Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

I have a love/hate relationship with social media. I love the ability to share photos and life events with friends and family all over the world. I enjoy easily keeping in touch with people I see only occasionally. I do not, however, enjoy the barrage of arguments from armchair pundits on everything ranging from religion to crime. I dislike people attempting to persuade me to change my political position based on their opinion. Most importantly, I hate the division, the competition, the emphasis on possessions and education as a measure of personal worth. Your house, car, or latest degree are no indication of who you truly are.  

A few years ago a man came to visit my husband and me in hopes of gaining our business.  Apparently he felt the need to impress us with credentials, both his and his wife’s. He listed his own experience, tacking on a lengthy, very successful list of his wife’s accomplishments. Then, he turned to me and, in a voice dripping with condescension, said, “And you?” It probably wasn’t intended to sound the way it did. It sounded rude. I felt judged pathetic, useless, worthless. Who was I in light of that extensive list of successes?

I have no list of accomplishments to recommend me. I have a degree I’ve never used. I’ve never worked in my field of training. Instead, I made the choice to be a stay-at-home mom. I’ve spent 15 years doing it. And though I do not regret my choice for one instant, society often makes me feel inferior, less than, not enough because my name isn’t on an office door or followed by any letters. Sometimes a little voice in my head asks why anyone would care what I have to say. Who do I think I am to string words together and ask people to read them? 

Maybe you know that little voice. Maybe it bothers you too. Maybe it tells you other things. Stupid things. Like you are not smart enough, strong enough, good enough. Maybe it says your past is too varied, your future too uncertain. Maybe it says you are worthless. Maybe it calls you ugly, fat, imperfect in a society that demands perfection. Maybe you’ve bought the lies. Maybe you look in the mirror and see only what the little voice has told you. Maybe you feel inferior, rejected, refused. 

The Samaritan woman at the well must have felt that way too. I wonder if every morning she dusted off a shard of mirror and, gazing into it, wondered where the young, innocent, untarnished girl had gone. Maybe life handed her an untenable set of circumstances. Maybe she created them herself. Regardless how it happened, five husbands later and living with a man who was not one of them, she had to be the talk of the town–and not in a good way. With a resigned sigh and resolute acceptance of her disreputable existence, she picks up her bucket and heads to the well.

I wonder what went through her mind as she walked.  Did she duck in doorways to avoid other, more upstanding women?  Did she hang her head in shame as she walked past groups of men talking along the way? Did they point at her, turn their backs to her, or roll their eyes at her mere existence?  Did mothers hide their children behind them so they wouldn’t be touched or tainted by the town pariah? Was her walk to the well every day a walk of pain more than a walk of shame? 

And Jesus. What was He doing hanging out at a well in Samaria? Not only was He a Jewish man, He had taught in the synagogue. What was He thinking stopping to talk to a woman with obviously loose morals, and a Samaritan one at that?! It just wasn’t done! Thankfully, for the Samaritan woman and me too, Jesus has a habit of hanging out with people society discards. He looked into the shadows of her troubled heart and crossed every boundary to prove to her that she was worth something. Her heritage was just a blip on the radar. Her social status, or lack thereof, was inconsequential. Her past, as colorful as it was, didn’t matter. Her present situation didn’t distance her from grace. She was loved and accepted by God no matter what anyone thought. (John 4:1-26)

And wow, did they think things! The disciples, arriving late to the party, are aghast at the myriad social rules Jesus had broken. Although they don’t seem to have voiced their opinions to Jesus, their inner conversations were eloquent. Why was He talking to that woman? What was He doing hanging out in Samaria at all? Did He have no care for His reputation? No care for theirs? (John 4:27)  Nope. Jesus doesn’t have to protect His reputation at all. It’s already impeccable. He already knows what the Apostle Paul will later tell us in I Corinthians 4:3-4, “I can’t care what people think of me. I can’t care what I think of me. The only thing that matters is what God thinks of me.” Because who we truly are is what God sees.  

