"For
in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion: in the secret of his
tabernacle shall he hide me; he shall set me upon a rock. And now shall mine
head be lifted up above mine enemies round about me: therefore will I offer in
his tabernacle sacrifices of joy; I will sing, yea, I will sing praises unto
the LORD". ~Psalm 27:5-6
My grandmother believed that children needed
sunlight. "Ya'll chirren need to go outside! Go run! Go play
somewhere!" Often, her words came on the heels of us making too much
noise, or just being underfoot. Most times, her directive was because she
knew--better than the most noted child psychologist--all about the special
skills and lessons children need that only being outside could teach. "Look
now! Go play somewhere!" The mysterious “Somewhere”--that was a lot of
territory.
We'd always complain--briefly, but respectfully, of
course. One look was all it took to let us know that negotiating was hopeless.
We didn't want to go outside sometimes, especially if there was something we
wanted to watch on television. Outside was definitely unappealing if something
painful had occurred the day before:
1. You played a game, performed, and lost miserably.
2. No one covered you, and you got fake shot by your
best friend's pretend gun--and everybody knows you can't keep running if you're
supposed to be dead.
3. Your favorite toy (that wasn't supposed to be
outside in the first place) was stolen or broken.
4. You fell and ripped up your favorite jeans.
5. Someone found your super-secret hiding place.
6. You became "it" and couldn't find anybody.
Even childish, non-life-threatening things keep you
from wanting to go outside.
My grandmother insisted that we spend time outside. We'd
tell her how hot it was. She'd say it was good for us, and we needed to sweat.
We'd tell her about the flies and mosquitoes. She's tell us they were after us
because we were sweet--and then give us some homemade something to slather on
that not only kept the bugs away, but people too. We'd tell her that the dogs
were out. She'd tell us that the Bible didn't have anything good to say about a
dog, and we shouldn't be afraid. She'd say that the dogs were more afraid of us
than we were afraid of them. "When they chase you, don't run. They know
you're scared. That's why they keep running you." We'd tell her about the
snakes. She'd show us where she kept her cane knife, and tell us we could use
it too--to cut a sweet piece of cane AND kill snakes--just hold it properly, be
careful and don't cut ourselves. We'd tell her that something had happened
outside.
Didn't she understand? We wanted the comfort of the indoors. We wanted
to feel the cool air coming in from the fan she would place backwards in the
windowsill. We wanted to be near her, in her lap, or in her arms. We wanted that
closeness which guaranteed that nothing would harm us. We didn't want to have
to think up something to do. Was she coming outside with us? That would be a "no".
She'd been outside. If outside was so good, why wasn't she out there? What we didn’t know was that
she’d already been outside while we
slept. She’s washed and hung clothes to dry. She’d burned trash and raked the
yard. She’d picked figs and gathered milk bottles. She may have even walked to
the post office. For us, outside held too many obstacles, and presented too
many variables when you really didn't want to be there. When you had no choice,
you found something to do--even things that proved to be constructive, helpful,
and fun.
We were bound to come back inside many hours later.
We'd be soaking wet, dirty, bitten, stung, scraped up, a little browner, full
of stories to tell--with sound effects--and alive. Outside hadn't been so bad
after all! We'd forgotten about our excuses and mastered all that outside had
to offer. We soon learned that new clothes had no place outside. We learned
that outside demanded a different attitude. It wasn't an option. You were going
outside. That was your domain, and you were going to conquer it. You were not
going to sit in the house all day.
Laziness was a sin to my grandmother, and she
despised people who did nothing but lay around when there was work to do.
