Now how 'bout me?

Felicity loves stories. She gets lost in the simplest of stories, then says, ‘Now how ‘bout me?’ and launches in to retell the story she’s just been told, having inserted herself into the action. It might be a simple recounting of an incident with her daddy as he was growing up. It may be something more sinister involving the Big Bad Wolf or a crocodile or a bear; whatever the story, she positions herself into the middle of the action. 

The Bible is a book of stories, into which we are invited. It is full of flawed folk who answered God’s invitation into his story, and usually messed up, often more than once, often spectacularly. Yet God still loved them. He still wanted them to be part of his story. It’s great to read the Bible and see where we fit. We may fit in one story today, and in another story in a year’s time. We may feel so estranged from God that we don’t see ourselves in any story, but we can take a look at Jesus’ story of the shepherd seeking the lost sheep. However entangled we are in the thorns, he can release us.

I love the thought that God’s story is his story, and yet he is generous and loving and wants us to enter in and create it with him. Not sure, but I imagine that although he knows the ending, some of the nuances of the story are still to be created as we make our choices and live our lives before him. I hope that is exciting – in a good way – for him, because it is certainly exciting for us. 

So now I’m going to open my Bible, read some and then ask God, ‘Now how ‘bout me?’

Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

‘I’ll huff, and I’ll puff,’ the Wolf threatens, ‘and I’ll blow your house down.’

It’s amazing, the power of a fairy tale villain. Children are right to be frightened by him. He zeroes in on the most vulnerable and attacks with a ferocity which is deadly. His breath is foul and it blows strong, so strong that it can collapse a house which has been built of flimsy materials and stands without foundations anchored in rock.

Our enemy is no fairy tale villain. His breath fans the embers of hurt until they begin to glow with resentment and flare into anger, which becomes a consuming conflagration. A conflagration fuelled by the sadness of disappointed expectations. 

Our enemy is no fairy tale villain. He seeks out our vulnerabilities and delights to find our deepest hurts, and then he begins to blow his foulness into them, nursing the coals that glow with even the smallest sign of life, the coals that can linger deep within.

Our enemy is no fairy tale villain. I have a friend who counsels that we shouldn’t put our expectations in anyone but the Lord, because everyone else will let us down. It’s human nature. It’s when we are affronted by the disappointment of a thwarted expectation in someone that the coals flare into fire, and if left to burn, that fire can consume relationships, can consume us.

Forgiveness is the water for dousing the flames of disappointment and hurt, of anger and resentment . Forgiveness sourced in God. Forgiveness empowered by the Holy Spirit. Forgiveness expressed by Jesus for the centurion, as he pounded the iron nails into his hands and his feet. 

Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? We all should be, and yet none of us should be. We all should have a healthy respect for his undoubted power and his vile evil intentions. But if our foundations sink into our loving heavenly Father, he will hold us firm when the wild winds of destruction blow from the real big bad wolf. Rather than his foul breath fanning into flame the flickering coals of hurt, it will simply blow them out. 

And then, set free, we can truly dance and sing, ‘Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf? Jesus has dealt with him.’

The Big Bad Wolf

‘And he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew the house down!’

My granddaughter’s favourite story at the moment involves the Big Bad Wolf and his vicious attacks on the Three Little Pigs. There is a fascination with the ferocity of the evil wolf, a flirting with the fear that his attack raises in her.

I’m sitting at a table in the wee hours, listening to the wild wind howl round our home. I can feel secure inside the granite walls, protected from the piercing cold air. Yet I hear that wind as it moans through the cracks of ill-fitting windows, and I sense the cold penetrating despite the granite.

I can feel safe in my faith. I can presume that I am safe from the onslaught of the enemy. But I know that he prowls round like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. He is the real Big Bad Wolf, seeking always to destroy relationships, disrupt families, devour our faith and leave us desolate.

He huffs doubt into someone’s mind; he puffs rejection in someone’s heart; he seeks to bring down all that would glorify and celebrate our Saviour. 

We are safe in Jesus, but we are still vulnerable to attack, and far too frequently our complacency renders us powerless when an onslaught comes. Put on the armour, Paul says. Know your enemy, Peter writes. Don’t let the house come down because the fire of faith has burned low. 

The first little pig’s house of straw came down in the wind, and he sought shelter in his brother’s house. That little pig’s house of sticks likewise fell prey to the Big Bad Wolf’s powerful, offensive breath. The brothers streaked to the brick house of the prudent brother, who had spent time carefully constructing a house that could resist the wolf’s huffs and his puffs. 

So when that Big Bad Wolf finally, in fury, slid down the chimney seeking to reach the heart of the home, he was defeated by a hot fire and boiling water. Our enemy’s tactics aren’t any more sophisticated. He, too, seeks to invade my space by sliding down the chimney of my heart, but I am stoking the fires so that he may be consumed in the hot fires of my faith, built up with the Word of God, the presence of Jesus, and the power of the Holy Spirit.

That enemy may huff, and he may puff, but he can’t blow such a house down.

Gertrude

Since when did they give names to Storms? Hurricanes have a history of being named but storms? Well, whatever, but this wind and sleet slamming into our windows is called Gertrude, I believe. 

Just thinking it might have added a touch of levity to the overwhelming awesomeness of the event  if Jesus had stood up in the boat and commanded, ‘Peace, be still, Gertrude!’ 

Or George.

Nameless or known by a name – oh, that’s a whole new avenue I didn’t intend to go down! God knows each one of us by name, and he has new names ready and waiting for us in the future. Beautiful names which resonate with the everlasting love God has for each one of us.

But back to storms. This one threatens, like the Big Bad Wolf in the 3 Little Pigs story, to huff and puff and blow down my house. The windows are rattling in their frames. Gertrude’s icy fingers are tapping their sharp nails on the glass. The trees are bending and swaying alarmingly. 

Inside, though, so far the electricity is still connected as is the telephone. The heating has now gone off but the room in which I sit is warm enough. Soon I can boil a kettle and make a coffee. Until I venture outside, Gertrude’s intrusion into my life is minimal. (May it continue to be so....)

The granite walls may buckle in an earthquake but Gertrude stands no chance of blowing them over. Jesus told a story about a couple of houses, one built on sand and the other on the rock. The one collapsed when the storm sprang up while the other withstood the onslaught.

There are one or two things blowing about in my life which could escalate into the strength of Gertrude, but I’m trusting in the granite assurances of scripture and the powerful presence of my saviour. Don’t let any Gertrudes blow you over today. Trust in the promises of our everlasting God, who has you covered and who can still the roughest of storms with a word.