Friend, you are more than the sum total of your mistakes and missteps. They do not define you. You are more than the clothes you wear, the color of your skin, or the scar on your face. You are not the neighborhood you live in, the car you drive, or credentials after your name. Jesus doesn’t see any of that. He sees only you, the inside, the part that matters. It might not be beautiful. There might be flaws. There might be some work to do. Jesus is not intimidated. He is not repulsed. He does not recoil. Because God. Is. Love. 

That love is for everyone. No matter where you find yourself.  No matter your circumstances, life choices, or the condition of your heart. There are no caveats to God’s love.  You can’t be too good, too bad, or too mediocre. No matter how others view you or what you see in the mirror, God loves you. He wants to be your friend, your family. You were made in His image. (Genesis 1:27) He chooses to seek a relationship with you even though He has more than enough. You are too important, too loved for Him to let you go without a fight.  On your darkest, loneliest day, when the little voice in your head is relentless and you feel you’ll never be enough, remember this. God loves you. Not because He has to, but because He wants to. It is His nature. God is love. (I John 4:8) 

So take a moment, brutally silence the little voice that troubles you, and go look in the mirror. Stand silently and listen to Jesus as He whispers these words to you, ”You are more beautiful than words can describe. There is nothing unlovely about you. You are the treasure of my heart. You are mine.” (Song of Solomon 4:1,7,9; 7:10) That is who you are. You are the special person God created you to be. You are precious to Him. (Isaiah 43:1,4)  He delights in you. (Psalm 149:4) He has chosen you to be His own. (Colossians 3:12) Know it. Believe it. 

And the next time that little voice has the audacity to lift its ugly head, hike up your chin and tell it who you really are. You are a child of the King. Your Father created everything and has complete authority over it. He loves you with an everlasting love. You are His. This is the answer to the question. This is what God sees. This is who you know you are. Regardless of anything else you may or may not be, do or have, you are God’s treasured child. No other opinion means more than that. (I John 3:1; Psalm 50:10-12; Colossians 1:16-20; I Corinthians 15:27; Jeremiah 31:3; I Corinthians 3:23)

Nearly three years ago I challenged myself to read the Bible from cover to cover in a year’s time. I’m not certain I really thought I could accomplish such a daunting task.   Astonishingly, before the year was up, I was finished. I loved it. The stories of punishment and deliverance in Exodus, the commands and laws of Deuteronomy, the triumph and trials of the judges, prophets and kings all held lessons of truth and importance relevant to our day. I had trudged through Numbers, unearthed treasures in Jeremiah, cried with Job, and been blessed by the Psalmist. My heart was touched and encouraged as I traveled with Jesus through His earthly journey. I was challenged by the church of Acts and comforted by the fact that Heaven awaits the one who chooses Jesus over the world. It has become my yearly pilgrimage. It might sound monotonous to read the same thing over and over. It never is.  

As I come down to the last few books of this year’s Bible, I find I cannot separate from the command Jesus made, “Follow me.” He says it several times. He doesn’t follow it up with a promise. He simply commands, silently requesting the hearer to put all their faith and trust in Him. Like the accounts of Jesus calling the disciples, Simon Peter, James, John, and Matthew. Every year I have marked those accounts. Every year I am struck by the immediate answer they give. Every year I find myself in contemplative awe. Not that Jesus called such an assorted lot to follow Him, but the fact that they went. The fact they asked no questions. The fact they asked for no guarantees. 