Sitting inside, or lying down for a nap during the day meant you had truly done
some worthwhile labor, or you were sick. It was silly to try and hide to get
out of doing some chore. The plan was not to answer when she called, in hopes
that she would give up and find someone else to do the job. She was persistent
though, and kept calling until you either answered, or she found you. The
latter was worse. "I know you heard me", she'd say. Having to explain
why you ignored her call left you cherishing the thought that, sometimes, it's
just good to shut up. Working, to her, was one of the things in life that made
you feel better. The privilege of being inside while the Lord's sun was shining
was solely for grown people. You, child, were going outside. You could make the
best of it, and "play", and effect change in your little world, or sit
on the steps, pout like Jonah, and let the sun beat down on your head. You
could sit and bake until it was time for the Sun to go and shine on some other
kids on the other side of the world.
How you spent your time outside had a profound
impact on the rest of your day, and how you slept that night. If you always
wanted to stay inside "up under" your grandmother all of the time,
you were soon called a "baby". None of our excuses for not wanting to
go outside would convince her to change her mind. Only thunder, and lightening,
and torrential rain were legitimate reasons not to go out. The Lord was
handling his business at those times. You could get your little-self killed at
worst, or spanked, at least, for playing indoors or out--or for talking too loudly while the Lord was working and
speaking.
When conditions aren't favorable, no one wants to go outside. Too many
extremes, of hot or cold, make it official, and you tell yourself, "I'm
not going out there". The child that still lives inside, adds, "And
nobody can make me". When it comes to our hearts and minds, hopes and
dreams, assignments and callings, there's an "outside" that we can
dread just as much, or more than the one we sometimes tried to escape as
children. Everything assigned to our hands is "outside", and there
are times when closing the door and leaving it all, seems like a really good
idea.
Often there's a welcomed sanctuary indoors. It is so
because we create it ourselves. We often start listening to everything we're
thinking, and forget to edit out the stupid stuff. Our emotions take over, and
we find ourselves unable and unwilling to just get up and get out. Staying
inside for long periods of time can be tempting--especially in times of
uncertainty, grief, overwhelming tasks, confusion, or loss. There's a peculiar
sense of security that is, in reality, a deceptive mechanism which, if left
unchecked, can keep one inside indefinitely. It gets easier, and even feels
normal, to just retreat. It's so much deeper than just not wanting to be bothered.
It's not about being fainthearted, introverted, shy, or anti-social. This
condition is not the eremitic life. This has nothing to do with some sacred
religious order, suffering, or sacrificing relationships for the cause of
Christ. This is not an admirable vocation, or divine calling to solitude. It's
just "checking out" plain and simple. Somewhere you look for the
secret trap door that will open and take you away to safety. This longing is
not to die, but a silent hope to quietly disappear and let everyone have
"it", go on with "it", take "it" over, and do
with "it" whatever they will. You almost have to repent about how
much you envy Enoch. You want to walk, keep walking, and hope God takes you,
too.
You envision a place where there's no one but you,
the Lord, and open air. There you are- a dead ringer for Jed Clampett- minus the family. You picture yourself
accompanied by a loyal, but quiet dog. There you are wearing a pair of jeans
and sandals; an old comfortable shirt and hat; chewing on a piece of straw, and
sitting on a bank holding a fishing pole. Even the fish cooperate. You just
want to be alone and at peace.
People desire to cheer you, and drag you out of your
haven, but you're not in need of cheer, and you don't want to go anywhere. You
find yourself crying and aren't sure why--but it begins to feel good to cry,
and you revel in it. You don't want pity. Pity means someone has seen you. You
don't want to be seen. You just want out--but not "outside". Outside
represents an endless river of other people's wants, wishes, desires, needs,
agendas, plans, great ideas, schemes, and issues--and to them, they are all
your business, responsibility and priority. You reject work and play. The root
of it all, is that there are too many things, circumstances, responsibilities,
and persons of which you finally declare, "I've had enough".
