I know that in Jesus we have an Advocate before the Father who understands and sympathizes with us. I’ve taken comfort in that truth many times; that my circumstances are ones that He understands fully because he walked in a physical body among humanity as well.

Today, as I read Matthew 14, I found a new facet of that. This passage is usually used to focus on the miracles of the feeding of the 5,000, Peter walking on water, and many being healed. Often, as we are prone to do, we read it looking for his acts rather than his person. Today, though, from a place of physical, spiritual, and emotional exhaustion, I read this passage again.

I found that Jesus was exhausted, too.

But it didn’t stop him.

The passage opens with John the Baptist’s life being taken in a vengeful and violent act. Jesus’ cousin, the first to recognize him as Messiah even in the womb as a baby, the one who baptized him, his friend and kinsman was brutally murdered by the powerful of the day. Jesus was grieving. Verse 13 says that in response to the news of John’s death, Jesus got in a boat and went off by himself. To a “desolate place.”

Have you been there? Life got so heavy, your heart was so wounded with pain over a loss in your life that you couldn’t stand being around other people and took immediate action to remove yourself?

People followed him. They saw where his boat was headed and took off after it on foot. He needed his space but they didn’t care about his needs; they had stuff they wanted from him. He was the ONLY one who could give them what they needed, so they followed, his obvious grief set aside as inconsequential in their minds (assuming they considered it at all).

Have you been there? You just need time alone and nobody will let you have it? Even as you close and lock the bathroom door, little fingers wiggle underneath it. Voices call to you from outside of it. Even though you’re alone, the attention you want so desperately to focus on only what you are facing is divided by those who can’t live without you.

He came to shore. Disembarked from the boat that was supposed to take him to his alone place. And was met with a crowd. Here’s where it blows my mind: he didn’t lose his. Verse 14 says “He had compassion on them and healed their sick.” Then they got hungry and he made sure that they were fed. After they were fed, he sent the disciples ahead of him and said personal goodbye’s and shook hands and dismissed the crowd himself!

He was grieving! His cousin was dead! He knew the same fate was ahead for himself! He just needed a minute to process…he didn’t get it…and his response was compassion and a personal pouring out of himself to the very people that refused to think of him and his needs.

It continues throughout the chapter.

After he dismisses the crowd, he goes up to a mountain. Alone at last. Finally, some peace in which to pray and process. Alone…but also with a vantage point from which he can see that the disciples’ boat had come into heavy seas.

He could have just let them handle it. There were skilled fishermen and boat handlers among them. He could have said it wasn’t his problem, he had enough going on in his own life to deal with. It would have been justified and understandable. He had finally gotten to a place where he could sit down and put his feet up.

Verse 25 says that in the wee hours of the morning, he went to them. He calmed their fear. He called Peter out. He rescued them. He gave up his precious place of solitude, went out to where they were, and got into their mess with them.

Across the water they went, away from the desolate place he had sought out. Away from the quiet solitude he desired. Away from the place of peace, rest, and renewal ALONE that would have been most beneficial to him.
The minute their boat docked, verse 35 says that he was recognized. His arrival cued the people in that place to go gather everyone in “all that region” who were sick and clamor for him to heal them all. “And as many as touched it [the fringe of his garment] were made well.”

“STOP TOUCHING ME!!!” “CAN I NOT HAVE A MOMENT’S PEACE??” “DO I EVER GET A MOMENT TO DEAL WITH MY OWN STUFF?!”

None of those words came out of his mouth. I have no idea whether he heaved a sigh of resignation or two, but regardless, at every interruption to what HE needed, he took the small moments of silence that he got and allowed them to be enough. Back he waded into the messiness of humanity that needed him.

He was tired. He was grieving. He wanted to go into the mountains and have a retreat… but he didn’t get it for long. A few hours at most. The demands on his time and attention were relentless.

He allowed the small moments to be enough without resenting that it wasn’t more. Even in his solitude, he kept a watchful eye on those who were facing their own struggles. When he was interrupted with demands, he didn’t respond with a rebuke but with compassion.

I’m not there yet. I want more quiet than I get. It takes me a bit to get over resenting interruptions. I wonder sometimes if people see or consider ME before they make requests or demands.
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We have an advocate before the Father who understands our exhaustion and the million directions in which we are pulled. He pleads for our provision, for our upholding through the Spirit, our peace in the middle of chaos. May we allow Him to be our Prince of Peace when we can’t find it anywhere we turn. 