What made those men drop everything and follow Jesus? They weren’t yet positive He was the long-awaited Messiah. He didn’t offer them anything. No promises of wealth, power, or status. He didn’t wheedle and cajole, sweeten the pot with promises of praise and glory. He didn’t ask more than once. And they didn’t ask Him to! In fact, they don’t ask Him anything at all. No questions of how to provide for their families, preserve their jobs, protect their interests. No “what’s in it for me”? They just drop what they are doing, nets and ledgers alike, and, promise or no promise, follow Jesus. (Matthew 4:18-22; Luke 5:27-32)

How enamored with Jesus must their hearts have been to just drop everything in faithful obedience and follow Him?  Unlike the almost followers in Luke 9:57-62, no one asked to go kiss their mother or bury a relative. It makes me contemplate those would-be followers too. Why didn’t they follow?  Would their answers have been different if Jesus had offered a 5-star hotel and Michelin starred dining? Would a promise accompanying the command have made them immediately follow? It makes me contemplate myself, my life. Am I as quick to follow Jesus as the fishermen and tax collector? Are you? 

Several years ago, when my husband retired from the military, the tech industry was in a slump and we spent months looking for work. Things were desperate, but we felt with certainty that God was telling us to travel East. We rented out our house, had the moving company take our household goods to storage, packed up three kids and a dog, and headed East. Abraham style. No firm job yet, but two possibilities on the coast. We landed temporarily in Pennsylvania with some family. My anxiety was at an all time high. I don’t remember one single Scripture promise that carried me through those times. I simply kept telling myself, “If we follow God’s will, He is honor bound to take care of us.” 

And He did. Eventually, the phone rang. The offer came. The path illuminated. Settled in our new state, after all those months of worry and concern, stress and grief, God’s promises came to me. Words of strength and courage. Words of confidence.  Words of rest. (Joshua 1:5-13) Promises to Joshua and the Israelites that perfectly fit my situation too. Following Jesus is always worth it. Promise or no promise. 

Whether they knew it in the beginning or not, the disciples learned this too. Watch as they board a little fishing boat, following Jesus’ command to cross the lake. They didn’t require a promise of safety. Jesus didn’t offer one. He simply said, “Let’s go across the lake.” They followed. With the disciples manning the boat, Jesus is soon asleep in the stern. As they travel, the wind picks up. Dark clouds roll over the sun. It begins to sprinkle, then rain in earnest. Wind whips the sails. Waves crash into the sides of the boat. Water floods in. They do everything in their power to stay the course, stay alive. Nothing works. Overcome with fear, they wake Jesus. “Don’t you care about this situation? We are going to die!”  Jesus gets up, speaks peace to the elements. The wind calms. The waves settle. The sun peeks from behind a cloud. The boat sails smoothly again. (Mark 4:35-39) Jesus might not have promised them safe travels when they started the journey, but He took care of them along the way. Their job was to simply follow. 

It’s our job too. Simply follow. Follow Jesus into the thicket, into tight spots and hard places. Stand for Jesus when no one else does. Uphold the Bible. Live by it. Maybe there won’t be a promise spoken in a thundering voice from the sky. Our Bible might not randomly fall open to a passage that fits our exact need. That’s okay. Jesus doesn’t call us to follow His promises. He calls us to follow Him. Obey His commands–promise or no promise–and believe that we can trust Him, knowing Heaven depends on it. 

Because it does. Gaining Heaven depends on our ability to leave the world behind and follow Jesus, no matter what He asks us to do, even if there is no promise of greatness. It will be difficult. There will be obstacles and issues. (John 16:33) But Jesus has overcome the world. He has gone to prepare a place for us. (John 14:2) But the only way to get there is to follow Jesus. Holding back will cost you. (Revelation 21:8) You must drop everything earthly and follow Him.

I don’t know what’s holding you back from truly following Jesus. Unlike the disciples, you have a whole Bible full of accounts that prove Jesus true time and time again. You have access to biographies of Christians who have found following Jesus to be more than enough–with or without a promise of greatness. Your Bible is brimming with thousands of promises of God’s faithfulness and care. But you aren’t there yet. You’re still holding out for a golden ticket that promises prosperity and safety if you follow Jesus. 

