by Joel Bates As I hung in my harness and dangled over the 80-foot expanse—a “guinea pig” for the afternoon’s rescue simulation, I felt the nagging lure to take control of my situation and cling to the rock. What’s more, I gained a new-found appreciation for one of the oldest wilderness skills in the book. We were at a recent rock-climbing rescue training, and I was about to get a lesson in the basics. When it comes to nifty outdoor skills, I sometimes overemphasize the majestic complexities of creating an orderly itinerary through the wide-open, backcountry wilderness for novice city slickers. Other times it’s a more straight-forward, egocentric, impression-management skill like maneuvering down a cascading, class three rapid to show off my open canoe prowess. Then there is the gritty, elegant dance up a 5.10 crag like a bicep bulging, ballerina precariously placing every foot with great intentionality, every narrow finger crimp with efficiency—this is a flaunt-worthy skill. But when I found myself dangling from a 10 mm climbing rope just waiting to be rescued, I suddenly realized that the skill I take for granted the most, the skill I use the most, and the skill I depend on the most when all the chips are down, is tying knots! We had rehearsed all kinds of fancy knots—clove hitches, bowlines on bights, the figure-eight family, the munter, the mule, the auto bloc, and prusik, all of which are important to know. But, when it was my turn to be the rescuer, I learned a humbling lesson about remembering the simple things in life. My task was to perform a counter-weighted ascent rescue, which is a decorative way of saying that I had to climb the rope to get to a stuck climber. About 20 feet up, my instructor prompted me to use a “Cat” knot, the one knot at that moment that could save my life. It’s a knot I had learned in kindergarten, a knot that I could tie in my sleep, a knot that had become so commonplace that I had all but forgotten its usefulness. You learn it when you learn to tie your shoe. Most know it as the overhand knot, but the instructor called it a “Cat” knot. A climber focused on saving someone else will ascend to the rescue, but on his way he must tie a series of knots in his own rope as he goes higher and higher to prevent a catastrophe, thus the name “Cat” knot. While my focus on rescuing the climber in trouble was admirable, I was putting myself at greater risk simply by overlooking the basics. Have you ever found yourself in trouble because you focused on helping others and forgot the basics? I’m tempted to bring up the scripture where Jesus said, “Before taking the speck out of someone else’s eye, first remove the plank from your own.” But I don’t think we need to scold ourselves for desiring to help others in need. I’m reminded of the time Moses was overwhelmed by the task of leading and judging all the people of Israel until his wise father-in-law, Jethro, offered a solution: appoint other leaders, delegating the responsibility to help with the monumental burdens. What about the time the disciples were straining at the oars in the middle of the night at the center of a storm on a simple mission gone wrong to get across the lake—a mission that Jesus had told them to go on—and they thought they were about to meet their demise. Then Jesus came to them walking on water, called Peter out, calmed the storm, and set everything right. Writing this, I have kept wanting to turn the attention to some grand biblical account where a servant of God was trying to help others and found himself crying out to God, and believe me, there are plenty of these stories available like the ones mentioned above. But then, I got to thinking about the simplicity of that “cat” knot I forgot to tie, and I started thinking about other things I learned in kindergarten, things that I’ve built upon, but that have lain out of the limelight like a concrete foundation holding up a mansion—essential to the structure and forgotten by the inhabitants. In a little old church basement, Sunday school classroom with a small band of eager kindergarteners and one devoted teacher, I learned the same song you did. “Jesus loves me. This I know. For the Bible tells me so.” I can’t remember the last time I sang that one, so commonplace that I barely pay attention to the words, but I realize that if for one minute I cannot believe those elementary phrases, then all is lost. All my would-be rescue attempts for a hurting, needy world will fall short in light of forgetting the simple basics that every believer needs to live and breathe—that God is love…that God so loved the world that He gave His only Son…that faith hope and love are essential and the greatest of these is love…that God has made promises to us that He will keep, is keeping to us now…that when God looks at us He does not see the sinner but the saint. As I ascended my rope and realized I hadn’t taken care of myself by tying a cat knot, I didn’t abandon my partner, I didn’t beat myself up for forgetting (well, maybe just a little). No, I swiftly recognized my mistake, reached down, and tied my knot securely. Then swallowing a little pride, I continued the rescue effort. I invite you to close your eyes and take a minute to figuratively tie your spiritual “cat” knot by simply accepting and declaring the love of God over you. “Behold, what manner of love the Father has lavished upon us, that we should be called the sons of God,” (1 John 3:1) Join a fantastic group of people--our donor team!
