Holding Places of the Heart

Occasionally, answers aren’t given or the blessings we desire don’t come or the trials we bear continue because there is no place in our hearts for God to put the answer we need. Life must carve or hollow out this place. The very experiences we are going through help to create these holding places. Yet he still hears our prayers and promises the resolution will come in time.

When the Missouri persecutions were raging, the Lord comforted the Saints by telling them: “Fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks; waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, and are recorded with this seal and testament—the Lord hath sworn and decreed that they shall be granted” (D&C 98:1–2). Not yet, nevertheless they will be granted. “He giveth this promise unto you, with an immutable covenant that they shall be fulfilled; and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory” (D&C 98:3).

Moses once asked the Lord a question after having been shown the multitude of God’s creations. Why do you create all these wonders? he puzzled. The Lord answered, I have my reasons. These are his words: “For mine own purpose have I made these things. Here is wisdom and it remaineth in me” (Moses 1:31). Now that’s a very polite way of saying, I’m not going to answer your question, Moses. You want to know why I create all these things? I have a purpose and it’s a wise purpose, but I’m not going to make it known to you right now. We know that God eventually answered Moses’ question. The answer is a very famous one: “This is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39). I create all these worlds to make men gods, the Lord was saying. I have often asked myself why the Lord didn’t answer Moses when he initially asked the question. A close reading reveals that God wanted Moses to understand a few things before the answer came—things that would make the answer even more powerful. He was creating a holding place in Moses’ heart to receive it.

Let me illustrate this particular concept by a personal story. When I was just a baby, my father, because of concerns in his own life and challenges that he was having, left our family. Our mother alone, therefore, raised my sisters and me, and as I was growing up, my father had very little to do with us as children. I realize he was working with things in his own life, but his decisions created certain challenges and hardships for my mother, my sisters, and for me. At age fourteen or fifteen, if you were in my situation, and you knelt down and said: “Father in Heaven, help me find peace concerning my father leaving us and really having nothing to do with us for all these years. Help me forgive my father,” would you not think that was an appropriate prayer, one that deserved an answer? But no answer came at age fourteen and fifteen. Twenty, twenty-one comes, same prayers, still no answer. Twenty-five, twenty-six passes, same prayers, yet still no answer. Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-three, thirty-four all come and go. Surely I’m in the fourth watch by now, would you not agree?

Then one day I was asked to prepare a talk on families. I thought I would speak about my mother. My mother was a saint. In my eyes she could do no wrong. I would talk about my mother—her wisdom and goodness, and how she raised us. But the Spirit seemed to whisper, Speak about your father. And I thought, What am I going to say about my father? I have hardly had anything to do with my father growing up. Yet the Spirit seemed to urge that I think about him.

Just at that moment, my two sons came into the room where I was working. I was married, and I had two daughters and two sons at the time. The eldest son was about six, his younger brother was around two, and they stood in front of me, just stood there staring at me. I looked at my boys and all at once the Spirit literally flooded my mind with wonderful memories of things that I had shared with them.

We are told that a whole life can pass before us just before we die and we see everything all at once. It was that kind of experience. All the simple little memories, none of them major, came into focus—carving Halloween pumpkins; trick-or-treating with bags bulging with candy; Christmas mornings and the aroma of gingerbread; listening to their tiny-voice prayers; their first tearful, hesitant Primary talks; a squirming puppy wrapped in the tangle of their arms; walks by the pond to see the turtles; piggy-back rides; reading stories at night with mimicked voices; catching a fish out of the same hole where I caught my first fish twenty-five years earlier; the smell of saddle leather as I lifted them for their first horseback ride. All these simple, tiny, little, everyday memories that I shared in those years with my sons washed into my soul.

And then the Spirit said: I am now ready to answer your question. Now that you are a father, now that you know a father’s love, would you be the son who lost his father, or the father who lost his son? When I heard those words, I just began to weep. I grabbed my sons and hugged them and just sobbed and sobbed.