Unfortunately for every soul searching for that very thing, there isn’t one. There is no promised plethora of goodness for the one who follows Jesus. There is simply the offer to pick up your cross and follow Him. (Matthew 16:24) No promise of wealth, health, or social standing in this world, only the promise of Heaven in the world to come. So we find ourselves in the uncomfortable position, like the people in Joshua, the disciples who followed, and the almost disciples who didn’t, of needing to make a choice. “Choose who you are going to follow.” Do it today. (Joshua 24:15) Don’t wait to see if something fabulous will be promised. Choose Jesus. Today. Obey Him. Today. Can you do it?  Are you holding out for the promise of greatness or are you enamored enough with Jesus to follow Him no questions asked, no promise necessary?

He must have been devastated! How could this be true? His hopes had been so high when he came running up to Jesus. His background was impeccable. Wealthy family. Community respect. Social status. His religious life was worthy of commendation. Perfect synagogue attendance. Verbatim law recitation. Religion seeker. His social life was above reproach. No criminal record. Admirable relations with family and neighbors. Commandment keeper. His heart began a jubilant dance when Jesus listed commandment-keeping as the way to Heaven. He’d been keeping those all his life. He was done. He had arrived. Yet niggling doubt made him ask, “Is that all?” Jesus’ answer halted his quickly spreading grin. “Sell everything. Give the proceeds to the poor. Come. Follow me.” (Matthew 19:16-21)

What?! Was He serious? A glance at the disciples’ solemn expressions answered that question. Sell it all. Give up everything. That was the answer. Was it worth it?  Did he want Heaven that much? Sadness clouds the young man’s countenance. His shoulders droop. His head bows. He’d been so close. Wordlessly, he turns and walks away. His identity was too deeply rooted in his social status, bank account, and elevated lifestyle for him to leave them behind. The cost of Heaven was too high. He wanted Heaven and everything on earth too. (Matthew 19:22)

It is not just the young aristocrat who believes the price of Heaven is too high.  It is the people in Judah asking Jeremiah to query God concerning travel to Egypt. They want to go. Egypt seems full of plush, peace, and plenty. God said, “Stay put.” They went anyway. (Jeremiah 42-43) It is the Children of Israel crying out for relief and rescue from slavery in Egypt, only to be rescued but murmur, complain, and make trouble the entire journey. (Exodus 15:22, 16:1-4, 32:1-10) It is you. It is me. Falling to our knees, crying, “What do you want me to do, Jesus?” then running away when the answer isn’t what we want to hear.  

Years ago, when I was entering Middle School, we were living in a lovely two-story house in Pennsylvania. Each of us kids had our own room for the first time in my memory. For once, we lived close enough to have visits with cousins and grandparents and regularly attend church camp. My dad was pastoring an adorable little white country church, complete with steeple and bell, full of sweet people. In his prayer time, Daddy was praying diligently for a pastor to fill a vacancy at a church in Montana he had previously pastored. One day, in the middle of his prayer, God answered. He said, “I want you to go.” Surprised by the answer, Daddy said, “But my name isn’t even on the moving list.”  God simply said, “I want you.”  

When Daddy discussed the possibility with the needy church, the news was disheartening. As much as they wanted him to come, their financial straits were desperate. They could offer only a single-wide mobile home with a built on addition and $25 a week if we cleaned the church. No salary. No real income. How does that work? How does one raise a family with no income? Further complicating matters was the fact the church was located 30 miles outside of town at the end of a dirt road nestled into the base of a mountain. The little town across the river had a small, high-priced grocery, a couple bars, and a state liquor store. No jobs. No job market. By the time our move was complete, it would be too late in the year to start a garden or establish residency for a hunting license. The conundrum of food and clothing remained unanswered.  

Thankfully, no situation ever stymies God. He had more answers. “Call Gary.” Gary was the owner of a furniture restoration and repair business. Dad had worked for him before. It was work he could pick up and take home without needing to spend gas money on a daily commute. Daddy made the call. Gary was overjoyed. Work was already available. And just like that, God was making a way.

