If you make the MOST HIGH your shelter, no evil will conquer you.
—PSALM 91:9–10 NLT
Did I just see what I think I saw? I drove around the block for a second glance. The announcement, taped to a Stop-sign pole, had a home computer look to it: yellow paper and thick letters. Our neighbors, like yours, print and post all types of flyers. The presence of the announcement didn’t surprise me, but the words did.
FOUND: POTBELLIED PIG
Two phone numbers followed: one to call during the day and another to call at night. I’d never seen such an announcement. Similar ones, sure.
FOUND: BLACK RETRIEVER
FOUND: PSYCHEDELIC SKATEBOARD
FOUND: GOLD BROOCH
But “Found: Potbellied Pig”? Who loses a pig? Who owns a pig? I know many pet owners, but pet-pig owners? Can you imagine providing daily care for a pig? Do pig owners invite dinner guests to pet the pig? Do they hang a sign on the outside gate: “Potbelly on Patrol”? Pig owners must be a special breed.
Even more so those who rescue them. The sign presupposes a curious moment. Someone spotted the pig lumbering down the sidewalk. “Poor thing. Climb in little piggy, piggy, piggy. The street is no place for a lonely sow. I’ll take you home.”
Suppose one appeared on your porch. Upon hearing a snort at your front door, would you open it? Not me. Golden retriever? You bet. German shepherd? Will do. Saint Bernard? Count on me for a few nights and a few neighborhood signs. But a potbellied pig? Sorry. I’d leave him on Jericho Road.
I wouldn’t claim one. But God would. God did. God did when he claimed us.
We assume God cares for the purebreds of the world. The clean-nosed, tidy-living, convent-created souls of society. When God sees French poodles and Great Danes wandering the streets, he swings his door open. But what about the rest of us? We’re prone to wander too. We find ourselves far from home. Do we warrant his oversight?
Psalm 91 offers a rousing yes! If you need to know the nature and size of God’s lordship, nestle under the broad branches of David’s poetry.
Those who live in the shelter of the Most High
will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
This I declare about the LORD:
He alone is my refuge, my place of safety;
he is my God, and I trust him.
For he will rescue you from every trap
and protect you from deadly disease.
He will cover you with his feathers.
He will shelter you with his wings.
His faithful promises are your armor and protection.
Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night,
nor the arrow that flies in the day.
Do not dread the disease that stalks in darkness,
nor the disaster that strikes at midday.
(Ps. 91:1–6 NLT)
God offers more than the possibility of protection or the likelihood of protection on your journey. He guarantees he will guard you. Your serenity matters to heaven. God’s presence encapsulates your life. Separating you from evil is God, your guardian.
During the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal special prosecutor Kenneth Starr spoke at our church. Because of the combustible days, a couple of tougher-than-two-dollar-steak US marshals monitored his every move. One walked ahead, the other behind. Between services they silently sized up all well-wishers. While Judge Starr sat in the break room, they stood at the door, the American version of Great Britain’s Foot Guards. When I asked if he minded their presence, Judge Starr shrugged. “You know, their protection comforts.”
So much more does God’s. He sizes up every person who comes your way. As you walk, he leads. As you sleep, he patrols. “He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings” (v. 4 NLT).
The image of living beneath Shaddai’s shadow reminds me of a rained-out picnic. My college friends and I barely escaped a West Texas storm before it pummeled the park where we were spending a Saturday afternoon. As we were leaving, my buddy brought the car to a sudden stop and gestured to a tender sight on the ground. A mother bird sat exposed to the rain, her wing extended over her baby who had fallen out of the nest. The fierce storm prohibited her from returning to the tree, so she covered her child until the wind passed.
From how many winds is God protecting you? His wing, at this moment, shields you. A slanderous critic heading toward your desk is interrupted by a phone call. A burglar en route to your house has a flat tire. A drunk driver runs out of gas before your car passes his. God, your guardian, protects you from
“every trap” (v. 3)
“deadly disease” (v. 3)
“the disease that stalks in darkness” (v. 6)
“the terrors of the night . . . the arrow that flies in the day” (v. 5)
One translation boldly promises: “Nothing bad will happen to you” (v. 10 NCV).