My wife came into the room; I was holding those two boys and crying. Not for me! For my father! Because I knew what he had missed. He doesn’t know what he missed. There’s a mercy in that. But I knew what he missed, and I knew it was a greater tragedy to be the father who lost his son than to be the son who lost a father.

My wife became concerned and said, “For heaven’s sake, Mike, what is the matter?” I said, “I can’t talk about it now.” I went up and shut myself in the bathroom and cried myself dry. Have you ever done that? There are no tears coming—you’re still crying, and there’s nothing coming?

Why didn’t my Father in Heaven give me that answer at fifteen, or twenty-one, or twenty-five, or when I was married, or when my daughters were born? He needed to wait until I was a father of sons and had enough experiences with my boys to understand what a sweet thing it is to be a father and share memories with sons. The holding place had to be carved in my heart, and as soon as I could really receive and comprehend the answer, the Lord gave it to me. Maybe we are in the fourth watch, but the Lord is saying to us: I’ll answer your prayer. I’m aware of your needs. It is recorded in heaven, and I’m going to answer it. But right now in your life there’s no place for me to put the answer. Life will create a holding place, and as soon as you are able to receive it, I will give it to you.

Stones or Bread

There are times in my life when I think He answers, but I misunderstand the message. I think I’m in the fourth watch, but I’m really not; it’s just that I expected one answer and got another. In the Gospel of Luke the Lord urges us to come to him for answers: “Ask,” he says, “and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” (He is always telling us that. It’s one of those principles he repeats many, many times because he does not want us to miss it.) “For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened” (Luke 11:9–10).

He then illustrates that truth: “If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give him a stone? or if he ask a fish, will he for a fish give him a serpent? Or if he shall ask an egg, will he offer him a scorpion? If ye then, being evil [meaning being human—imperfect], know how to give good gifts unto your children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give [good gifts through] the Holy Spirit to them that ask him?” (Luke 11:11–13).

There are times in our lives when I think the Lord says, I gave you bread, but it wasn’t the kind of bread you wanted and because you keep thinking about the kind of bread you wanted you’ve turned my bread into a stone. I gave you a fish, but it wasn’t the flavor of fish that you wanted, and you’ve turned the fish into a serpent. Or I gave you an egg, but I cooked it differently from how you ordered it, and you think I’ve given you a scorpion.

C. S. Lewis speaks of two kinds of good—the expected good and the given good. All things given from God are good. There are times in my life I have to remind myself God does not give stones, and when we need bread, a stone is something useless. God does not give stones—only bread. God does not give serpents or scorpions—they are harmful things. He only gives eggs and fish. But if I’m not careful I may hatch the scorpion out of the egg; I may interpret the given good as something bad by constantly thinking of what I wanted instead of what I received. Does that make some kind of sense?

Let me give you an illustration. When I was young I wanted to go on a mission. I dreamed of that mission. I thought I should learn a language, so I took French starting in the eighth grade. I took it in the ninth grade, the tenth grade, and the eleventh grade. I quit after the eleventh grade because I didn’t like the French teacher. She was from Paris, was very proud of her language, and if you mispronounced a word (for instance the French “R,” which is rather difficult for an American to get right), she would throw chalk at you. She would literally pelt you with chalk. If you really insulted her ears by butchering her language, she would throw an eraser at you. And I got pelted quite a bit. I thought, If this is what the French are like, the last place on earth I want to go on a mission is France. Besides, I loved all things Danish—I’m half Danish. My mother would tell you the good half of me is the Danish half. My grandfather went to Denmark, my uncles went to Denmark, my cousins went to Denmark. It was tradition in the family for the boys to go to Denmark on their missions. I wanted to go to Denmark, wanted it as much as I have ever wanted anything. I wanted to do Danish research in family history. I figured the Lord would recognize my need to go to Denmark. I prayed I would go to Denmark. But I had the feeling of impending doom that I was not going to go to Denmark—I was going to go to France. So I began to plead with the Lord that he would send me to Denmark. I prayed night after night for a Danish mission.

