I associate with listening to the album let’s just say I didn’t realize I was so young. I remember detasling corn one summer I guess it was 1974 or 75. I’m trying to determine the year by catching glimpses of pictures and scenes, corn stalks cutting my hands, flirting with a potential girlfriend named Andrea Pauley, cool early mornings and blazing hot afternoons in the fields. The girlfriend part puts it as 1975 (I think).

I was staying with my friend Gale for a week so I could work for $1.35 an hour instead of going on vacation with my family. Gale had the eight track to this album. I made his brother, Paul, so mad at me for blaring this album repeatedly one afternoon when it was just him and me there but until he yelled at me I was oblivious, which is typical of me at that point in time - self absorbed.

Paul died of aids several years ago. Andrea has had a real hard life. Gale is off somewhere either in Mainland China or the Ukraine. I can’t remember which , he and his wife bounce around from one to the other or so it seems. I’ve missed him by an hour the last two years at Christmas. I don’t think about the past too often. I don’t even remember much of the past, to be honest, but I think of Gale from time to time especially when I listen to this album.

I find myself longing to be numb and oblivious some days. But I only stay there for a moment or two because while it was nice being numb it’s nicer, though not easier, being closer to whole. I long for the day when the last remnants of brokenness are healed and I can find out what I’m supposed to look like when I’m all put together.

Next week at this time, I’ll be on a plane to Brownsville, TX to attend the Fellowship of Mere Christianity Convocation. I’ll be speaking on Friday morning at 10 am in some time zone either central or mountain. It’s another piece in the puzzle of my life. I still can’t really tell what the picture is I’m working on. So far there have been a lot of dark pieces put in place with a few scatterings of light. This one seems to be a lighter shade of pale but with my eyes it’s hard to tell sometimes.

I was listening to the Ozark boys sing Standing on the Rock on my way into work this morning: “I’ve been standing on the rock waiting for the wind to blow. I’ve been standing on the rock waiting for my seeds to grow.” And those words seemed to sum up where I am. I am standing on Christ the Rock waiting. Waiting for the wind of the Spirit to blow and do something; Waiting for God to cause the seeds to grow. Maybe they are growing, underground, but I’m at that place where it could go either way from my point of view. There are so many seeds in my life that just seem to lie dormant, and waiting for them to do something besides just lay there is almost unbearable.

Perhaps that is the point. Over and over again in scripture we are called to wait. Wait on the Lord. But why is he walking instead of taking a car? Why is he dragging his feet? Why does he move so slow? Wait on the Lord. ARRRRGGGHH! As my sophomore year English teacher used to say. (1975. It’s the theme of the day).

So I stand on the rock looking at the garden all plowed and sown and I wait. But there’s plenty to be done while I’m waiting fences need mending, etc , etc. So the call is to wait, and yet be faithful to do that which is set before me. Do the little things, weed and water, fertilize: Line upon line precept upon precept. Some day when the building is complete I probably won’t look at the individual blocks much but I’m working with each one right now putting them together as they come like pieces in a puzzle. Kind of like I looked at each seed as I planted it in the ground but when the harvest comes I’ll be looking at the full silo.

Do you think I could mix a few more metaphors into this thing? Probably, but I’ll try not to.

Anyway, part of the waiting is allowing me to be stirred in one direction or another. I’m finding myself drawn to prayer over the last week in part because of my opportunity to speak next week but also because of all that may possibly be happening in my congregation. I’m hedging my bets if you can’t tell. God is doing things: bringing some, not bringing others, bringing struggles, relieving struggles. The waters are churning. And this stirring has driven me to go fishing. More aptly it has caused me to go sit by the waters edge at 5 in the morning for a few hours and talk to God. I learned to do this long before 1975 as I sat in solitude in the early mornings at the city park lake we called the Lagoon. Mostly back then I prayed for the fish to bite but I was still praying. It is God who causes fish and bait to be joined together. So, I reinstituted that the last couple of weeks. I need to pray. I need to never stop praying because there are so many seeds in the ground and I can’t make any of them grow; not a single one.

Therefore, instead of casting my pearls before swine I cast my wheatie ball toward turtles. They were about the only thing that has been biting in this 90 degree weather. I also cast my cares upon the one who truly does care. I’ve been begging him, literally, to let the wind blow, to move on people’s hearts, to keep his promises, to heal broken hearts. I’ve been begging because with each passing day I realize more clearly that my words can’t do squat – unless the wind blows.
The answer my friend is blowing in the wind. Or to be theologically correct it is in the blowing of the wind. May he come with gale force winds to bring his church to her knees and his people to repentance so that their broken hearts may be healed.

Grace and Peace,
Brad