It was just a question at the end of a blog post about a soon-to-be released book—a query designed to build interest and get the conversation moving in the comment section.
For me, though, it set off a train of thoughts I rode for several weeks.
“Mom, was God an introvert?”
Yeah, the inquiry caught me off guard too, though I suppose it shouldn’t have. The questioner was, after all, reading a book called Quiet Power: The Secret Strengths of Introverts.
Understanding her thought processes the way I do, I also knew that by God, she actually meant Jesus—God in human form, the One who became flesh and dwelt among us.
We paused to talk about this for a moment. On one hand, an argument could be made that Jesus most definitely was an extrovert. He seemed to enjoy interacting with large crowds. He did spend a great deal of time with his closest friends, but the fact that there were 12 of them pushes the extrovert dial even further north.
Last week, I closed out my thoughts about God’s sovereignty with the truth expressed in Romans 8:28—that in “all things God works for the good of those who love Him.”
If you’re anything like me, you might find the idea that God’s sovereignty encompasses “all things” a bit hard to grasp. Here’s how Chuck Swindoll describes it in his book, The Mystery of God’s Will:
As the summer I wasn’t expecting hurdles to a close, I thought it might be fitting to spend this week and next sharing some thoughts about God’s sovereignty that are as relevant today as they were 15 years ago when I first wrote them.
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When I was in elementary school, one of my Sunday school teachers taught a lesson that made a huge impression on my young mind.
He introduced his students to some pretty lofty principles about God—namely, that He is omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent.
To this day, I remember what those words mean: that God is everywhere at once (omnipresent), all-knowing (omniscient), and all-powerful (omnipotent). Said differently, God is present everywhere, He knows everything, and He is in control of everything.
It was a sweet, peaceful diversion during a strange, stress-filled summer.
Molly was away at youth camp, and Lilly and I were busy running errands and visiting my mom at the rehab hospital. About midweek, though, we took a break from all the running around to mark something off her summer bucket list.
We drove to the city and spent a couple of hours meandering around the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, paying special attention to the gallery of Impressionist art.
We could have put it off even longer—there were plenty of other tasks and responsibilities demanding our attention that week. But spending time with my girl at a place we both love seemed like the best possible use of our morning.
Our decision to seize the moment that day reminds me of my father’s favorite essay—“The Station” by Robert J. Hastings. When my dad shared first shared this with me many years ago, I liked it so much that I printed it out and framed it.
It now hangs on the wall in my entry hall, with a wooden cutout of the word peace positioned directly above it.
I have a feeling I’m not the only one who might need the wisdom that flows from this short piece of writing, which is why I tracked down the publisher and obtained permission to share “The Station” with you today.
Read it thoughtfully. Savor the imagery. Most importantly, take the message to heart. Life really is too short to do otherwise.
The Station by Robert J. Hastings
Tucked away in our subconscious minds is an idyllic vision in which we see ourselves on a long journey that spans an entire continent. We’re traveling by train and, from the windows, we drink in the passing scenes of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at crossings, of cattle grazing in distant pastures, of smoke pouring from power plants, of row upon row of cotton and corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of city skylines and village halls.
But uppermost in our minds is our final destination—for at a certain hour and on a given day, our train will finally pull into the station with bells ringing, flags waving and bands playing. And once that day comes, so many wonderful dreams will come true. So restlessly, we pace the aisles and count the miles, peering ahead, waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.
“Yes, when we reach the station, that will be it!” we promise ourselves. “When we’re 18 . . . win that promotion . . . put the last kid through college . . . buy that 450 SL Mercedes-Benz . . . pay off the mortgage . . . have a nest egg for retirement.”
From that day on, we will all live happily ever after.
Sooner or later, however, we must realize there is no station in this life, no one earthly place to arrive at once and for all. The journey is the joy. The station is an illusion—it constantly outdistances us. Yesterday’s a memory; tomorrow’s a dream. Yesterday belongs to history; tomorrow belongs to God. Yesterday’s a fading sunset; tomorrow’s a faint sunrise. Only today is there light enough to love and live.
So, gently close the door on yesterday and throw the key away. It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men mad, but rather the regret over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow.
“Relish the moment” is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24: “This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”
So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, swim more rivers, climb more mountains, kiss more babies, count more stars. Laugh more and cry less. Go barefoot oftener. Eat more ice cream. Ride more merry-go-rounds. Watch more sunsets. Life must be lived as we go along.
The station will come soon enough.
♥ Lois
Ride more merry-go-rounds. Watch more sunsets. Life must be lived as we go along. Share on X“The Station” appeared in the Southern Illinois University Press’s publication, A Penny’s Worth of Minced Ham: Another Look at the Great Depression by Robert J. Hastings. Copyright © 1986 by the Board of Trustees, Southern Illinois University; reprinted by permission of the publisher.
There’s a book on my living room shelves called The Prayer that Changes Everything.
Author Stormie Omartian uses this attention-grabbing title to describe a type of prayer (praise). But the name always reminds me of one specific petition that changed everything in my own life—praying “not my will, but yours be done” during my years of infertility (see here and here for the rest of that story).
Lately, I’ve been thinking about the ongoing impact of another prayer, one I incorporated into my daily quiet time when I chose my word of the year for 2015. The word was fruit, and the plea was for the fruit of the Spirit (see Galatians 5:22-23) to grow in me and in the lives of everyone in my home (read more about this journey here, here and here).
I didn’t see results overnight, but gradually—as I asked God to cultivate love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control in my heart—I began spotting little differences here and there.
It’s been more than two years, and I’m still praying for the fruit.
The changes are cumulative, I think, and also compounding. When I ask God to make me more gentle and kind, for example, I start noticing more opportunities to be gentle and kind.
I may not respond gently or kindly every time—in fact, I can state with certainty that I do not—but I’m much more aware of the impact these traits have in my life. There are moments and interactions that show me how far I’ve come, and others that reveal how much further I have to go.
I imagine that’s how it will be as long as I’m able to think, feel and speak.
Praying for the fruit of the Spirit every day is not a magic formula for spiritual growth. Something happens when you do it, though—some divinely inspired work that I think can only be attributed to the Holy Spirit.
That’s why I call it “The Prayer that is Changing Me.”
The actual words vary from day to day, depending on what’s going on in my life and in the lives of the people around me. But the prayer always goes something like this:
Dear Lord,
Help me to feel loved and to love others today.
Strengthen me with your joy.
Guard my heart with the peace that surpasses all understanding.
Help me to be patient and kind.
Enable me to do good and to see good in everyone around me.
Help me to grow in my faith and to be faithful to do the work that you have given me to do today.
Let my actions and words be marked by gentleness.
And may I practice self control in every area of my life.
Amen
♥ Lois
When you pray for the fruit of the Spirit every day, the changes are cumulative and compounding. Share on X