You hope that somewhere in the quiet, something or
someone legitimate, honest, and true will appear who genuinely cares about you
as an individual. You dread that whatever, or whoever shows up, is not some
leech only concerned with what their lot will be if you, like Enoch, "was
not", and all of your resources were suddenly unavailable, or
non-existent. You dream of something consistent, and on which you can depend,
all the while wondering what your own record of consistency has been. You pray
that while you voluntarily check out, there will be some cosmic separating of
the wheat and the tares in your life--which at some point, while you were busy
"outside", you lost the ability to differentiate. There is a heavy,
sometimes smothering burden that comes when you show your face
"outside". You're either going to play, or be rejected for the same
reason. You know that something is coming at you, waiting for you to handle it,
and you don't know whether to embrace it, play with it, or find a loose board
and smack the hell out of it.
Indoors, there are no expectations, no threats, no
challenges, and no trouble. Indoors you can ball yourself up in a nice cocoon,
surround yourself with the things you need and want--making sure that they are
at arms-length--and commence with a new kind of hibernation that would be the
envy of brown bears everywhere. The thing you find yourself wrapped in is way
beyond hiding. Even your soul wants to be left alone. You reject the suggestion
to go outside. Grandmother is no longer running the show. You choose to turn
yourself outside-in, shut down, and run the risk of missing out on even the
good, profitable, beneficial, and promised things that show up at your door.
It's so hard to explain to people--particularly
those to whom you are close, and those who have a vested interest in you--that
you need space and time. You're suddenly described as fickle, moody, mean,
inconsiderate, inconsistent, cruel, and arrogant. You might be, but the bottom
line is that you just don't want to go outside. You don't want to play. You
don't want anybody watching you while you're inside. You don't want people
constantly asking you if you're alright, and tiptoeing around you as if you're
on some kind of suicide watch. What you want is a very long, very deliberate break. Some people in your life will
take great offense to being excluded from your private party of one. Surely
your need to be alone doesn't include them, does it? Even the "Sunshines"
in your life have to accept that, they too, can't have access. They, too, must
stay outside.
Somewhere there has been a clause that you-- leader,
supervisor, minister, manager, chief, parent, teacher, facilitator, or
otherwise responsible party, don't, or shouldn't get a break. Help, or no help,
trouble, heartache, sickness, controversy, loss or no, you have to keep
plugging away until Jesus comes. Many people don't understand that even the
ambassadors of God don't always want to go outside and "play" with
his people. Many times, God's mortal messengers and representatives in the
earth would rather turn over the anointed toys, and leave the spiritual
playground altogether. Sadly, sometimes you feel like the lone player on the
field. Your team is on the sidelines, and the rest of the crowd is mixed with
cheerleaders and opponents. You feel as if they're all watching you throw and
catch the ball, run, block, tackle, kick all of the extra points, be charged
with all the penalties, score all of the touchdowns, and referee. Everyone is
ecstatic about a win, but they don't understand why you don't feel like
celebrating, or why you think about hanging up your helmet.
Have you ever just wanted to shut yourself in and
forget about going outside? Often there are unsavory, distracting, deceptive
elements just waiting on the other side of the door. If it weren't so true, it
would seem like sheer paranoia. Beyond that, knowing oneself, one's
limitations, and one's weaknesses is critical. Sometimes you have to acknowledge
that your usual good sense, emotional stability, swift discernment, and ability
to reason want to go outside and play without you.
Are there times when, staying indoors wins; you scan
the list of the competent people among you, and relinquish your duties to them?
How can you tell people that you just don't feel like it? How can you, who
usually repeats a mantra similar to that of postal carriers, suddenly fail to
show up? Isn't that just the opposite of what your disposition should be?
You're almost tempted to use the awful, "It's not you, it's me"
excuse. You've led people to a place; you've started a ball rolling; you've
taken on a task, and others are counting on you to continue to lead or be a
role model. They are depending on your unwavering faith and continuing strength
to inspire them, encourage them, ease their burdens, solve their problems, or
get them where they need to go. Many have no interest in mastering the use,
workings, or maintenance of the vehicle that got them there. Many have not been
watching the road or the signs. They've been watching you. They're happy to
sleep while you drive, and they wake up refreshed at whatever the destination
may be. When it becomes necessary for you to take a detour, just like the
biblical multitude, they will follow.