As the bishop and I began to fill out the missionary papers, I had a feeling it probably was not appropriate to tell the Lord which country he should send you for your mission, but I didn’t think it was inappropriate to eliminate one country out of the hundreds in the world. I changed my prayers. I began to pray he would send me anywhere but France.

I remember vividly the day my call arrived. I was at work. I knew it was at home. Nobody notified me; I just knew the call was waiting for me in the mailbox. We’ve all seen the videos of the excited missionary who runs home and opens the letter, complete with the accompanying jubilation. I knew my call was in the mailbox, and I knew it said France. Don’t ask me how I knew, I just did. I did not want to go home and open it. I lingered at work until the last moment. I was so discouraged over the fact that I was going to France that I actually—and you’re going to think I am making this up, but I actually did this (I’m eighteen—you’d think an eighteen-year-old would have more sense)—I pulled to the side of the road, parked the car, bowed my head, and said, “Father in Heaven, I know my call is at home, I know it says France. Thou art all-powerful! Thou canst do all things! Please change it in the envelope. I will go anywhere, I don’t need to go to Denmark, I will go anywhere, just please, please don’t send me to France!”

I ended my prayer, drove home with a spark of hope, and opened the envelope. What did it say? France. Actually, I sometimes think that originally it said Denmark, and the Lord looked down and said, We really need to teach this young man something, so let’s change it in the envelope. He needs to go to France.

So I went to France. Now I could have ruined my mission. The expected good was Denmark. Or, after a while, any place on earth. That was the expected good. The given good was France. It didn’t take me very long in France to love the French people. I love the French people—wonderful people. They have a beautiful language. Their culture went right to the center of my heart. I had a marvelous mission. We were successful. I found out later, when I returned home, that I had French ancestors, some of them living in the very cities and areas I had served in. I didn’t know that at the time, but the Lord did.

I repeat, all things given of God are good. He doesn’t give scorpions; he only gives eggs. He does not give stones; he only gives bread. Whatever he gives is good!

That is true of callings. When we moved to Utah about twenty years ago, I hoped I could be the Gospel Doctrine teacher. My favorite calling in the church is Gospel Doctrine. I love to teach the scriptures—it’s rewarding, tremendous fun. We’d been in the ward only a few months and, lo and behold, they released the Gospel Doctrine teacher! That afternoon the bishop asked me to come with my wife to his office to receive a calling. Well, I knew it was going to be Gospel Doctrine—this is an inspired church, this bishop was called of God—obviously he would have seen that I need to be the Gospel Doctrine teacher.

I sat down, and he said, “Brother Wilcox, we have a call for you. We would like you to teach the deacons, to be the deacons quorum advisor.” My first response was (I didn’t say it, but I was thinking it), Who called you to be a bishop? I work with college kids. What language do deacons speak? I don’t speak deacon. But as the good member, like all of you would do, I said, “Thank you for the call. I would be very happy to teach the deacons.” I went home and said to my wife, “Oh, I thought this was an inspired Church.”

Could I have ruined that call? I could have if I kept thinking every Sunday: I should be teaching Gospel Doctrine. That would have made it a miserable call, but I got to really love those little guys, and the Lord helped me the first Sunday when I went into the classroom and, so to speak, met the enemy. The Spirit just whispered, Teach them well. One day one of them might be your son-in-law. I had daughters who were deacon age and just under deacon age. My daughters didn’t marry any of those boys, but I think the Lord was saying that somewhere, someplace there is a deacon who will be your son-in-law—teach these boys as well as you hope another advisor is teaching his boys.

I had a wonderful experience with the deacons. You can call me to be the deacons quorum advisor any time and I will celebrate. God did not give me stones; he gave me bread in all of those moments.