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by Joel Bates Some babies are notably born too early, raising alarm in parents and hospital staff alike, but as the birth of our fifth child, Lydia Joy, approached last month, my heart sank when I thought she was coming too late. Let me rewind. A few months earlier in a prayer time, I sensed the Lord leading me to be a facilitator for one of our most powerful ministry events, the college wilderness challenge expedition. This message from the Lord felt noteworthy because I’ve been moving into a more administrative role with Discovery Ministries and increasingly leaving the trip leading up to the younger instructors. In addition to my age, my bigger problem in leading the trip was that the baby’s due date was only a week ahead of the expedition’s departure date. So, I did two things: I called for backup, and I kept my heart tuned to the Lord’s direction. As the due date approached, my wife and I became more and more convinced that this baby would emerge early, allowing me to feel better about leading the expedition. However, the baby didn’t come early. In fact, her due date came and went, and my confidence that I should go on the trip faltered. Others could lead the trip, so I shouldn’t have felt pressure to go. However, the Lord’s invitation to go remained constant, resulting in my strong desire to be the expedition facilitator. With four days remaining until the expedition began, I decided to put off the decision. How could I possibly think of going now? One day remained before the group arrived, and our baby girl still wasn’t born. Neither had the prompting of the Lord to carry out His mission diminished. I desperately desired to be in two places at once. I felt so sure God had wanted me on this trip. Yet, the baby was too late, and I knew I could never abandon my wife at such a pivotal time, let alone miss out on the joy of bringing a new child into the world. Too late…was God too late? I’ve heard the phrase over and over again that “God is never late, but He’s seldom early.” As I opened my Bible the week my daughter came too late, I found the answer. John 11 tells the incredible story of Jesus healing Lazarus, but this story is more than just a powerful miracle done to bring about a happy conclusion. This story is downright alarming. When Lazarus’ family sends for Jesus, they despair of any remedy from doctors, medicine, or a bowl of chicken noodle soup. No, Lazarus is deathly ill. Jesus is the answer, but He is in a different region of Palestine. When Jesus receives word of his friend’s plight, He does not pack for the journey, wrap up his business there, or even show concern. In fact, He deliberately remains in that place for a few more days. The disciples want to go now. Lazarus’ sisters, Martha and Mary, want Jesus to hurry to them. Everyone seems to think Jesus should move quickly on this. Lazarus is running out of time. Why does Jesus linger? It looks for all the world like He is uncaring and indifferent. If we didn’t know how the story ends, we might conclude this Messiah is a fake. In His own time, Jesus arrives in Bethany far too late. Lazarus is dead, has been dead for quite some time. Hope is lost. Even when Jesus utters one of the most powerful statements in all of human history, Martha lacks faith. “I am the resurrection and the life!” He whispers gently to this weeping woman. “I know you will raise him, later,” she sobs. “But if you had only been here before it was too late.” She implies that Jesus then could have done something to save her brother. Now Jesus has simply missed it. She’s right. He is too late. He is too late to spare Lazarus the literal suffering from his illness and too late to spare the sisters, Martha and Mary, from the hollow depth of grief and despair that one feels at the premature loss of a kindred loved one. He is too late to show the people of Bethany, this little suburb on the heights outside the city of Jerusalem, just how much He cares for hurting, needy, dying people. Some Messiah He is...can’t even show up on time. No one wants a Savior that’s too late! Then, the shortest verse in all the Bible records, “He wept.” Jesus did something so compassionate, so human, so divine. But, why does He weep? Is it because of his human limitations—the reality that while confined to a body, He can’t be two places at one time? No, for He had deliberately lingered. Is it because He himself wonders in that moment if He and the Father truly have enough power to not just heal but to resurrect? Is it because all the people see Him as the tardy Savior, overdue for one of the greatest appointments of his career? No! He weeps because He can relate to all our sorrows, feel the same pain we experience, is affected by his Godly sense of compassion, and is saddened by the sorrow and suffering that death causes. Remember, Lazarus is his friend too. But He is not grieved because He is too late. “Unroll the stone!” He declares, delivering a strange message which foreshadows his own coming experience. Martha, ever the practical one, balks, “But Lord, there will be a bad odor for he’s been there four days.” Again, the message is clear, you are too late God! Nevertheless, they roll back the stone, and the power of the tardy Messiah’s voice resounds off the walls of the inner tomb, “Lazarus, COME FORTH!” Then the man—the friend of Jesus, the one too far gone after the buzzer had sounded to end his game—Lazarus obeys and comes forth still wrapped in his death linens. This story both inspires and frightens me. I’m inspired that nothing is too difficult for Jesus. I’m scared because my confinement to time and space causes me to see things through those limitations. There is an order. Things have a time limit and an expiration date and a point of no return. I am used these parameters, living with and accepting them. As a result, I sometimes feel like Jesus is late. This view brings me back to the day after our daughter Lydia was born—the day of the expedition. I had accepted it was too late for me to even consider going, but when my wife, kids, and coworkers circled around me for prayer and sensed the Lord saying go and when my wife squeezed my arm and lovingly reminded me this was what I was made to do, I remembered again that Jesus does not operate on our timescale. I think He waited until Lazarus was dead and gone to prove one last important point to mankind: We serve the all-powerful God that is not even thwarted when He’s “too late.” You may feel circumstances in your life make everything too far gone, too late to start again, over and done. Relationships lost, careers stalled out, failures that have brought ruin—these situations are not too difficult for Jesus. After all, He’s the God of power…even over being too late. Join the story by being part of the DM donor team!