"And
the apostles gathered themselves together unto Jesus, and told him all things,
both what they had done, and what they had taught. And he said unto them, Come
ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while: for there were many
coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat. And they departed
into a desert place by ship privately. And the people saw them departing, and
many knew him, and ran afoot thither out of all cities, and outwent them, and
came together unto him. And Jesus, when he came out, saw much people, and was
moved with compassion toward them, because they were as sheep not having a
shepherd: and he began to teach them many things". Mark 6:30-35
You don't want to go outside. You don't take too
kindly to anyone trying to force you, but you know that you can't hide from
God. David discovered that quite well, so you don't even try to. In the seventh
verse of Psalm 139, he asks, "Where
can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?" He
brings up various locations where he can attempt to elude God, but quickly
acknowledges that wherever he may go, God is there. So there's no ducking God,
but what about his people? What about the people in your life, period? When
they follow, or beat you to your secret place, or corner you outside-ready with
their expectations, demands, questions, and needs, what will happen? Either
your compassion will kick in, and override your desire to stay inside and away,
or you'll find a brand new place to hide. Unfortunately, that new place is
often found in the confines of your own mind--a mind that may be overdue for a
little renewal.
When Jethro saw that Moses was overwhelmed, he came
up with a plan. Either the plan was a great one, or Moses was too tired and
frustrated to argue about it. Either way, a solution to an impending problem
came from a trusted source--one who honestly cared about Moses' welfare. It's
no wonder that people who are always tired are those who do their own work, and
then go and clean up behind others, too.
Pride, the opinion that vulnerability is a sign of
weakness, and lack of trust in assistants can cause leaders, or anyone for that matter, to feel as if
they have to do everything themselves. You have a million and three things
running around in your head on a regular basis, and believe that it all has to
get done. You tell yourself that you have a legacy to leave behind, and put
yourself on a brutal timetable. When you're convinced that your way is right,
of course you will be the only person who can carry out a task successfully!
Burnout is sure to follow someone who can't, or won't seek those to whom
authority can be comfortably delegated. Knowing that responsibility for the
success, or failure of everything will always land at your doorstep, can cause
very real anxiety. Leaders, no, people who don't acknowledge that they need
help, run the risk of damaging themselves, their relationships, and their
mission.
Everyone needs times of refreshing, daily communion
with God, and the presence of those who, themselves, are anointed to undertake
the often unpredictable task of attending to, listening, or simply being good
company. When Jesus was in the Garden of Gethsemane, it seems that he just
wanted his disciples to--not do or say anything, but just be with him. Sadly,
Jesus was surrounded by men who saw him in varying ways, and only one had
enough Holy Ghost to recognize and declare who he really was--but even he
denied Jesus when things got too hot "outside".
To be close enough to experience one's humanity and
embrace the importance of protecting the anointing on the life of an
individual, is a rare gift. Everyone who is drawn by the actions of an anointed
individual may not be able to handle an up close, personal encounter when the
mission, that required supernatural help, is over. The light of Christ shining
through anyone who is used by God, is stunning, powerful, provocative and
attractive. What it has the potential to attract, keeps many people isolated
and shut up behind locked and dead-bolted physical, mental, and emotional
doors. The truth is that touching the anointed, and being touched by the
anointed can get, well, a little touchy in the absence of spiritual maturity.
It's only natural to want to shed titles, roles, positions, and other trappings
of notoriety just for a little while, and trust and share aspects of oneself
without fear of being contaminated, used, exposed, exploited or handled
inappropriately. Sometimes the risk is too great, and back inside you go. You
just don't want to go outside--and God knows it. But you have to.
Remember. He's everywhere. His Holy Spirit is
indwelling. His angels are ministering, and goodness and mercy are following. It's
okay. You're covered. Go.
Go outside. As inconvenient, and uncomfortable as it
may seem, there's life out there, and it can be positively joyful.
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