Once upon a time, years ago, we lived the full-on, full-time Youth Pastor’s family life. There were some beautiful things about it. There was a reason we walked away from that life, but there were also some undeniably beautiful, God-honoring things through those years.  
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One of those things is a song that came out of one of our groups. It is a simple song of surrender, written line-by-line by our young people as they stilled themselves and worshipped. That moment remains one of my precious memories. This song is one of simple, profound faith that challenges me to sing it honestly. Join me?
 
Whatever You want to do, Lord.
Whatever You want to say to me.
Whatever You want to do in this place,
I believe You.
And I trust You.
Because I love You, I will trust You.
 
We believe.
We believe.
Lift our hands as we surrender, You are all we need.
We believe.
We believe.
Lift our eyes to seek Your face.
We believe. 

There is a family of cardinals that has returned to our neighborhood this year. This morning, I have been watching as the little ones have ventured out of the nest. They’ve moved from the high perch in their nesting tree to the ground behind the neighbor’s privacy fence. I can’t see them, but I can hear their chirps. Constant. Insistent. Excited? Afraid? Curious?

These little would-be flyers have a very different perspective now than has been available to them. No protective walls of the nest. No food delivery service. A much more limited range of view. They are exposed to more dangers even as they are afforded more freedom of movement.

Not unlike ourselves when we are launched into a new phase of our lives.

It is the behavior of the Mama bird and Daddy bird that is fascinating me right now. Generally, we see them flitting to and fro, widely ranging across the neighborhood in search of food or stretching their wings after a stint of nest-sitting. Not today.

Today, their little ones are on the ground. Today, their carefully guarded eggs have hatched, grown, and are vulnerable in a new way. Today, their parenting has taken on new responsibilities.

As their little ones chirp away, Mama and Daddy stand watch. Both have found different-tiered levels of observation: Mama down lower where she can see the littles clearly, and Daddy almost at the extreme top of their nesting tree, taking in the long-range view. Silent. Observing. Heads turning at every motion of a squirrel in the vicinity and every sound of potential danger. Relocating every minute or so to make sure the whole area is scanned.

There is so much noise and clamor from the little ones. There is so much quiet, steadfast guarding from the parents.

Only once have Mama and Daddy begun to return the chatter: when danger got too close. We also have hawks in our area. As one began to fly into range, Mama perched lower to the ground, ready to step in. Daddy began calling out a song that Mama echoed. The little ones got still and silent. Everything got quiet until the danger had passed. And once it had, both Mama and Daddy flew down for a brief in-person reassurance before taking up their posts once more.

Our Heavenly Father is like that. The Scripture says that “the eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to give strong support to those whose heart is blameless toward him.” [II Chronicles 16:9] When we’re on the ground, vulnerable, and calling out for reassurance, He’s on the lookout and ready to support us when danger comes into view.

Those tiny cardinals wanted a response much earlier. They were communicating a lot. Were they asking questions about things they were discovering? Were they hollering that they didn’t like this new point of view? “O wow! Cool!” “O no! I’m scared!” … Whatever it was, they received no answer from the high perches for a long time. Did fear creep in? Did they worry that they were abandoned?

What they couldn’t see – what WE often cannot see – was that the ones who love them, who protected and provided for them in comfortable surroundings they could understand, were STILL protecting and providing for them. As we grow up, as we enter new phases of our walk of faith, as it becomes time for us to encounter new challenges and dangers, our Heavenly Father is keeping watch. He is vigilant. He is aware. He is allowing us the opportunity to explore, grow, and strengthen. We may find ourselves hollering with seemingly no response. He’s there. He’s guarding.

​If danger gets too close, He’ll call out to quiet our noise, He’ll give us instruction to help us navigate the risk safely, and when it has passed, He draws close to reassure us that He was always there. Even when we couldn’t see or hear Him.
 

The text read:

Hey, I was gonna go skydiving tomorrow, but wanted to make sure y’all were cool with it before I bought the ticket.