So we packed up the things in the cute little house, loaded the truck, said “Goodbye” to family and friends, the lovely church people, the close shopping, the ability to see grandparents and extended family with any regularity, and moved to a little mobile home in the woods 2,000 miles away. Little income. No security. Nothing to fall back on. We left everything comfortable, familiar, and easy because Jesus said, “Give it all up. Come. Follow me.” 

The fondest memories I have are from Montana.  We worked hard gardening, canning, preserving, hunting, butchering (eww!!), hauling wood for heat. We ate well from garden, fruit trees, and wild berry bushes blessed by God’s hand. We played hard. There were trees to climb, rock slides to investigate, and the mountain behind us to explore. I have no regrets that Daddy chose to leave behind the comforts of the world and follow Jesus. 

Today I ask myself if I could do the same. I hope the answer is, “Yes.” I want it to be. I don’t want to hold on to the things of the world so tightly that I risk Heaven for the world. I don’t want to be so comfortable in my nice home and easy lifestyle that I’m not willing to sacrifice for Jesus. I don’t want to be the girl who wants the house, the car, or the hair color so much that I choose them over Heaven. Those things aren’t even in the same league with Heaven. I want to hear and do when Jesus says, “Come. Follow me.”  

And just as He spoke those words to that young man so long ago, Jesus speaks the same words to us today. “Get rid of the excess. Invest in me. Love me more.” In this one command, Jesus sets the record straight. More is not always better. Earthly goods are worth nothing at Heaven’s bank. There’s no corner office in Heaven. The thrones are already occupied. So lay it down. Give it up. Stop striving. Stop stressing. Loss on earth is gain in Heaven. Because Heaven…is for losers.  

Think I’m kidding? Listen to Jesus as he tells the disciples, “If you want to follow me, stop following yourself. Give up your own desires. Quit the worldly pursuits. Pick up your cross. Let’s go. If you lose your life in me, in following my commands, you will gain eternal life. If you don’t, you’ll lose it.”  And He caps it with the question that echoes down through time to you and me, “Is there anything in the world more important than securing your eternity?” (Matthew 24-26, Mark 8:37)

Sometimes we answer that question far too quickly. We say, “No,” with our mouth, but, “Yes,” with our actions. We put our hand to the plow, then we look back. Back at the things, the status, the excitement. We falter. You won’t get to Heaven that way. (Luke 9:62) So ask yourself, is there anything that means more to you than Jesus? Earthly treasures. Money. Followers. Would you give them up for Him? Do you love Him that deeply, desire Him that strongly, or is it just a passing acquaintance?  Would you sell out to follow Jesus? Everything. Is He worth it? What would you do to gain Christ, to inherit eternal life? (Philippians 3:8) Remembering that loss is gain in Heaven’s bank book, ask yourself, what does it matter if you win the whole world, but lose your soul? Jesus is calling. What’s worth more to you than Him?

How amazing must the Garden of Eden have been? God’s personal garden designed to delight Himself and nurture His creations.  My imagination has no trouble envisioning such a place. Lush, green grass, free from quackgrass and clover, created for bare feet and grazing oxen. Breathtakingly gorgeous flowers scattered in wild abandon. Star-gazer Lilies, Orchids, Hyacinths. More variations than one could count or catalog. Colors that dare the rainbow to challenge their hue. Pathways lined with beautiful, healthy trees. Graceful maples. Stalwart oaks. Bowing willows. Stately crepe myrtles. Fragrant magnolias. And the orchard! Row upon row of heavily laden trees bearing fruit of every kind.  Peaches. Apples. Plums. Lemons. Not one dead limb.  No withered leaves. No weeds. No blossom end rot. God’s perfect garden.  More fantastic than my wildest imaginations.  