We are grateful for your partnership. I love adrenaline sports as much as the next guy, but little did I know teaching my children how to drive would offer the ultimate adrenaline rush! Seeing my daughter’s look of sheer delight, I just knew this first lesson was going to be fun. I had no doubt she was eager to be in the driver’s seat, but then again maybe she was a little too eager. Her casual attitude suggested she didn’t fully understand the responsibility she was about to assume. I responded to this mindset by overstating some of the more obvious aspects of piloting a vehicle: putting on one’s safety belt, adjusting the mirrors and seat, identifying the switches for headlights and windshield wipers…important stuff. I did, however, overlook mentioning one detail that I assumed would be obvious—the difference between the brake pedal and the accelerator. With seatbelts clicked and the motor running, we sat at the entry to our 100-yard driveway, pointing toward the highway like a fighter jet idling on an aircraft carrier flight deck. “Okay, Sweetie,” I said calmly, “Apply a little pressure to the accelerator.” While looking down at the floorboard to locate the pedals, she assaulted the first pedal her foot touched, and we took off with tires spitting gravel. The sudden acceleration pinned me to my seat, and trees began to fly past my window in a blur of green as we careened down the lane. “The brake! The brake!” I shouted. “Press the brake!” “Which one’s the brake?” “The one you’re NOT pressing!” I screamed. Being quick to obey, she pressed the other pedal…hard, really hard. We skidded sideways to halt in a billow of dust and swirling leaves. I sat clutching the passenger door handle with white knuckles and looking straight ahead as I tried to catch my breath and allow my adrenaline to drop before I spoke. I slowly turned my head to face my daughter and found her gripping the wheel and looking at me with a wide, sheepish grin on her face. “Oops!” she whispered. Fast forward to the day my teenage son asked if I would teach him to drive the car. It should be no surprise that I was less than enthusiastic, but it had to be done. He had been using the riding mower and driving a tractor, so his first lesson was different…mostly. We easily traveled our driveway without his struggling to find the brake or even speeding toward an oncoming tree. He had heard me razz my daughter about her driving enough times that when it was his turn he was going to be the world’s best at basically not doing anything the way she had. As we slowly turned out of the drive and onto the paved highway, he steered into the right-hand lane…so far so good. But then as I urged him to accelerate, keeping the vehicle between the lines became a challenge. He could travel a straight course fine if he kept his eyes on the road, but the second his attention was diverted to a side or rearview mirror or a gauge on the dashboard, he would drift from the lane. I told him to hold his speed steady focus on making slight steering corrections. Gradually, he adjusted his control, got a feel for the road and settled in to develop the skills of a good driver. As I compared the two driving lessons, it dawned on me that becoming a good driver is a lot like living our lives in Christ. You speed steadily down a narrow way in your vehicle and like that first encounter with Christ life can feel fast and exciting and you almost feel as though you could reach a whole continent of heathens with the gospel. This spiritual momentum is breathtaking, and has a potential to do much good, but can also result in harm. Like driving, other motorists are depending on you to manage the journey with responsibility, and every new driver knows this takes discipline. Every driver and every believer needs disciple but few of us welcome it. In order to keep ourselves in the appropriate lane, we must accept and employ it. The writer of Hebrews gives us a practical example of discipline and how we should receive it in chapter 12:5, “And have you forgotten the exhortation that addresses you as sons? ‘My son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, nor be weary when reproved by Him.’” New drivers must focus intensely to keep the car on the road. Their strict attention to the task prevents harm to themselves or to others. My son experienced such discipline as he learned to use small corrective moves to keep his vehicle centered in his lane. My daughter discovered the value of brakes. Discipline is like that, making adjustments to our life in rhythm with the Holy Spirit’s direction. Usually it’s a small correction, and once in a while we hit the brakes. One cannot set the car’s autopilot and expect to make it to the destination. Likewise, a successful life’s journey requires continuing involvement, and not just our own, but the involvement of the Father. We must allow him to correct us, or we will risk a wreck. I love how Hebrews 12:11 explains this, “For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.” That is so true; most discipline feels difficult and arduous, too intensive and unattainable. However, with small corrections, we can stay on course toward a greater purpose—a yield of peaceful fruit of righteousness. I want that outcome! So often, our rigid habits of discipline become a burden merely to keep up the appearance of holiness. In essence, the practice becomes the purpose, but discipline is a means to living the good life in Jesus. I love the perspective 2 Peter 3:13-14 gives: “But in keeping with this promise we are looking forward to a new heaven and a new earth, the home of righteousness. So then, dear friends, since you are looking forward to this, make every effort to be found spotless, blameless and at peace with Him.” Righteousness and peace—the result not of a life lived with cumbersome rules, but the reward for accepting our loving Father’s consistent course corrections. By the way, my children have successfully learned to drive, even my daughter. They are continually growing in competence and skill as they apply a few consistent disciplines. I’ve even noticed that when I’m in the passenger seat, I can enjoy a sense of peace when they drive…most of the time. Reading this blog is free. Running the camp behind the blog is not.
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