Not This Way

Sometimes the answer we receive is simply: No, not this way. When the Lord gives that kind of answer, our impatience sometimes causes us to say, Well, then, which way do you want me to go? I’ve always been intrigued with Paul’s second missionary journey. If you look at it on the map, he’s crossing Turkey, Asia Minor, in a very logical, methodical way—east toward west, south toward north. It’s very logical. We read in Acts: “They had gone throughout Phrygia and the region of Galatia” (Acts 16:6). Now, if you look at the map the very next logical spot for Paul to preach the gospel would be Ephesus in Asia; that’s logical, and that’s where he was headed. But we read, “[They] were forbidden of the Holy Ghost to preach the word in Asia.” Okay, you don’t want me to preach in Ephesus, so I’ll go to the north instead of the west of Turkey, to a place called Bithynia.

They tried to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit “suffered them not. And they passing by Mysia came down to Troas. And a vision appeared to Paul in the night; There stood a man of Macedonia, and prayed him, saying, Come over into Macedonia, and help us” (Acts 16:7–9). Responding to his vision, Paul skips Ephesus and jumps to Greece where he establishes churches in Thessalonica, Philippi, Athens, and Corinth before the Spirit allows him to go back to Turkey and preach in Ephesus. Paul does a backward circle, and the Lord never tells us in the scriptures why he didn’t want Paul to preach in Ephesus at that time.

Notice, however, how the instructions came. The Lord didn’t say, Paul, would you go over to Corinth? I want you there. It was instead, No, not this way. And sometimes the Lord in our lives says, No, not this way. Far too often our response is, Well, then, which way? but he doesn’t always specify it. Then we try another way. No, not this way, comes the answer. Eventually we receive the vision and know where we’re supposed to go, but there is some trial and error involved in the process. We must be patient. The Lord knows what he is doing.

The Poorest Soil

While we are waiting for the fourth watch there is always hope even in the most desperate situations or trials. I was at a “Time Out for Women” event a few years ago, and one of the other speakers was conducting a question-and-answer session with the women who were there. One of the sisters asked a series of questions that resonated with many of the other women gathered on that occasion. I could tell by the response of the audience. The questions were: “Why did my life not turn out like I thought it would when I was young?” “Why does it seem that everything in my life goes wrong?” “I get trial after trial after trial and, yet, when I look at other sisters, their lives seem to be going so smoothly. How come my life can’t go smoothly like their lives? I recognize that I don’t know all they are going through and, yet, so many of my expectations have failed to appear and some of my worst fears have come. Why?”

I listened to those questions and thought of my own life. Her life turned out, we might say, worse than expected, and I thought, My life’s turned out better than I anticipated. God has been very kind to me. Maybe that is so because I didn’t expect a great deal when I was young and received so much more. It’s made me believe that when you don’t expect a lot from life and you obtain so many blessings, the natural result is gratitude, and that is an emotion that is wonderful to feel. She had touched some of my deepest sympathies, and I wondered about the fairness of life with a twinge of guilt as I reflected on my own. She was living such a difficult life while others seem to have such a good life. Why doesn’t God help her in ways that he has helped others?

I found an answer in the Book of Mormon and turned to it as I sat in the auditorium reflecting on her situation. In the allegory of the tame and the wild olive tree we find an encouraging truth. I like to read Jacob 5 not as an allegory, but as a parable—a parable that is designed to teach us some important things about life. We could call it the Parable of the Good Vineyard Owner. Notice this section of that story as it applies to that concerned woman’s questions and her experiences with life.

The Lord of the vineyard accompanied by his servant is making the rounds of the vineyard, surveying the different branches of the original tree that he scattered. Remember, he had taken the tender branches and planted them in different spots of his vineyard. They have been growing for a while, and it’s time to check their progress, to monitor their growth. This time as we read the story let us think of the trees as individual people trying to grow and progress as best they can while here on the earth.

The Lord visits the first tree and says: “Behold these; and he beheld the first that it had brought forth much fruit; and he beheld also that it was good. And he said unto the servant: Take of the fruit thereof, and lay it up against the season, that I may preserve it unto mine own self; for behold, said he, this long time have I nourished it, and it hath brought forth much fruit” (Jacob 5:20).