Pulled from my reverie, I look out the back window at my meager garden boxes. Obviously not Eden! Although the peppers and tomatoes appear to be doing well, there’s a plant damaged beyond repair from a recent hail storm. Its first crop will likely be its last. The herbs, beets, and lettuce are all shots in the dark. The cilantro was looking a bit peaked before I cut it off.  We’ll see if it grows back. The last box is ridiculously, embarrassingly overgrown. The cucumbers are running everywhere. The cantaloupe is fighting for space. And the eternal battle between myself and the zucchini rages on…as does the blossom end rot. Sigh. 

Over the years I have spent hours pouring over articles and methods, reading what causes holes in fruit, white spots on leaves, and yellowing of vines. I’ve been educating myself concerning bigger, better producing plants. I’m still researching. Still learning. Still reading. The one thing I know is that gardening, at least the vegetable kind, requires a lot of self-discipline.  Preparing the beds, boxes, or plots. Planning the layout. Planting. Fertilizing. Watering. Weeding. Waiting. The harvest takes a while to come. Sometimes I get tired and a little disillusioned along the way. I don’t feel like hauling water, staking plants, or weeding. I really don’t care to see what isn’t working out! Yet I rarely allow myself to miss a day of checking. Missing a day isn’t an option. When I miss, things get out of control, begin to rot, or die completely. It’s not worth it. 

Admittedly, God used my garden to point out how often I am tempted to skip or shorten my daily time with Him. Pull back on the Bible reading. Limit the prayer. Stop looking inside myself to see what is flourishing (good or bad), what is failing, and what has already faded away. I don’t always want to know what is in there. I bet you recognize that struggle. You know that reality. You’ve been there too. Maybe you are there right now.  

Some days it takes an immeasurable amount of self discipline to sit down, open the Bible and listen to God speak through His Word.  I don’t know why we feel this way.  Like  the weight of obligation has pulled too heavily at our conscience only to be assuaged by the drudgery of sitting down and reading a Book meant to encourage, enlighten, and edify. Why are we so hesitant?  Is there a better place for comfort? A better book for guidance?  A more worthy tome ensconced on your dust filled shelf in which you will find words of wisdom for your current situation? Of course not. We know this. Yet still we sigh as we sit down to do our “duty”.  

Two days ago I found myself wrestling with some seemingly impossible situations beyond my control. I sat at my desk and turned to the first chapter I planned to read that day, Jeremiah 32.  On the edge of the page, quoting a passage from that very chapter, were the words, “I am the Lord.  Is anything too hard for me?” (Jeremiah 32:27 NLT) My heart knew in an instant it was no fluke that I read that chapter on a day I was struggling with impossibilities. I know nothing is too hard for God, but I wanted answers and resolution as soon as possible.  Then I turned to the book I am reading simultaneously, Lamentations. Chapter 3. “Wait quietly for the Lord’s salvation.” (Lamentations 3:26)  Accident? Coincidence? Absolutely not. That was God at work. Everything I needed to find peace in my moment of struggle was right there in front of me. How much greater would my struggle have been without the reminder that God is omnipotent, God is sovereign, and His timing is impeccable?  What if I had chosen not to read my Bible that day?

What if I chose only to read my Bible occasionally or just catch a verse on a Bible app every now and then? What happens when other doctrines that aren’t quite Biblical, but sound good, come along? Would I be swept up in an unreality? Social media keeps us inundated with myriad versions of truth. There’s a quote currently floating around that appears to quote a passage of Scripture, but conveniently leaves out the last bit, thus manipulating the meaning by eliminating the context. The quotation sounds good, even right. It took me several sightings to pick out what bothered me. How easily I could have been swept away on a current of “sounds good” if I wasn’t acquainted with Scripture. If I hadn’t been so intentional about Bible reading and studying, I would have missed it. I almost did. It was close. (Psalm 119:11)

See, just like reading and studying about gardening helps my plants, reading and studying God’s Word helps my soul. It places a hedge around me. Personal knowledge of God’s Word helps us know when what we are seeing, hearing, or doing is untrue, unsound, or un-Godly. It keeps us from sin. It draws us to Christian maturity.  It guards against being pulled from one appealing doctrine to the next. When in doubt or indecision, knowing God’s Word is paramount. How imperative it is to give earnest attention to knowing and remembering God’s Word so we don’t slip away.  Away from truth.  Away from holiness.  Away from God. (Hebrews 2:1) Don’t quit reading. 