“Then why does it?” someone erupts. “Explain the pandemic. Or the death of our child.” Here is where potbellied-pig thoughts surface. God protects Alaskan Malamutes and English Setters, but little runts like me? Perhaps your Rubik’s Cube has a square that won’t turn. If God is our guardian, why do bad things happen to us?
Have they? Have bad things really happened to you? You and God may have different definitions for the word bad. Parents and children do. Look up the word bad in a student dictionary, and you’ll read definitions such as “pimple on nose,” “Friday night all alone,” or “pop quiz in geometry.” “Dad, this is really bad!” the youngster says. Dad, having been around the block a time or two, thinks differently. Pimples pass. And it won’t be long before you’ll treasure a quiet evening at home. Inconvenience? Yes. Misfortune? Sure. But bad? Save that adjective for emergency rooms and cemeteries.
What’s bad to a child isn’t always bad to a dad. When a five-year-old drops her ice cream cone, it is a catastrophe to her. Her father has a different perspective.
What you and I might rate as an absolute disaster, God may rate as a pimple-level problem that will pass. He views your life the way you view a movie after you’ve read the book. When something bad happens, you feel the air sucked out of the theater. Everyone else gasps at the crisis on the screen. Not you. Why? You’ve read the book. You know how the good guy gets out of the tight spot. God views your life with the same confidence. He’s not only read your story . . . he wrote it. His perspective is different, and his purpose is clear.
God uses struggles to toughen our spiritual skin.
Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way. (James 1:2–4 THE MESSAGE)
One of God’s cures for weak faith? A good, healthy struggle. Several years ago our family visited Colonial Williamsburg, a re-creation of eighteenth-century America in Williamsburg, Virginia. If you ever visit there, pay special attention to the work of the silversmith. The craftsman places an ingot of silver on an anvil and pounds it with a sledgehammer. Once the metal is flat enough for shaping, into the furnace it goes. The worker alternately heats and pounds the metal until it takes the shape of a tool he can use.
Heating, pounding.
Heating, pounding.
Deadlines, traffic.
Arguments, disrespect.
Loud sirens, silent phones.
Heating, pounding.
Heating, pounding.
Did you know that the smith in silversmith comes from the old English word smite? Silversmiths are accomplished smiters. So is God. Once the worker is satisfied with the form of his tool, he begins to planish and pumice it. Using smaller hammers and abrasive pads, he taps, rubs, and decorates. And no one stops him. No one yanks the hammer out of his hand and says, “Go easy on that silver. You’ve pounded enough!” No, the craftsman buffets the metal until he is finished with it. Some silversmiths, I’m told, keep polishing until they can see their face in the tool. When will God stop with you? When he sees his reflection in you. “The LORD will perfect that which concerns me” (Ps. 138:8 NKJV, emphasis mine). Jesus said, “My Father is always working” (John 5:17 NLT).
God guards those who turn to him. The pounding you feel does not suggest his distance but proves his nearness. Trust his sovereignty. Hasn’t he earned your trust?
Has he ever spoken a word that proved to be false? Given a promise that proved to be a lie? Decades of following God led Joshua to conclude: “Not a word failed of any good thing which the LORD had spoken” (Josh. 21:45 NKJV). Look up reliability in heaven’s dictionary and read its one-word definition: God. “If we are faithless he always remains faithful. He cannot deny his own nature” (2 Tim. 2:13 PHILLIPS).
Make a list of his mistakes. Pretty short, eh? Now make a list of the times he has forgiven you for yours. Who on earth has such a record? “The One who called you is completely dependable. If he said it, he’ll do it!” (1 Thess. 5:24 THE MESSAGE).
You can depend on him. He is “the same yesterday and today and forever” (Heb. 13:8 ESV). And because he is the Lord, “He will be the stability of your times” (Isa. 33:6 NASB).
Trust him. “But when I am afraid, I will put my trust in you” (Ps. 56:3 NLT). Join with Isaiah, who resolved, “I will trust in him and not be afraid” (Isa. 12:2 NLT).
God is directing your steps and delighting in every detail of your life (Ps. 37:23–24 NLT). Doesn’t matter who you are. Potbellied pig or prized purebred? God sees no difference. But he does see you. In fact, that’s his car pulling over to the side of the road. That’s God opening the door. And that’s you climbing into the passenger seat to begin to see how he will write the next chapter in your story.