The servant then asks the master something that we all often ask the Lord in one way or another. When I look toward heaven and cry: “Did heaven look on, and would not take their part?” I try to remember this part of the allegory. It is comforting. The servant said: “How comest thou hither to plant this tree, or this branch of the tree? For behold, it was the poorest spot in all the land of thy vineyard” (Jacob 5:21; emphasis added). Now that’s what that good sister was asking, isn’t it? She was saying, Why did I get planted in the poor spot of the vineyard?

My heart echoed her question: Yes, Lord, that’s a good question. Why did she get planted in the poorest spot of the vineyard, because I know a lot more poor-spot-of-the-vineyard people who are wondering the same thing. We all know poor-spot-of-the-vineyard people. Maybe we think we are a poor-spot-of-the-vineyard person; and we may be right.

The Lord of the vineyard answered his servant and said unto him; “Counsel me not” (Jacob 5:22). In other words, I know what I’m doing in my vineyard. It is sometimes so very difficult not to give in to the temptation to counsel the Lord on his running of the world, especially as it concerns our own lives. But we get some information in the Lord’s comments that I think is comforting, certainly for those who are in the poorer spots of the vineyard or have reached the fourth watch and wonder why the wind is still blowing. The Lord replies: “I knew that it was a poor spot of ground” (Jacob 5:22; emphasis added). That’s comforting—he knows! I know the situation in your life isn’t the best, he whispers to us, I know that. We don’t need to try to pretend things are really better than they are, to live an illusory, put-your-best-face-forward satisfaction or happiness. That does not mean we don’t count our blessings or that we just give up and sink into despair, but it does mean the Lord is aware in a very honest way that our soil isn’t as ideal as we both would like it to be.

Notice then the Lord’s next comment: “Wherefore, I said unto thee, I have nourished it this long time” (Jacob 5:22; emphasis added). That’s the second piece of information he deeply desires us to comprehend. I know it’s a poor spot, so I have nourished it a long time. I have not left you to fare as best you can in a difficult situation. A lot of nourishing has been going on, much of it in ways that are challenging for a mortal to understand, but it is there nonetheless.

A third thing he wants us to understand about life in the vineyard is contained in his next words to the servant: “Thou beholdest that it hath brought forth much fruit” (Jacob 5:22; emphasis added). Even in the poorest spots of ground, good fruit can be produced because of the nourishment God has provided. These are the fruits of character, nobility, patience, compassion, empathy, and godliness, even genius, all of which have and will continue to rise out of some of the most debilitating of soils. Then the Lord of the vineyard calls our attention to another tree, saying, “Look hither; behold I have planted another branch of the tree also; and thou knowest that this spot of ground was poorer than the first” (Jacob 5:23; emphasis added). That’s the fourth thing he wants us to recognize. There are others who are in even a poorer situation than the one we find ourselves in. That may be poor comfort, but it is effective nonetheless. What does he do for them? His words to his servant reveal this. “But, behold the tree. I have nourished it this long time, and it hath brought forth much fruit” (Jacob 5:23; emphasis added). I sense a slight tone of righteous pride in the Lord’s words, “But, behold the tree.” Even in the poorest of the poor spots of ground, God can bring forth good fruit.

Then, almost as if to seal the principle, he says to the servant: “Look hither, and behold the last. Behold, this have I planted in a good spot of ground” (Jacob 5:25). What kind of fruit would we foresee growing from this last spot of good ground? Since the soil is so rich, would it not be anticipated that the fruits would be comparable? The best fruit produced from the best ground? Yet we read: “I have nourished it this long time, and only a part of the tree hath brought forth tame fruit, and the other part of the tree hath brought forth wild fruit; behold, I have nourished this tree like unto the others” (Jacob 5:25).

It isn’t the spot of ground we’re planted in that matters; it’s how we respond to the Lord’s nourishing. The poorest of the poor spots of ground can bring forth some of the sweetest fruits. We must believe this or else we will allow our circumstances and environment to determine our lives and the quality of our souls.

