18

Suddenly

If you get tired enough, your mind can start playing tricks on you. Once after a cold spell of days in the jungle, when our group was miserable and chilled to the bone, I got to fantasizing. It was the holy season of Ramadan, beginning in November that year, and the Muslims were in a bad mood due to daytime fasting. On top of that, we were in a place of heavy tree cover so that little sunshine got through, adding to the gloom.

And I thought, What if here in the midst of the jungle we would stumble onto a real place to spend the night? A place with heat, and a double bed for Martin and me, in an enclosed room . . . clean sheets . . . screens on the windows to keep out the mosquitoes . . . an attached bathroom for us, with running water both hot and cold . . . fresh towels . . . a shower that works . . . a TV and phone.

In the other part of the house a kind villager would be preparing a delicious meal of fried chicken with rice and gravy. And then when we retired for the night, there would be cookies and hot sweet tea waiting on the dresser.

It never happened that way. At least not until I arrived at the U.S. embassy in Manila on the night of June 7, 2002 . . . alone, with my leg in a splint.

The solution we crave when life spins out of control can become vivid in our imaginations. If only this . . . if only that. We know that God has performed dramatic and sudden reversals for other people, and we yearn to be added to his list. “In a moment of time, you could solve all this,” we pray. “Please, God. Just wave your mighty hand and sweep me onto solid footing once again.”

While our family was living in Aritao, before the capture, we had a comfortable home. By American standards it was certainly plain—no air-conditioning, for example, and no hot running water. But to our Filipino neighbors in the barrio, we were doing well. Martin used to remind the kids occasionally about 1 Timothy 6:7-8, which says, “After all, we didn’t bring anything with us when we came into the world, and we certainly cannot carry anything with us when we die. So if we have enough food and clothing, let us be content.”

He would continue: “Notice, it doesn’t even mention having a home. Just food and clothing. Are we content with that?”

Now in the jungle, Martin and I had clothing (well, a couple of outfits at most) and food at least some of the time. The scriptural quota was ours. Could we be content? Or would we go on pitying ourselves and wishing for a Holiday Inn? We began to pray, “Lord, build contentment into our lives, our spirits. Begin to change us on the inside. We need to rest in your provision and be thankful.”

*   *

One winter night after my return to Kansas, the kids and I went to see the Rose Hill High School drama department’s rendition of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. I’ve always loved musicals, and I knew some of the students on stage.

As you probably know, this is a funny and, at times, preposterous treatment of the Old Testament story of Joseph from the fertile mind of Andrew Lloyd Webber, who also gave us Cats and Phantom of the Opera. It uses all different styles of music. I laughed along with the rest when Pharaoh whipped off his royal robe at one point to reveal an Elvis Presley costume.

Amid the silliness, though, the hopelessness of Joseph also comes through. His brothers plot against him and sell him to a slave caravan. He winds up far from home in Egypt. There things go from bad to worse. His master’s wife frames him as a sexual predator, landing him in jail. Fellow inmates promise to help him when they get out—but then they forget.

I identified with the feeling. I knew what it was like to be ignored . . . to think life can’t get any worse, and still it does. As one song lyric says, “Joseph’s luck was really out, his spirit and his fortune low. Alone he sat, alone he thought, of happy times he used to know.”[13]

Then, within a matter of one day, Joseph’s whole life turns around. He goes from prison to the halls of power at the imperial palace. Suddenly, everything is different. It’s a lot more than luck at work. In the true account in Genesis, God’s hand reaches down and lifts the young man to unimaginable prominence.

I might have been the only person in the auditorium that evening who sat through the musical thinking about God’s goodness! To me, it was all a portrayal of how you can be in a horrible situation, and then the very next day God can sweep you out of it. Sitting afterward in the van waiting for the parking lot to clear out, I said to the kids, “That play really had a point! It showed that you just don’t know what God has for you around the corner. Things can look so bleak, but God promises there will be good if you love him.”

Mindy gave me one of those “looks” a teenager flashes when she thinks her mom is nearing the edge. But I didn’t mind.

*   *

Not all of us will be rescued as dramatically as Joseph, however. Yes, it happens, but not every time, and not according to any particular formula. I believe it is fine to ask God for a sudden upswing in our lives, so long as we do not resent him if he chooses otherwise.

I spent months in the jungle thinking and crying, “How long, O Lord?” Other believers throughout history have suffered even longer than I did. The mature attitude to which we should all aspire is that expressed by the apostle Paul from a Roman dungeon:

I want you to know, dear brothers and sisters, that everything that has happened to me here has helped to spread the Good News. For everyone here, including all the soldiers in the palace guard, knows that I am in chains because of Christ. And because of my imprisonment, many of the Christians here have gained confidence and become more bold in telling others about Christ. . . .

I know that as you pray for me and as the Spirit of Jesus Christ helps me, this will all turn out for my deliverance.

For I live in eager expectation and hope that I will never do anything that causes me shame, but that I will always be bold for Christ, as I have been in the past, and that my life will always honor Christ, whether I live or I die. For to me, living is for Christ, and dying is even better. Yet if I live, that means fruitful service for Christ. I really don’t know which is better. I’m torn between two desires: Sometimes I want to live, and sometimes I long to go and be with Christ. That would be far better for me, but it is better for you that I live. (Philippians 1:12-14, 19-24)

Paul is truly balanced between two options. Of course he would love to keep living. But he also has one eye on the heaven to come. Of course he would like to shake off the chains and walk freely, resuming his apostolic travels. But he is quite willing to stay right where he is and influence soldiers and visitors alike for Christ from his cell.

We hear no whining in his voice, no manipulation of God, no pulling for sympathy from his readers. He is at rest. He is content.

New Testament scholars believe that subsequent to writing this letter, Paul did get a release from imprisonment. His first letter to Timothy appears to have been written during this interim. But by the time we get to 2 Timothy, he is back in jail again, and he can sense the impending doom. His remaining days under the thumb of Rome will be few.

The exit from our current state of difficulty is impossible to forecast. It may come suddenly or gradually. It may take five minutes or five years. Meanwhile, we are called to stay faithful to the One who loves us and will see us through no matter what.