Let me back up and set the scene:

It had been a long week. Work pressures had been high. At home, we had been staying up late every night dealing with one thing or another. That morning, a Saturday, we had woken up far earlier than normal to get ourselves out the door and on the road for the hour-and-a-half trip to attend the funeral of a long-time friend who had suddenly passed away. It was 7:30am; we had been on the road for 30 minutes.

Our phones dinged the signal that meant our daughter had sent Dan and I that opening text.

So nonchalant. So matter-of-fact. Hey, guys, I was thinking maybe I’d go throw myself out the door of an airplane at 18,000 feet tomorrow. You good with that?  No, I hadn’t spent days or weeks discussing this with anyone. Nope, the desire to do this hadn’t been on anyone’s radar. But I realized that I had the time and funds, I haven’t done anything just for fun lately, it’s been a pressure cooker this week, and Groupon had a deal, so…

The crazy thing is that this wasn’t an out-of-character thought process for our 18-year-old daughter. This is par for the course; honestly, it’s par for the course with all our adult kids. It’s one of the things that they have taught their parents over the years. We taught them that because of Who God is, they don’t have to be afraid. We taught them that when God puts something in their path to do – whether it is risky work for the Kingdom’s sake, a need in a person’s life that they can pour into, or an opportunity to step into rest and joy that He provides – to step into it fully, decisively, and quickly because those opportunities pass by if you don’t. We taught them that it’s important to go into things with clear thinking, but that risky doesn’t always mean bad. We taught them that living in the freedom that Jesus affords is worth the risks. They taught us that those things were truer and deeper than we had realized.

With that text, our daughter invited us to join her in fearlessness. She gave us the opportunity to trust God and trust her. She opened up a moment of choice. She’s a legal adult who had no obligation to ask us our opinion of her plans, but because of our relationship, she wanted to both inform us and give us opportunity to voice our opinion. Here’s the kicker: had we been upset or negative about it, she likely would have passed on the experience. She would have been disappointed, probably angry that we clipped her wings that way, but she would have found another activity for the day.

Y’all. I’m so glad that we took a breath and trusted. I’m so grateful that just because WE wouldn’t have chosen to skydive, we didn’t tell her that SHE couldn’t. It guts me to think what would have been lost if we had let the stressors of our week steal that opportunity from her. We teach our kids Who God is. We tell them that fear doesn’t have to be the force that makes their decisions. We want them brave. Bold. Confident. “Dragon slayers in a time when there are actual dragons,” as my mom once put it.

​At some point, the students become the teachers. They take the principles we have spoken into their lives and live them out on a level that leaves us in awe. When they do, we get to share the joy. The overcoming. The encouragement to walk more fully in Truth ourselves. 

Have you ever been in one of those relationships that’s super productive? You work well together, it’s collaborative; people call you the dream team. Every time you get together, you’re both ready to jump into whatever action steps need to be taken to get to the next goal. Nobody can match you for accomplishments and accolades.

Sometimes you find yourself wishing you could just hang out and get to know each other without the pressure to perform.
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As I read the Bible, I get the real sense that God feels like that toward us. In the beginning, humans were created to be with God. Yes, they also were charged with populating and caring for the earth. They were given a task to accomplish. But that task was not the consuming whole of their being; they walked in the garden in the cool of the evening, chatting and communing with their Creator.

Sin entered the picture, and all of that restful, meandering conversation came to an end. Humanity was left with only the task at hand – made more difficult now – and no respite in the cool of the evenings. The Creator was left without the precious time spent with those He loved.

When Jesus lived, died, and lived again to restore that lost relationship, one of His main purposes was the return of those intimate conversations.

We miss that, I think. So frequently, especially in our church organizations but also in our personal lives, we think that the goal of our salvation is to perform all the good works. We are given tasks – just as Adam and Eve were in the garden – but the great joy and ultimate purpose of our salvation is our restoration to relationship.

In our well-meaning exuberance, we fill our days with good deeds; often good deeds that God never asked of us. In the overflow of our gratitude for our salvation, we forget to ask our Savior what HE would like us to do, assuming we already know. We exhaust ourselves in the scheduling of meetings, performance of sacrificial service in our organizations, and running of all manner of societally beneficial programs. Proud of ourselves, comfortable in our assessment of our accomplishments, we miss His quiet whisper:

“I just want to spend time with you.”

May we still our activity long enough to hear Him. May we desire Him above all the doing. As He desires us.