The Greatness of God

We can also find comfort in the knowledge that God will turn all things in our life to good. This is a principle that is taught often in the scriptures. No situation is ever negative in the long run and, therefore, life is always fair. Whatever happens to us God can turn it to good if we trust him and stay on the path. He teaches that principle in every book of scripture. In the Book of Mormon, Lehi testifies to his son Jacob: “In thy childhood thou hast suffered afflictions and much sorrow, because of the rudeness of thy brethren. Nevertheless, Jacob, my firstborn in the wilderness, thou knowest the greatness of God; and he shall consecrate thine afflictions for thy gain (2 Nephi 2:1–2; emphasis added). Part of God’s greatness consists in his ability to turn even the most negative of situations into positive truth and learning.

The Lord instructed Joseph Smith in this principle while the Prophet was suffering in Liberty Jail. We can all quote this one: “All these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good” (D&C 122:7). Paul, who also suffered a great deal, bore witness: “We know that all things work together for good to them that love God” (Romans 8:28). Joseph in the Old Testament named his two sons Manasseh and Ephraim, in a manner that teaches the principle. Manasseh means “forgetting,” and Ephraim means “fruitful.” As he named his two boys, Joseph said: “God . . . hath made me forget all my toil, and . . . hath caused me to be fruitful in the land of my affliction” (Genesis 41:51–52). Our Father in Heaven can turn even the most negative situations to good for us, if we will trust him and stay true to his gospel.

C. S. Lewis once wrote a little piece that very poignantly taught this truth. He said:

Ye cannot in your present state understand eternity. . . . But ye can get some likeness of it if ye say that both good and evil, when they are full grown, become retrospective. . . . All their earthly past will have been Heaven to those who are saved. . . . All their life on Earth too, will then be seen by the damned to have been Hell. That is what mortals misunderstand. They say of some temporal suffering, “No future bliss can make up for it,” not knowing that Heaven, once attained, will work backwards and turn even that agony into a glory. And of some sinful pleasure they say “Let me have but this and I’ll take the consequences”: little dreaming how damnation will spread back and back into their past and contaminate the pleasure of the sin. Both processes begin even before death. The good man’s past begins to change so that his forgiven sins and remembered sorrows take on the quality of Heaven: the bad man’s past already conforms to his badness and is filled only with dreariness. And that is why, at the end of all things, when the sun rises here and the twilight turns to blackness down there, the Blessed will say, “We have never lived anywhere except in Heaven,” and the Lost, “We were always in Hell.” And both will speak truly (The Great Divorce [San Francisco: HarperCollins, 2001], 69; italics in original).

Wipe Away All Tears

We also are promised by the Lord that all sorrows, trials, all storms, all fourth, ninth, or tenth watches will one day end. When I served as a bishop I soon discovered that the main purpose of a bishop was to hand out tissues. It didn’t take me very long to realize that I would see a lot of tears in my five years of service. I would always carry tissues—I still do. I always have them in my pockets, because on any given Sunday I would see tears—tears of sorrow over the death of loved ones, tears of guilt in confession, tears of children over the divorce of parents, tears of parents over rebellious children, tears of wives over inactive husbands, tears of old, tired bodies longing for death—so many different kinds of tears. I would hand them a tissue and watch them wipe the tears from their cheeks. I became very frustrated because I wanted to help them wipe the tears off their souls, not just off their faces. Then one day I came across a beautiful verse in the Book of Revelation, a promise God makes to all of us. This is what he assures us: “God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away” (Revelation 21:4). That is promised twice in the Book of Revelation and originally in Isaiah. I realized at that moment, though I as a bishop could not wipe away the tears, there was One who could do so. One day he will do so. He will wipe away all tears.