And with your reading, pray. Constantly. This is my final, continual, most urgent part of gardening. Every year I pray over my garden–and continue to pray over it. When the wind, hail and driving rain roll in, I pray. When the sun shines, I pray. Every year my garden succeeds.  Those prayers make it happen. My garden wouldn’t make it without those prayers. 

Our souls won’t make it without prayer, either. The Apostle Paul instructs us to pray continually. (I Thessalonians 5:17). Driving to work. Mowing the lawn. Cooking dinner. Folding laundry. Jogging the neighborhood. Pray. Waking up. Falling asleep. Pray. Tempted to worry. (Philippians 4:16) Tempted to fear. Tempted to stray. Pray. Always. (Psalm 105:4)

In a world where we are distracted by so many things, where the siren call of the temporal is so much louder than that of the eternal, may we turn our minds and spirits to seek the Lord. (I Chronicles 16:11) May we be intentional about knowing God, His Word, His voice, His heart. Read. Pray. Learn. Constantly. May we learn to live in a spirit of prayer with a mindset firmly rooted in the truth of God’s Word.  Then, when hail and wind and heavy rains beat on our souls, we can rest in our knowledge of what’s in the Book and trust the Master Gardener to ensure our gardens grow. (Matthew 7:24-25)

They arrived unexpectedly. Droves of iridescent winged, whirring devourers descending from the heavens in a terrifying cloud of wrangling destruction. Some thought it looked like a cloud of snow, but that would be unusual since it was July in Kansas. Over some regions, the sun was blocked out for hours, reappearing only to illuminate horrific carnage in the land below.  Crops were ravaged, cupboards ransacked, curtains and clothing ruined.  

Nothing was safe. The animals were harassed. Sheep’s wool eaten from their backs.  Horses’ harnesses devoured from their heads. General havoc reigned as the locusts–those little, insignificant hoppers–had their say.  

And have their say they did. They stayed for days, single-mindedly wreaking havoc and terror. Farmers tried everything to destroy the locusts. At least everything available in 1874. Fires, exploding gunpowder, shotgun blasts and beating at them with boards or farm tools all failed to dispel the pests. Some ingenious folks created a device to harvest the locusts. It failed. Another mastermind invented a suction machine to vacuum them up into a bag, but it worked only marginally. All avenues of defense were useless. The locusts were eating their year. 

Eventually the nasty pests moved on, but the damage left in their wake was devastating.  Families didn’t have food to see them through the winter. Many were forced to return to the East, their dreams of a new life in the West dying as the locusts moved to the next stop. Others were held in place by debts. Some couldn’t bear to leave the loved ones they’d buried on the frontier behind. Still others simply refused to give up, called in resources from the federal and territorial governments, family and friends, even mortgaged their properties.      

The devastation was far-reaching. Not everyone survived. Neighbors tried to help neighbors.  Some tried to provide food by hunting and trapping. Others gathered old buffalo bones and horns from the prairie to sell at railroad hubs. Yet entire families died for want of food. Things were desperate. 

Finally, good news came. Aid came from the East. Seeds, money, and supplies arrived. The federal government made exceptions to the residency requirements so landowners could leave to work and better their situation without worry that their land would be lost to another.  Soldiers distributed coats, boots, shoes, blankets, food and other items to families across four states and two territories. And when the spring of 1875 came and the multitudes of eggs laid by locusts the previous year started to hatch, God sent a snowstorm and hard frost that killed most of them and allowed farmers time to replant their crops.  (1) Because when it is all said and done, His promise forever stands, “…I will restore the years the locust has eaten…” (Joel 2:25) 

I’ve never seen locusts come in droves, destroying everything in their wake. You likely haven’t either.  We are, however, living through a pandemic that is wreaking similar havoc on our lives.  Like the settlers of 1874-75, people are losing their livelihoods, savings, stability, even their sanity. Some have lost their lives. It has been devastating. For businesses, families, educational institutions, the year seems ruined. Although we are starting to poke our heads out of the proverbial turtle shell to which we ran, recovery seems a distant dream. If the memes on social media are to be believed, the virus has eaten our year.  

Admittedly, it feels that way.  We are nearly halfway through 2020.  The year feels a bit of a waste. It makes me wonder if we’ve spent our quarantine in proper pursuits.  Bogged down in the worry, anxiety and fear the whole mess has brought, have we vowed to believe that God is still Sovereign?  Have we sought Him more?  Have we intentionally cast our cares on Him? Do we trust Him? Is our hope for the future in God’s power or human machinations? 

I’m sitting here on my back porch with my Bible, coffee, and computer. The sky is cloudy, somewhat stormy. The wind is blowing. My mind and fingers are typing.  A storm is raging in my heart. Two years ago God made me a promise. He didn’t give me a time frame. He simply promised. In December, we got a phone call that seemed like He had finally fulfilled His promise. (Not a moment too soon, in my opinion.) Then, last night, we received an e-mail explaining that because of some effects of the virus, our answer had been waylaid. It might be another year or more in the making. The virus ate my answer. I’d be lying if I said my faith isn’t a little shaky right now.  

Somewhere, on another porch or maybe at a kitchen table, someone else is bent over a smaller than usual bank statement trying to figure out how to pay the mortgage, the electric, the water, and still feed the kids. The effects of the virus strike again. Behind a dimly lit desk, at the back of a storefront darkened by stay-at-home orders, someone is desperately juggling numbers, hoping against hope they can ride out the closure and keep their business afloat. The virus takes another bite. All around us we see and feel its devastation. Children are hungry because the meals they normally get at school are no longer available. They are enduring abuse that could be caught if teachers, some of the main reporters to abuse agencies, were still seeing them in classrooms every day. Where things have been tight and frustrating before, the virus has made them untenable.  It feels like the virus is eating our year.  

In sympathy, empathy, and camaraderie, my heart wrestles with these issues in our lives.  My eyes overflow. I find myself raising my tear dampened face to the sky and crying, “God, aren’t You still sovereign?” The answer is immediate, echoing back words from Exodus 3:14, “I am.” And I know it is true. I also know Malachi 3:6 is true. God does not change. Ever. So as I read how God rescued His people from horrendous circumstances through a series of wildly unheard of events–bloody water, hordes of frogs, gnats, flies, dying animals, seeping boils, hail, locusts, darkness, and death–I also remind myself that God does not change.  (Exodus 1-14) He is planning a rescue, a respite, a restoration. Just like He did for the Israelites. Just like He did for the settlers in 1875. God is still at work and we can trust Him. 

We can trust that our concerns matter to God. Our children matter. Our circumstances matter. (Matthew 6:25-33)  He wants us to bring these concerns to Him. (I Peter 5:7) He wants us to trust Him to hold us up and bring us through. (Psalm 55:22) He wants us to put all our eggs in His basket.  Our burgeoning hope, our shaky faith, our wavering confidence must be in Christ alone. (Psalm 20:7, I Chronicles 5:20) Because God is still Sovereign, He never changes, and His promises to His people forever stand.  (I Chronicles 29:11-12, Hebrews 13:8, Numbers 23:19)  

So a virus tried to eat our year. Are we going to let it?  Or are we going to look back at all the tough times God has brought us through, gather the last vestiges of our faith, and step trustingly into a future secured by our Sovereign, trustworthy, unchanging God?

(1) Lyons, Chuck (6 May 20). 1874: The Year of the Locust. Retrieved from https://www.historynet.com/1874-the-year-of-the-locust.htm