That’s an intimate image. He didn’t say, I will hand them a tissue. He said, I’ll wipe the tears away. When I think of my own experiences, who has ever wiped tears from my eyes? My mother, my wife, maybe a child, but only in the most intimate and deepest of relationships would one dare to reach out a gentle thumb and sweep it across the cheek to wipe away a tear. Yet the promise is that the Lord will do that for us all.

In the New Testament the Lord then reminds us of one of his titles: “I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end” (Revelation 21:6; emphasis added). If we take that title, given in the context of wiping away all tears, and apply it to the promise, and then ask the question, What is He the end of? we learn a marvelous truth. He answers us: I am the end of death, I am the end of crying, I am the end of sorrow, I am the end of pain. Now if we ask the question, What is he the beginning of? He will answer: I am the beginning of peace, I am the beginning of forgiveness, I am the beginning of life and happiness and glory. I am the beginning of all joys.

One day, no matter what reason we may have for unhappiness; whatever trial we may face, have faced, or are then facing; one day they will all come to an end. Right at the end of his agonies on the cross, Jesus said, “It is finished.” He certainly meant that his Father’s will had completely been accomplished, but there is something more in those simple words. His suffering was also over. No man suffered more than he did, and if he came to a point in his life where he could say of his suffering, “It is finished,” all of us will come to the point in our existence when we, too, will say, “It is finished.” And it will be finished, no matter what it was. The tears will be wiped away. That end we may hope for. That end we may be assured of. In the meantime we may know that whatever happens he is going to turn it into good for us. So let the fourth watches come. Let the mountain waves crash. Life will be sweet eventually.

The Burning Bush

I have long loved the story of God’s appearance to Moses in the burning bush. I think it is a wonderful image to hold on to when we think of our Father in Heaven: “Now Moses kept the flock of Jethro his father in law, the priest of Midian: and he led the flock to the backside of the desert, and came to the mountain of God, even to Horeb. And the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush: and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed. And Moses said, I will now turn aside, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burnt” (Exodus 3:1–3; emphasis added).

It is so very critical to believe, and to believe firmly, that God is a burning fire that is unique above all other fires. He will give us warmth! He will give us light! He will cleanse and purge us as does the refiner’s fire! But he will not consume us. The flame of his love is meant only for good—it is not a destroying fire. Of this we may be certain. “The bush was not consumed,” nor will we be in our encounters with the God of Light.

I conclude with this final thought. I believe every good thing in life that we desire is on the strait and narrow path. As long as we stay on the path every truly enjoyable and fine thing life and eternity can offer will be ours. Sometimes, while seeking for happiness or fulfillment we may stray from the path, vainly believing we will find our hearts’ desires beyond the road our Savior has established, but if we’ll stay on the path, everything we want in life will be ours. It’s a wish-fulfilling path designed to lead us to every good, noble, righteous thing we want, if we’ll just follow it. In truth it will provide greater things than we can even imagine, for did not the Lord say: “Since the beginning of the world men have not heard, nor perceived by the ear, neither hath the eye seen, O God, beside thee, what he hath prepared for him that waiteth for him” (Isaiah 64:4).

If you are like me, I usually want the desirable blessing to be just a few feet ahead of me on the path. However, sometimes the Lord has to give me a pair of binoculars and say, Well, it’s on the path, but it’s in the distance there. Then I must be patient, confident that if I’ll just walk the path, all will, in due time, be well.

May we walk that path, trusting that every desire of our hearts that truly brings happiness, will be there. May God bless us in our fourth watches. May our ships be tight like a dish. May we have the patience to wait for life, measured by the wisdom of God, to carve the holding places in our hearts. May we remember God does not give stones or serpents, he only gives bread and fish. May we understand all things God gives are good, and even the negative ones he can make good. May we respond to his nourishing and bring forth good fruit in spite of the soil in which we may have been planted. May we trust that the Lord himself will in time wipe away all tears. May God’s burning fire give us warmth, light, and cleansing. And may the Lord bless us as we walk his path of happiness.

This is my prayer for myself, my family, my friends, and for all of God’s children wherever they may be.